Fort Brothers

0015 — Edmund

Isa swallowed. That small, nervous sound should’ve cracked something soft in me. It didn’t. It woke the part that wanted her scared.

I reached out, grabbed her by the waist.

One hard pull and she was on my lap, thighs locked on either side of me.

Leaning in, I brushed my lips against her ear. “Pay attention, Isa. Elgin doesn’t exist to you anymore. The word ‘siblings’ is dead in your vocabulary starting now. I won’t tell you twice.”

My hand settled on her hip, fingers digging in just enough to hold her exactly where I wanted her.

She was terrified. I could feel it in the subtle quiver running through her body, the way her breathing kept stuttering. But upstairs she had run her mouth like sharp words could somehow save her from this.

From me.

My hand disappeared beneath the hem of her scrub dress, fingers gliding up the warmth of her inner thighs until I found what I was looking for, the slick, dripping mess between her legs.

"you will call me by my name." I said, mouth still at her ear "No more ‘Mr.’ or any of that stiff, formal nonsense. It’s Ed. Eddie. Edmund. Whatever comes out of that pretty mouth when I’m touching you. But you will never call me ‘Mr.’ again. Do you understand?"

Another small nod.

“Good. And one last thing. Tomorrow morning, the very first thing you do is send me that house listing. The one you you thought was expensive. Full details — price, photos, everything.”

No answer this time. Not a sound. Not even her head moving.

I parted her slick folds with my fingers and pinched her swollen little c**t with just enough pressure to make her jolt against my body.

A shudder tore through her, followed by a soft, broken sigh that vibrated against my shoulder.

"Yes?" I said against her hair.

She shook her head in a tiny act of defiance, pressing it against my chest.

My jaw tightened. My palm itched to flip her over and redden her ass until she learned obedience. I restrained myself.

For the moment.

“Eight a.m. tomorrow morning,” I murmured, tracing her jaw with my thumb — the same one still slick with her juices from moments ago. Her eyelids fluttered closed, cheeks burning crimson, but she refused to meet my eyes.

I tightened my grip on her hair bun and pulled her firmly against my chest, crushing her soft body to mine. “You’ll send me those photos first thing. The house listing. Everything.”

My lips brushed her temple as I delivered the rest. “Or I let Scott Moreland run with the case. He takes every penny he’s filed against you and your family… and you go back to being his wife.”

Her breath caught. Just for a moment. I felt it — the way her chest stilled, the way her spine went rigid against me.

A slow, dark smile curved my lips against her hair.

Perfect. That little hitch in her existence, that split-second surrender of control, hit better than any moan.

***

Hearing the doorbell, I adjusted my shirt, and headed down the stairs. Swiped my key card, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

Margaret stood there on the threshold, impeccably dressed in her white two-piece scrub, complete with those loud blue Nike sneakers.

She didn’t care she was aging. She was still sharp, still agile, still a pain in the ass. Like a grandmother. If your grandmother carried a blood pressure cuff and zero tolerance for bullshit.

“Eddie,” Margaret said warmly.

“Magret.” I answered, suddenly feeling like I was twelve again. Her presence always made it feel like so — that strange, slightly embarrassing regression into childhood deference.

Her presence did that. Stripped the billionaire, the control, the walls right off me. Left just the kid she used to bandage and lecture in the same breath.

She didn’t smile. She just looked at me. That nurse look. The one that could read a fever and a lie at the same time.

I stepped aside to let her in. Margaret walked through the door carrying a Tupperware of cookies in one hand and her overstuffed purse in the other, the thing no doubt packed with her stethoscope, charts, medications, and whatever else she deemed medically essential.

The woman never traveled light

"How’s the new caretaker?" she asked, already making herself at home. "I told you I was leaving, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t come visit once in a while to check up on Bryan. Where’s she, by the way? Isn’t she supposed to be here?"

"I let her know you were coming, so she could have some time off. "

“Time off?" Without even glancing my way. Margret set the cookies and her heavy purse down on the table.

“She’s been on her feet all week,” I added.

Her gaze dropped to my hands gripping the chair. Then slowly rose back to my face.

“The new girl hasn’t even been here all week. She started Thursday,” she pointed out, her sharp mind clearly still running circles around mine. “Sixty-five and my memory’s better than yours, apparently.”

I rubbed my hand over my head, feeling the first real prickle of irritation.

“Have you been spending more time with your brother like I told you?” she pressed on.

I grabbed a cookie and took a bite, mostly to stop myself from sighing. “I’m doing the best I can, Margaret. These are delicious, by the way.”

“I know, Eddie. My cookies still take first prize at the church social,” she said warmly, then shifted instantly “It’s Sunday. Vitals and chapel both got skipped this morning. Why didn’t you go?” She was already moving toward the stairs, stethoscope swinging. “I’ll go up and assess Bryan now. Check his neuro status and see how he’s doing.”

I followed Margaret up the stairs, watching the determined set of her shoulders.

“That’s very nice,” I said. “So What's your checkout time?”

Margret laughed. “Eager for me to go already? Like you can manage Bryan perfectly fine without a nurse wandering around the house.”

“Well, there is a nurse now."

She stopped near the top of the stairs and glanced back at me, eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of affection and steel. “Yes, of course. And if there are two nurses around, it certainly wouldn’t hurt, would it? Extra hands, extra care, Eddie. That’s the responsible thing.”