With Love

Chapter Two

Hello!

I would like to point this out now, I see the Love family having a hybrid accent of an RP British accent and an American accent because they were born and raised for most of their childhood in the UK but moved to the USA. You'll find out why later in the story!

Enjoy.

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The tip of the kitchen knife pressed into their neck over the carotid artery. One move on their end and they would be bleeding out in seconds.

But I would never do that to my brother. Unless he gave me a reason to.

"Jasper," I said calmly, my voice holding no sign of emotion, "What are you doing here?"

He stared down at me, barely four inches taller than me, and his lip twitched upwards. "You've gotten sloppy, sister," he claimed, his lips moving a minimal amount due to the knife still pressed against his throat. The  British accent stood out more than it usually did. Prick. More than mine since I had made a point to westernize myself these three years.

"This coming from the boy with a knife to his throat?" I bit out, my words harsh.

"Yes, since you failed to note the gun an inch away from your spleen," he replied casually, his brown eyes flicking downwards.

My lips thinned as I glanced between our bodies.

Fuck.

How did I miss that? An aggravated noise came from the back of my throat and I pressed the tip of the knife further into his neck, he didn't even flinch, before tossing it onto the counter. A small bead of blood trickled down his throat, the skin barely broken.

The anger was less about my brother pulling a gun on me and more about the fact that I had missed it. "What do you want?"

Jasper brushed a careless finger over the blood and straightened out his black suit, retrieving a handkerchief and dipping it gently against the wound while slipping the gun inside his suit jacket, and gave me a satisfied smirk. "I've come to pick you up."

My fingers curled into a fist but I bit down on the anger. "I have until next year. He promised." I willed the tears threatening to gloss over my eyes back until my face blanked of all emotion. There's nothing worse in this world than my brother seeing me emotionally unstable.

Jasper dabbed the handkerchief over his neck once more, ensuring the blood had clotted before slipping it into his pockets. "Plans change," he said, the only offer of an explanation.

"That's not a good enough answer, Jas. You don't get to show up at my home unannounced," I fumed, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. He stared silently.

The only sound heard was the clang of metal on granite when I picked up the knife and placed it back in its holder without looking.

"I can do whatever I want," he stated with a shrug and I felt my inner hackles raise.

The corners of my mouth turned up at his words. "Now, Jasper, you and I both know that's not true."

That smug smirk on his face turned into a scowl. Ha. "Uncle Ron is dead."

My smug expression slipped. "What?" I demanded, eyes wide as I stared up at my brother, searching his eyes for any false sign.

"We found him early this morning in his home. Shot in the back of the head, execution-style." Jasper all business, as usual, showed no hint of empathy for our uncle.

"Who?" My voice was the kind of dead calm I had spent so many years trying to forget, and I let the side of me that has been locked away for three years, slowly creep back in.