CTH // Black (2)

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"So you finally got yourself a girlfriend, eh?"

I hear a loud sarcastic guffaw behind me. I didn't turn, already knowing who it was.

"So when did that become your business, Michael?"

"When I found out she's my sister."

I froze. What the fuck?

"She's your sister?" I asked, finally turning to face him.

"Yes, and if you want to keep your face, you'll lay off. She said it was a lie, why do you own up to it?" he asked, his voice extra menacing—an attempt to rattle me, I assume.

I took a swig of my beer, mindless to his little minions on guard behind him, poised, ready for a brawl. I look around for a while, the bar was loaded, surely even Joe, bar's owner, would get pissed as fuck if he decided to trash me here; meaning, I'm safe. This isn't where Michael Clifford will have me. Or if he ever will.

"You must've scared her a lot because she lies to you now. I can see why though, she's so prim and proper and has you, a sorry excuse for a brother. No wonder I didn't know you were related and why she didn't want to tell anyone." I smirked, my confidence growing as the liquor made its way down my throat.

He held my gaze and I stared at him defiantly. He can't touch me. Not here.

"Just know, if I catch you going around and trashing my sister, you're a fucking goner." He walked away, eyeing Joe from behind the bar, mixing drinks, warily glancing at him.

I faced the bar again, nodding a little thanks to Joe for being there. Not that I needed the help but I was in no mood for a fight. I just want a few drinks tonight, my knuckles still hurt a bit from punching that Luke guy from a week ago.

I caught him trying to follow and harass her again. Of course, I had to own up to my promise—well, not much. He wasn't dead. He's just... hospitalized because of a few broken ribs and a destroyed jaw. Surely he'll know to lay off her by now.

Driving home, my mind was filled with her. Why did I do that? I don't even know why I defended her, why I introduced her as my girlfriend and why I own up to it.

Parked outside my house, I stayed inside the car, picking up my pistol from the glove compartment. Held and played with it in the air, making gun noises, trying to clear my mind.

She was pretty. Okay, reason one. She needed help so I helped. That's reason two. But why did I have to say that she was my girlfriend?

If I was going to be completely honest, I'd admit it was because of something in her eyes. The way she looked at me, the innocence, and the depth. It was crazy. I was crazy, I know that. But why did I have to pull her into my crazy world?


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