Bow Down And Beg For Mercy

Chapter 2

"Fine, be like that." He sighs, resting his head on the back of his chair. "I don't hate you, I just deeply loathe your presence and existence sometimes and I don't want you in my line of sight. I don't want you dead or anything, I just want you to shut the fuck up and get lost, you know?" I shrug my shoulders, crossing my legs. A smile grows on his face, "I can live with that. Not the get lost part though, I live here too, sissy." He gets up to pour himself another glass of bourbon.

Now that he's standing I can see that he is wearing a black tank top that exposes the tattoo on his built arm. We have a gym built into our mansion and use it three to four times a week, a break in between each day to regain your energy. The tattoo is just a wolf snarling at you. He got the tattoo a few months ago because he felt like it was a good representation of himself.

A predator, a killer.

That's what you think when you see him but he's also loyal to his family and only let's his guard down in the safety of his home, just like a wolf. Most of all, he loves to hunt. He and I have that in common. We both love to mess with our prey before actually killing them, not for torture but for our sick enjoyment. It's a strange way to bond with someone but, that's just us.

His skin is a caramel complexion, which he got from Mama. His eyes are hazel with specs of gold in them, also from her. He has wavy dark brown hair, which is a mixture of both our parents' but mostly Mama. It's also a bit messy because of his habit of running his fingers through it or pulling at it when he's frustrated.

I swear, he is going to start losing his hair if he keeps that up. I'll give him five more years before I can start slapping his bald head.

A gentle stubble on his chin that he maintains, it never grows out and he rarely shaves it all off. His jawline like Dylan O' Brian's, or so he keeps saying. He's wearing loose joggers that hang dangerously low on his hips, his Calvin Klein boxers peaking out. If they fall down, I will scream bloody murder. With all that, he's has on JD trainers men's trainers.

"How many of those have you had already?" Mist's eyes follow his movements as he pour himself another glass. He shrugs "I don't know...6, 7?" He answers, sounding unsure himself, bringing the glass to his lips. How is he not falling on his ass yet? This is going to be funny.

3, 2, 1...

Mist hops off her stool and snatches the drink from his hand. "Why?" He reaches to take it back but she quickly moves it away. "Papa would certainly not be pleased if you were to get drunk before dinner." She contradicts herself by finishing both hers and his drink. "He won't mind, stop being such a buzzkill." He tries to grab the empty glass to refill it but gives up when he fails again.

"Remember that time when you were so drunk, you passed out?" I ask him, teasing him by pretending to give him some of mine before taking it away and drinking it. "No." He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion. "So what if I passed out?" He asks, irritated. "You passed out on the staircase...in only boxers, in a pool of your own drool." Mist finishes with a stifled laugh. His eyes almost pop out and I erupt with laughter. "Flame took a picture too." I put my hand on his shoulder, pushing him slightly as I laugh.  He huffs and sits on the stool on the other side of me, his chin in his palm.

"Don't fret, you can come back after dinner." I pat his shoulder, false sympathy in my voice. He grunts and rolls his eyes. I chug my drink and place it in the sink under the counter before saying, "We'll see you again in...25 minutes for dinner." I jump off my stool, pulling my jacket together and fixing my outfit, not that it needed fixing but I just like to look on point.

Mist downs her drink and walks out the door, holding it open for me and my dogs. "Thanks." I glance up at Blade, giving him a soft smile before closing the door, leaving him alone. As much as I say I hate him, I would kill for him without a second thought, heartbeat or blink. My family are the only ones who I care about, everyone else are pawns on my board, waiting to be used.