Nobody messes with my little sister…” That’s what my stepbrother always said after he’d leave a trail of destruction in his wake.
His rage was uncontrollable. If someone so much as looked at me wrong, they’d find themselves unconscious a few minutes later. It got so bad that my parent’s insisted on him joining the military in hopes that he could get his anger under control.
It killed me when he left. We grew up together, laughed, and played together. I loved him dearly and I knew that he loved me. I just never pieced together exactly how much he actually loved me.
When he came back home, things changed. He was handsome before but now he was ripped, and now I was a full-grown woman. What was this tension between us, and had he really learned to control his anger? I’d find out the sooner than later that a hidden desire was the source of my stepbrother’s rage.