J. Bradley: Raped by brother

"We'll take care of it tomorrow," Emmett said. "Harry and Deke, when they go in to make the call."

Whit stopped abruptly. "Deke? Who the hell's Deke? God damn it, what's going on here?"

Emmett positioned himself close to Whit, Monica noticed, his huge bulk blotting out the moon. She felt the arm she was holding tense suddenly.

"What's the matter with you, Whit?" Carla asked lightly. "He's just my brother. What were you expecting, you big fucker," she laughed, leaning against him, pressing her tit into his other arm.

"You didn't say anything about a brother. I didn't know you had a brother. Damn it, we had it all figured out. What are you trying to pull?"

"I'm not pulling anything, honey," she cooed soothingly. "Deke's with me, that's all. The split's just the same as before, sweetie. Besides, we have to have someone who talks English, don't we?"

"Emmett and Harry talk English," Whit said, still not moving.

"You call that talking?" she laughed. "It takes another wild pig to understand what those swamp boys are grunting."

"Fuckin' bitch," Emmett grated. "I'm gonna see you get your cunt sucked off by a bull gator when this is over."

Carla lifted her brows. "See?" she shrugged. She urged Whit forward. "Come on, it's all right. Everything's under perfect control, honey, I promise."

Whit got into the boat. He pulled Monica in after him. Carla helped Emmett shove it into the water. They whispered something. She jumped up on the bow while Emmett slopped into the water beside the boat. It wallowed fiercely when he heaved his body over the side and took the controls and started it.

He threaded the boat through the maze of islands, some big, some no more than five mangrove trunks with intertwined roots. Monica couldn't have retraced the route for anything.

There was a large stretch of open water, and the motor throbbed as Emmett let the boat go. Then, after maybe fifteen minutes since shoving off, she spotted a solitary gleam of yellowish light on one of the islands. Emmett made for it. Then he slowed the boat and let the prow swing toward a rickety dock jutting into a small cove. The light came from a cabin just up the beach. It was nestled in a grove of leaning palms, like something on a South Pacific postcard.

The door opened as they climbed the low bill, and three people stood in it. "About time," one of the men said, coming out. "Everything all right, Carla?"

"Sure, Deke," she answered.

Monica watched them. Her breath stopped when she saw them hug each other and kiss. It was more than the kind of kiss she would give her own brother. She felt Whit's surprise, too, by the way his hand clamped around her arm.

Deke was slender and blond. In the light, he had the same general featuring that Carla had. He was quite handsome. There didn't seem much doubt that they really were brother and sister.

He smiled at Monica after looking her over briefly, without the slimness Emmett had made her feel by his inspection. "Monica, come on in. Whit," he nodded, acknowledging him, "I hope I'm not too big a surprise."

"You're a surprise," Whit said.

"Well, Carla thought it would be better if I were in on it."

"Just as long as everybody remembers who's running it," Whit said warningly.

Deke turned away and gestured with his arm. "Meet Wendy and Harry, Monica."

"Hey, you," Wendy said around a wad of gum.

She was a small girl. Puffy all over. Stringy hair that had a faintly sandy tint to it. Her eyes were blue and bright. Her lips were full. Her tits were big, soft melons that wobbled constantly inside a faded green tee shirt. Her buns looked ready to burst the ass out of her shorts. The crotch was so tight that her puffy cunt lips showed the split down the middle of her pussy.

Harry was long and lanky, with a big adam's apple and ropey muscles all over his arms. One tooth was missing from the upper set. He wore Levi's that didn't conceal the long rod of his prick. Monica saw the tube of flesh heading down one leg.

Surprisingly, the cabin had two rooms in it. There was a kitchen of sorts at the end of the main room. A well pump stood over the sink, handle and spout and all. At the other end of the big room, added onto the back of the cabin, was a bedroom of sorts. She could see a single big bed, sagging in the middle.

There was a plain wooden table, hard chairs, a moldy sofa with the cover half rotted away and covered by a beach towel. There were cotton mattresses on the floor and cans of food lining open shelves.

A small, blackened fireplace built of coral rock was set into the middle of the back wall. The light came from hissing lanterns. An old-fashioned kerosene lantern hung by its hoop from a nail in one of the open studs. It was covered, as was every other spot in the cabin that hadn't been touched recently, by a gummy layer of salt and dust.

Monica took it all in – the cabin and the people. She turned toward her brother. "Where's Burke," she demanded quietly. Her eyes glinted with indigo ice. "What on earth are you and I doing here, Whit?"

Deke smiled. He waved his hand and turned to sit at the table, scraping a chair back, making it teeter on the back legs. "Tell her, Whit," he said. "It's all yours."

Whit sucked breath to the bottom of his lungs. "We've been kidnapped, Sis," he said.

"What!"

His face screwed up with fierce emotion. "Damn it, I want my money!" he nearly screamed. "I'm tired of being a prisoner! I'm tired of having to beg and scrape around for a dollar from the old fart every lime I want to do something! I'm tired of being shadowed and chaperoned by that Goddamn Chester!"

He looked at her. His eyes were nearly wild. "You saw him, didn't you? You saw how I had to have help in shaking him! Monica, I want my own life, and I want it now! Christ, I'll be eighteen next month. That makes me a legal adult now. That means I can skip out of that Goddamn prison and go anywhere I want and do anything I want, and he can't say a fucking word!"

She stared back. Her mouth opened and closed. She didn't know what to say. It was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard of. And yet she knew, as of today, exactly what Whit felt. Maybe not quite exactly. He'd had two years more time to let it rankle than she had.

"But I can't," he went on, emphasizing each word. "I can't do one damn thing when I'm finally free, because I don't have any money."

"And this is your way of getting it?" she cried. "Robbing your own grandfather? Oh, Whit – why don't you just get a job!"

"Doing what? The old bastard doesn't even want us going to college, did you know that? What are we going to do, Monica? Sling hash in a crummy restaurant? What?"

She put her hand to her stomach. She turned away from him and moved to the couch and sat on it. He followed her, his eyes pleading for understanding.

"Besides, I don't want his money – just mine. Just what Mom left me. What's wrong with getting my own money?"

Monica waved her arm at the crowd watching them. "But why them, Whit?"

"Because they knew about this place – Emmett and Harry – and Carla knew them, and…"

"Why?" Monica asked quickly.

"What?"

"Why does Carla know them? From where? Is she good pals with Wendy? Look at them, Whit – do they look like they'd be in the same crowd together? Or Deke and the others?"

Whit opened his mouth and closed it. He looked at Carla and Deke, and then he looked at the company they kept. He saw his sister's point, and he had no answer. His expression changed.

"And why me, Whit? Why bring me in on this?"

"Hell, that's easy!" he said. "The old fart will pay to get you back. He'd pay them to get rid of me. I look like the old man, remember? I remember. Gramps won't ever let me forget it. Bad seed from a rotten fruit, that's me. Herb Lobocky's kid, that's me."