Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(2)

She was here. I collapsed onto my stool, my focus intent on the person behind my brother, who was staring back at me. Chestnut colored hair hung in waves over her shoulders. Those f*cking red glasses on her pert nose, covering lake blue eyes. Bright red lips that matched those specs made her the image of seduction. Not by most standards, but by my new standard. She was shapely, but not falsely oversized, like many women I’d known in the past. The feel of those breasts in my hand and my mouth were familiar to me. They haunted my dreams. Determined she’d be mine again, a new venom filled my blood, and I surged for Abel at the start of the third round. He was grunting, but I didn’t want to hear his lies. He could not have her. She is mine.

I was no longer playing with Abel, my scrap of a treat for a poisonous appetite. I was the Cobra, ready to strike. Brother or not, Abel could not have what belonged to me. My body was suddenly a whirlwind of action. Kicks struck from my legs, arms punched without aim. I was breaking him and he began to cower. Then time stood still.

“Kick his ass, Betta.” She called out my brother’s fighter name. Her voice was a siren in the dark waters as I drowned in hell. She wanted him to finish me. What kind of impression had Abel made on her? My concern fueled the raging energy inside me.

“How could you?” I hissed, my nostrils flaring with unsuppressed anger. A blow to his side sent him to the mat, and I jumped on top of him, pressing him down as I jeered in his ear.

“I’ve never asked anything of you. Why her?” My fear that Abel had touched my girl continued to flame my anger.

Abel found rejuvenated strength and we were suddenly upright again, facing off.

“I never touched her. Besides you took Elma from me,” he barked. My anger masked my confusion.

“I didn’t touch Elma. I never f*cked her,” I clarified, but my brother’s rage matched mine and he attacked valiantly. We were a mess of arms and legs again, and we coiled together. While this was a fight of brother against brother, it was evident we each fought for love in our own right.

“Who is she to you?” Abel growled, but the answer was more than I wished to share. I took him to the mat muttering the word, uncertain if Abel heard me as we both let out a humph against the stiffened surface.

In a moment of panic, I realized if I took my brother out, if I hurt him beyond extreme, I’d have two outcomes: please my father but lose my girl. The second wasn’t an option and so I began my plea.

“I’ve never asked anything of you, but I’m asking you now,” I grunted, as our legs fought for control of each other while we tumbled.

“We need to end this,” I begged with a harsh whisper. I need this over, I thought.

Abel’s head was pinned to the mat, his cheek against the sweaty surface as my forearm held him firm. I am my brother’s keeper, those words were inked on me, and I planned to keep watch over him, as I had done so many times before. But he was going to help me first.

“You need to set me free. Take me down,” I said through clenched teeth, as I pulled him upward with a sleight of hand and tipped my chin for a clean blow from him. I wanted out from under the gloves of our father. My eyes begged those that didn’t match mine. His were the blue of our mother, innocent and scared. Mine were the cold glare of our father. I prayed Abel could read my plea. The blow came quickly, and despite the pain radiating through my face, I was proud of him, for thou art my brother, and in unity we stood. The wrath of our father would be strong, but my love for a woman was stronger.





The sound of her heels, retreating from me, echoed down the hallway in the opposite direction of the gathered crowd. I was still dressed for the fight. I’d rubbed a towel down my body, as I didn’t care to change or shower yet. I needed to get to her before she escaped me again. Following behind the click of her heels, I called her name a second time, commanding her to stop. She didn’t listen. For the slightest second, it sounded like the tapping on the tile increased. I sped up my pace, determined to catch her.

“Sofie,” I called out. The tension built. She was going to run. My hand reached out for her, as I drew closer. My stride lengthened. Her tight skirt curved over her hips, holding her snug ass, and trapping her steps. High heels prevented her from moving any faster, despite her determined hustle. This wasn’t how I remembered her dressing. She wore loose skirts and fitted t-shirts, except on the second night. An image of a black dress being removed from delicate shoulders flitted through my memory. My eyes fell to her ass again, recalling what was under that shapely skirt. I’d seen it, felt it, tasted it, and I wanted it again.

“Sofie,” I demanded. Her name was more than a plea; it was a command to stop. We were headed in a circle. The sound of the gathered crowd was echoing back toward us. She was trapped. If she kept going, she’d lead us directly into the paparazzi pit. Cameras would capture her and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to explain who she was to the public. Not yet. I needed a private reunion first.

Her pace slowed. My outstretched fingers captured her upper arm and tugged her to a halt. Her body was gently slammed against the cement block wall behind her, and my arms caged her in.

“Sofie.” My breath caught as I scanned her face. Bright blue eyes under a pinched brow looked briefly at me, then avoided my gaze. Her face was flushed. I remembered that pink skin. Another vision flashed in my memory of her questioning me over a wooden wine bar. She was interested in my anatomy at that moment. I wanted her to be interested in my anatomy again. A certain part of me definitely had her attention, if she wished for it. I wasn’t only hard; I was towering straight out for her. My dick knew what it wanted. It was drawn to the lyrical whispers of what I assumed would be wet folds beneath black panties.