Craved By My Ex's Brother: A Taboo Affair

The Shadows We Keep

Christopher’s car roared down the highway, the engine growling in protest as he pushed it to its limits.

His grip on the steering wheel was so tight his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched so hard it felt like it might crack under the pressure.

“What the f**k is she doing there?” he muttered, his voice low and venomous, barely audible over the roar of the car.

His heart hammered in his chest, each beat fueled by a cocktail of anger and disbelief. He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, the sharp, hollow sound echoing in the confined space.

No matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t outrun the memory clawing its way to the forefront of his mind.

Two years earlier.

“Abigail!” Christopher’s voice thundered, raw and broken, as the rose and velvet ring box slipped from his trembling hands. The box hit the tiled floor with a hollow clink, the sound echoing in the sudden, deafening silence. His chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving behind a vacuum of disbelief.

In front of him, tangled in the disheveled bed sheets, was Abigail. Her naked body gleamed under the dim light, her hair a wild mess as she froze mid-motion. And on the bed beneath her, smirking with infuriating nonchalance, was the man she’d once laughed off as “just her boss.” The one she’d claimed was gay.

Christopher stood rooted to the spot, his mind struggling to process what his eyes were screaming at him. His heart, which had been so full of anticipation and love just moments ago, now felt like it had been ripped from his chest and stomped on.

“Christopher, I—I can explain!” Abigail scrambled off the man, her movements frantic and desperate. She tripped over the sheets as she tried to cover herself, but her nakedness betrayed her, every inch of her shame exposed.

Christopher’s breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as anger and heartbreak warred within him. He couldn’t speak. His throat felt constricted, and his hands shook as he clenched them into fists.

“Explain?” he finally spat, his voice low and dangerous, carrying a weight that made Abigail flinch.

She fell to her knees, crawling toward him with tears streaming down her face. “Please, baby, listen to me,” she sobbed, her voice cracking with desperation. “It wasn’t what it looked like! I—I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

His laughter was cold and hollow, devoid of humor. “Not what it looked like?” he repeated, his voice rising with every word. “I walk in, Abigail, with a f*****g ring in my pocket, ready to propose to you, and I find you—” His voice broke, a sharp crack that mirrored the breaking of his heart.

“Baby, please,” she whimpered, reaching for him. Her trembling hands gripped his pants as if holding onto him could undo the damage. “It was a mistake! I was drunk, Christopher. I—I don’t even remember how it happened. He—he must’ve drugged me!”

Her excuses only stoked the fire raging inside him. He leaned down, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Abigail,” he growled, his voice ice-cold, the sharp edge of his fury slicing through her protests.

“Christopher, I’m begging you!” she cried, her sobs growing louder. “It wasn’t my fault! I love you, baby. You have to believe me!”

He saw it then—the flicker of guilt in her eyes, the way they darted away from his. She wasn’t begging for forgiveness; she was scrambling to cover her tracks.

“You think I’m that f*****g stupid?” he roared, the words echoing off the walls. His chest heaved, his breathing erratic as his hands trembled with restrained rage.

His fingers dug into her flesh, leaving angry red marks on her pale skin. “You betrayed me,” he spat, his voice cracking under the weight of his heartbreak.

“Please, baby!” she whimpered, her tears falling freely now. “I didn’t mean it. I swear it won’t happen again. Just—just give me a chance!”

His response was swift and unforgiving. His hand flew, the back of it connecting with her cheek in a sharp, resounding slap. Abigail crumpled to the floor, clutching her face as she sobbed, her body curling into itself like a wounded animal.

Christopher stared down at her, his chest heaving as the sting of his actions reverberated through him. The room was silent except for her muffled cries and his ragged breathing.

“Don’t call me,” he hissed, his voice low and cold, devoid of the love it once held for her. “Don’t text me. Don’t come near me. You’re nothing to me now. You f*****g b***h!

The so called boss on the bed scrambled to his feet, the towel he’d been loosely tying around his waist slipped to the floor, leaving him momentarily exposed before he frantically grabbed it again.

“Hey, man, what the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you ever lay a hand on my woman!” he barked, his voice cracking as he rushed toward Christopher.

Christopher’s head snapped toward him, his eyes dark, deadly, like storm clouds rolling over a battlefield. His chest rose and fell with controlled fury as he took in the sight of the nearly naked man barreling toward him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Christopher muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a snarl.

Before the man could get closer, Christopher stepped back, his movements precise and predatory, like a lion circling its prey. The boss lunged at him, his hands shoving against Christopher’s chest with more desperation than strength.

“Don’t touch me,” Christopher growled, his voice low and venomous, but the man didn’t heed the warning.

As the man raised a trembling fist to swing at him, Christopher’s instincts kicked in. His body shifted like a coiled spring, dodging the incoming blow with ease. In the same breath, Christopher’s fist connected with the man’s jaw in a devastating punch that echoed through the room like a gunshot.

The man stumbled back, crashing into the dresser with a pained grunt. Blood spurted from his split lip, staining his teeth and dripping onto his bare chest. He looked up at Christopher, his eyes wide with fear now, the earlier bravado utterly shattered.

“You f*****g son of a b***h,” Christopher spat, his voice trembling with rage. His hand trembled slightly, but it wasn’t from fear—it was from the sheer force of the emotions surging through him like a hurricane. “You had the audacity to f**k my girlfriend—and now you think you can put your hands on me? On Christopher Cooper?”

Abigail let out a choked sob, her voice rising in the background. “Christopher, please, stop! He didn’t mean it! He’s—he’s not worth it!”

But Christopher wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing anything but the deafening roar of betrayal and rage pulsing in his ears. His hand reached behind him, his fingers closing around the cold, metallic weight of the gun tucked into his waistband.

The room seemed to freeze as he pulled it out. The gun gleamed under the dim light, a harbinger of death that made Abigail gasp in horror.

“Christopher, no!” she screamed, her voice shrill and desperate as she rushed toward him. “Don’t you dare! Please, don’t do this!”

But her words fell on deaf ears. Christopher’s focus was laser-sharp, his eyes narrowing as he leveled the gun at the man’s head.

“You want to hit me?” Christopher hissed, his voice low and trembling with unrestrained fury. “You want to challenge me after what you’ve done? This is your end. You’re done.”

“Wait! Wait, man! Please!” the man stammered, his hands shooting up in surrender. His eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape, but there was none. “I didn’t mean—please! Just let me—”

“Shut the f**k up,” Christopher snapped, his voice cutting through the man’s pleas like a blade. “You don’t get to beg for mercy after what you’ve done.”

Abigail fell to her knees, clutching at Christopher’s legs as tears streamed down her face. “Christopher, please! He’s not worth it! Don’t throw your life away for him! I’m begging you!”

Christopher didn’t even glance at her. His finger hovered over the trigger, his hand steady despite the storm raging inside him. This wasn’t just about the man in front of him. This was about everything—every lie, every betrayal, every moment he’d been made a fool of.

“You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper.

The gunshot rang out, deafening in the confined space. The man’s body jerked as the first bullet tore through his skull, blood and brain matter splattering across the wall behind him.

Christopher didn’t stop. Another shot. And another. The sound was relentless, each bullet a release of his rage, his betrayal, his heartbreak. By the time the fifth shot echoed into silence, the man’s body was slumped against the dresser, lifeless and drenched in blood.

“Marcos!” Abigail’s scream pierced the air as she scrambled to the man’s side, her hands shaking as she touched his bloodied face. “Oh my God, Marcos! No! No, no, no!”

Her sobs filled the room, raw and heart-wrenching, but Christopher felt nothing. No regret. No remorse. His chest heaved as he stared at the scene before him, his mind numb to everything but the cold satisfaction of vengeance.

As Abigail clutched the dead man’s body, her tears mixing with the blood staining the floor, Christopher turned toward the door. His movements were slow and deliberate, his face devoid of emotion.

Christopher’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles turning white as the barrel hovered inches from Abigail’s forehead. Her tear-streaked face quivered under the cold steel, her eyes wide with terror. She was on her knees, trembling, clutching her bare chest as if that could shield her from the wrath of the man she had betrayed.

He stared down at her, his breath coming in uneven, heavy bursts. His jaw clenched so tightly it felt as though his teeth might shatter. His mind raced, a storm of rage, betrayal, and heartbreak swirling uncontrollably.

“I can send you to him, Abigail,” Christopher muttered, his voice low and menacing, almost a growl. “To hell. Both of you fools.”

His words were venomous, laced with pain so raw it cut through the air like a blade. He shook his head, his free hand trembling as he fought to keep control. The gun in his hand was steady, though—unshaken by the tumult inside him.

Abigail whimpered, reaching out toward him, but her touch only fueled his anger.

“Don’t you f*****g touch me,” he spat, stepping back and out of her reach. He lifted the gun higher, the barrel now pressing against her skin. She flinched, her breath hitching as tears rolled down her face.

He muttered to himself, the words incoherent, a desperate attempt to calm the raging inferno inside. But his eyes, dark and unforgiving, stayed locked on her. He looked at her. And looked at her again.

This was Abigail. The woman he had loved.

His hand shook for a moment, the weight of what he was about to do settling over him like a suffocating fog. He wanted to pull the trigger, to end the pain, to silence the betrayal that screamed at him from every corner of his mind.

But then he stopped.