Four Brothers and a Bride-Chapter 218

SKYLAR

Steam wraps around me like smoke as I brace my palms against the cold tile wall. The water’s scalding, but I can’t feel it anymore. All I feel is him and the echo of his voice, the memory of his breath hot against my ear. "Don’t think you can hide from me, Sky. You owe me, remember?"

I press my forehead against the wall as my throat burns. God, I hate crying. It makes me feel like I’m still his.

I thought I’d escaped Colt when I left home. Thought Danvarr was big enough to hide me and that the noise of my brothers’ lives could drown out the ghost of his voice. But two days ago, Colt proved me wrong. He found me. He always finds me.

A broken laugh slips through my lips, partly a sob and partly hysteria. Five brothers including Keith. Five men that should serve as a barricade in my life. Yet, somehow, the one man I need protection from still slips through every crack. The irony stings. The world thinks girls with brothers are untouchable. Maybe they should meet mine, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice when their long-lost sister’s falling apart.

I tilt my head back and let the water sting my face. I can’t tell them. That’s the first, unspoken rule. Because the moment I say it out loud that my abusive ex came back and hit me again, that he still owns a piece of your fear, I’ll stop being Skylar Sawyer, the sarcastic, unpredictable one. Instead, I’ll become Skylar, the broken one, the charity case and the dramatic one.

I dig my nails into my palms until I feel blood. Colt said he needs the money in five days’ time; ten grand! I could almost laugh again. Where the hell am I supposed to get that? And even if I manage to get him the money, he’ll just keep coming back for more. There will be no end to the exploitation.

I turn off the shower and the sound of dripping water fills the silence. My reflection waits for me in the mirror, blurry at first, then cruelly clear as the steam fades. There I am, a ghost wrapped in a towel with red-rimmed red eyes and a split lip.

And beneath the towel... there are more stories written on my skin.

The burn mark on my thigh is from Colt’s cigar, Havana Gold, because he had thought I smiled too long at the bartender that night.

The thin scar above my ribs however is self-inflicted from a night when the noise in my head got too loud, and I wanted to bleed it quiet.

The faint bruise on my shoulder came from a doorframe because Colt didn’t like me walking away mid-argument.

I trail my fingers along each mark like tracing a map. Each scar says in Colt’s voice: Mine. Mine. Mine.

I reach for the cigarette I keep hidden behind the sink and light it. The smoke fills the bathroom, curling into the air like ghosts of all my past versions. The nicotine hits hard and burns bright like the truth I’m trying to suppress.

Then my eyes track to a pair of silver scissors sitting in the cabinet. I grab them before I can talk myself out of it. A few snips and blond hair falls around my feet like shed skin. My reflection blurs again with a vision of me with shorter, wet and uneven hair. I grin at the mess.

"Maybe a little crazy will get their attention," I whisper to myself. "Maybe one of them will deign to notice my new, disturbing look."

Blue dye comes next. The color stains my fingers and smears on the towel. It looks wild, almost electric. The kind of blue that demands to be seen which is exactly what I want. Just as I begin to relish my new look, a message comes in from Cree. I sigh and open the message.

Cree: U said you’d take me to see grandpops. still on?

I hesitate. I don’t owe that girl anything. She’s nosy and fake sweet, but she just gave me a reason to pop in unannounced and see my Dad. I Have the whole long drive to devise an excuse to get the money from him. He’s always been generous to me in the past, funding my account before I could runout of money. However, it was soon discovered that I ran out of thousands pretty fast. Dad threatened to cut down my allowance if I didn’t learn to be more prudent with money.

But he had no idea Colt was the one in charge of spending my money. Since Colt wouldn’t listened and kept making hefty withdrawals, dad eventually cut down my money significantly. Now, money talk between us is a sore subject which is why I am not eager to approach him for help. There’d be a ton of questions tougher than SATs.

Still, I don’t have any other option. I’ve got to get creative, swallow my pride and get Colt his money or he’ll make me suffer for it. So I text Cree back.

Be ready in an hour. I’ll pick you up.

An hour later, I’m caked in makeup, with foundation heavy enough to hide the bruises and lipstick too dark to look like mine. My reflection looks like a stranger, which is exactly the point. Grunge, black boots, torn fishnets, denim jacket with a skull pin. I dare the world to look and not see me now.

When Cree slides into the passenger seat of my car, her mouth opens, then closes again. She stares at my hair.

"Wow, Sky, you look—"

"Don’t," I warn without looking at her. She stays quiet after that.

The drive to Fuxton feels endless. Trees blur past us. Cree fidgets with her phone the whole way, probably texting someone about me. I catch her reflection in the window and loathe the pity in her eyes. Whenever she tries to make small talk, I crank up the radio and she gets the message.

Dad’s house in Fuxton sits like a quiet insult at the edge of the city; too modest to scream wealth and yet too polished to be humble. Cree gawks at the white walls and the columns, whispering, "Wow"

"Yeah," I mutter. "The palace of neglect."

Security almost doesn’t let us in. I can’t even blame them. The blue hair coupled with my infrequent visits don’t exactly scream family.

"Miss Skylar?" the guard finally says after checking twice. "You look...different."

My response is my signature scowl. He buzzes us in.

Inside, Cree murmurs, "It’s so... normal."

She’s right. The decor is simple; clean lines, pale wood, sunlight spilling through tall windows. Save for the fresh flowers that fill every corner, the house would look sterile like a museum no one lives in. The staff blink at me like I’m a ghost. I wave a hand.

"You can stop staring. I’m not an apparition." I jerk my chin toward Cree. "Take her to Grandpops. Cree, you’ve got thirty minutes, max."

Cree hesitates. "Aren’t you coming?"

"No."

Her eyes widen with surprise before she goes.

I climb the stairs. Each creak feels louder than the last. The house smells faintly of cedar. When I reach the second floor, I hear his voice — low, warm and bouncing with dad’s rarest sound; laughter.

I freeze outside his room. He’s on the phone, smiling, I mean really smiling.

"Yes, Ashley. You deserve all the accolades your design’s getting. They’re timeless."

My throat tightens. Of course, he’s talking to one of them. My brothers, his golden boys.

"I’m proud of you," He continues. "I wish we could celebrate, perhaps dinner and drinks with your brothers.... You can make it happen? Thanks, son. It’ll be a dream come true to have all of us share a meal as a family."

A family? I repeat in my head. Right.

When he finally hangs up, I step into the doorway. "Good to know you still remember how to laugh."

He looks up, startled at first, then frowns. "Skylar. How many times have I told you not to eavesdrop?"

"Door was open," I say, stepping in. "Wanted to say hi."

He gestures vaguely toward me. "Good to know you still remember the way home."

"Yeah." I chuckle softly, then fold my arms.

"How have you been?"

His relaxed tone sounds perfunctory. Mentally, I rifle through Colt’s recent attack and shrug my shoulders. "I’ve been...good. Was that Ashley on the phone? Didn’t realize you two had grown so...chummy."

"It’s still a work in progress."

I reply before I can stop myself. " Well, it’s certainly moving faster than our relationship ever did."

He frowns at that. "Okay, Skye, if you’re here for money, just say it. I’m not in the mood for theatrics."

My chest constricts. "Wow. That’s it?"

He doesn’t look up as he fusses over clothes in his closet. "I’m not doing this with you, child. I’m not."

"Fine," I whisper. "At least tell me you’re making preparations for the birthday party next week."

That makes him pause. He looks up, puzzled. "What birthday party? The boys just celebrated their two months ago."

For a second, I forget to breathe. The silence stretches. Then I see the flicker of realization on his face. He curses under his breath and rakes a hand through his hair. "Sky, I—"

"Don’t bother," I cut in. "You’ve only got four kids that matter anyway."

"That’s not fair—"

"No, you’re right," I say, bitter laughter bubbling up. "What’s fair is you remembering every stupid detail about your precious sons and forgetting me. Every. Single. Time."

"Skylar, you’re being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" My voice cracks as I take steps towards him. "Do you even know what my natural hair color is?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Humor me." I gesture to my head. "What color was it before this?"

He looks away. "Drop it, Sky."

I almost laugh again. "It’s blonde," I whisper. "I cut it this morning but I bet you didn’t notice that, did you? Because you don’t see me."

He opens his mouth, but I keep going. "You see them. Asher, Ashton, Ashley, and Ashal. The perfect quadruplet sons. The ones worth your dinners, your calls, your attention. And then there’s me, the footnote in this family’s book."

He looks pained, but can’t come up with a rebuttal fast enough. It makes me angrier.

"Forget it," I say, wiping my eyes. "You were right, by the way. I’m here because I do need money. Ten grand."

His brow furrows. "What? For? Don’t tell me you already blew through your allowance. It’s not even the middle of the month for Pete’s sake, Skye."

"What does it matter? Want to take a guess how much the quads spend in a week? You don’t want to go there." I tell him. "If you’re going to interrogate me, I’ll just ask my brothers. I’m sure they’d love another reason to feel superior." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

He exhales sharply. "Fine." He opens his phone and sends it. A soft ping hits mine. "Done. Happy?"

"I wish."

When I reach the door, I add, "You know what? The saddest part isn’t that you forgot my birthday. It’s that it took you five seconds to remember it wasn’t the boys’.".

"Cree!" I call from the hall. "We’re leaving."

She rushes out, whispering goodbye to my granddad’s nurse. She looks at me like she wants to say something but doesn’t. Good. I don’t have space for pity. The drive back is quiet. My thoughts are louder than the wind zipping past my ears. He didn’t even look at me long enough to notice the bruises.

***

The book fair is fairly crowded with bright banners and laughter. It’s the perfect place to disappear. Colt chose well. He waits behind a side wall near the old fountain, hands in his pockets, with a sadistic grin. My stomach knots as I approach him and hand him the envelope.

"Ten grand," he says, thumbing through it. "You always were good for it."

"Now we’re done?" I ask with hopeful eyes, even though I know he’s too greedy to let me go.

He chuckles, eyes flicking to my hair. "Tell me that’s a wig."

I run a hand to smoothen it. "It’s not. I got bored and wanted a new look...I cut it."

His smile vanishes. "You not only cut it but dyed it, huh?" He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking hard. Pain shoots down my neck. "How could do you act so brazenly when you know how I feel about your hair, Sky?"

"Let go," I hiss.

He leans in, breath sour. "Next time you decide to mutilate yourself, ask permission."

Rage surges up, finally beating the fear. I shove at him. "We’re done, Colt. You got your money. Now, stay away from me."

He laughs deeply. "You think this settles it? You’re very mistaken." He leans in and gives me a rough kiss on the lips. "I’ll see you in two weeks, baby, and you better have another ten grand."

He vanishes into the crowd. I stand there shaking, trying not to cry. I wipe my face with my sleeve and pull my hoodie up. Ironically, I don’t want anyone to look at me. Turning, I keep my head bowed as I walk through the crowd. I’ve barely taken ten steps when I see her; Demi Branson. She’s standing by a stall ahead, skimming a book. Suddenly, my blood boils.

Perfect. Like my day can’t get any worse. Sweet Demi. Everyone’s favorite. The girl who’s got everything and everyone wrapped around her little finger. The girl they won’t stop comparing me with. I hate how she’s got a better life than me who’s from a wealthy family with famous brothers. Looking at Demi stirs up something vile inside me, something worse than jealousy.

So, I finger the small penknife in my pocket that was meant for Colt. It feels cold and sharp, and I feel alive.

Before I know it, I’m standing beside her, sliding a brief glance at the title in her hand. "The ending’s predictable," I say, nodding at the book. "The heroine forgives everyone and learns to love herself. Typical trash."

She looks up, startled, then smiles. Smiles. "Oh, I didn’t realize. You’ve read it?"

Her voice is soft and syrupy.

"Yeah," I bite out. "And if you’re buying it for tips, you might as well skip to the last page."

"I just thought the blurb sounded interesting," she says carefully. "It’s my first time at a fair like this. Is it yours?"

The words hit like a slap. What’s with the act? Why is she talking like she doesn’t know me.

I drop my hood, shake my blue hair out. "What, gonna act like you don’t know who I am now? Funny because ’m the one you shoved down a flight of stairs and yet you’re here looking at me like I’m a stranger."

She blinks, confused. "I’m sorry, have we—"

She laughs loudly. "Jeez, cut the crap. There are no cameras around. You don’t have to put on a show to fool people. Damn, girl, maybe you should write a book of your own: How to be the perfect little hypocrite and bang your way to the top of the food chain. Everyone might love the idea you’ve sold them of who Demi is but you and I both know what you really are; a snake."

Her lips part, trembling as she backs away from me. "I—I think you have me mistaken—"

"Oh no, I don’t."

She turns and starts walking fast. I follow her. The knife’s handle digs into my palm. My heartbeat roars in my ears. Just one cut. Just one moment of power and my rage would be satiated. But as I reel a hand up to cut her, a hand grabs my wrist and the knife clatters to the ground.

I spin furiously only to be suddenly lifted, and thrown over firm shoulders like a weightless doll. Feet dangling like the world turned upside down, I kick and scream as I am steered away from the crowd to an alleyway. Oh no, not again. I can tell it’s not Colt. Who’s got me and what does he want?

When he sets me down, the urge to flee dims as I stare into gray eyes that reek of calmness.

"Why are you trying to hurt Demi?" he asks softly, steadying me as my wobbly legs try to adjust.

"It’s none of your damn business!" I snarl.

His grip is firm but not scary. "It is, when you’re about to hurt Demi"

"Who the hell are you and why do you even care? You don’t know anything about that wench!"

"I don’t need to. I won’t stand by and watch her get hurt."

My eyes stray ahead and then back to him. "Are you her body guard or something?"

He drops his hands and jams them in his pockets. "Or something."

Something about his voice cracks through the fury. "I see. Like she doesn’t have enough men in her life already." I roll my eyes and dust my clothes.

"I reckon you’ve got more men in your life than Demi does."

He doesn’t flinch as I swing at him, knuckles grazing his jaw. He simply wipes his jaw. "And by that I meant your father and brothers, Ms. Skylar."

I blink in shock at his words. He knows me even with the new look? "Who are you? Demi’s latest conquest? I see you did your homework. Too bad your talents are wasted following her ass around."

His gaze hardens just slightly. "A woman like Demi doesn’t need to buy loyalty for people to come to her aid."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? Well, I guess I missed the application form for that kind of sainthood or someone would have shown up when some creep had his hands on me ten minutes ago."

He studies me for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. "Sorry to hear that."

"Whatever," I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Go back to your precious Demi before someone like me who’s got scores to settle with her turns up. Wordlessly, he pivots on his heels and is gone. I stand there breathing hard when a voice sneers behind me.

"Didn’t take you long to lure another man to an alley, you slut."

Colt. My blood runs cold. He’s back, smirking.

"Whore," he spits. "Couldn’t wait five minutes before another man had his hands on you."

"Leave me alone," I whisper. He raises his hand fast and the slap snaps my head to the side. My vision sparks white. Then there’s a blur of motion; Colt flying backward and crashing into the wall, next to a trash bin. It’s Demi’s conquest again. He hits Colt once, twice, until the man’s groaning on the floor.

"Stay away from her," He growls. "Next time, I won’t stop."

He picks up the envelope Colt dropped and tosses it at me. "Yours?"

I catch the ten grand and bob my head affirmatively. Colt stumbles off into the crowd with a broken lip and a limp. I stand frozen, trembling. The guy turns to me, eyes soft again. "I’m sorry I was late."

I shake my head. "I’m still in one piece. You didn’t have to but thank you." Something in me cracks then — something small and fragile as he nods and starts to leave. I I call out, "I didn’t catch your name."

He pauses. "Lucien."

"Lucien, If I pay you... would you protect me like Demi? He’ll come back. He always does."

His eyes darken with something like sympathy. "I’m not for hire."

"Of course," I mutter. "Figures. Only Demi gets knights in shining armor."

He tilts his head. "Funny. You look to me like a girl who doesn’t need any Knight to save her, and it has nothing to do with the outfit." Then he’s gone.

I stand there shaking, clutching the money. For a long time, I can’t move. Then I pull my hoodie down my head again and whisper to no one,

"Maybe I wouldn’t mind buying that playbook on how to be Demi Branson if it gets me Knights like Lucien."

And I walk into the crowd, blue hair gleaming like defiance under the afternoon sun.