The Other Brother

“You bastard,” Becky snarls. “You cheating fucking bastard. You are dead to
me.”
“B-becky-beans,” Dan the Man stutters, and I cringe.
Oh fuck. That is not an attractive nickname.
I know the reason that Dan the Man was able to afford such an expensive wedding
band, and it’s not through anything good he’s done of his own. No, his father left him a fortune
and left me nothing. After all, I’m not a Hardbottom of the illustrious Hardbottom family like
Dan is—I’m Liam fucking Black, an actual bastard. All my father left me was his last name—
and he hardly even left me that.
I used to be a little bitter about it. But now that we’re older, bitterness has been
washed away by success.
I made a fortune out of nothing—out of counting cards and being so damn good at
it, now I own my own casino: the Royale.
And here Dan the Man is, standing in the Royale’s elevator dripping with lube
and begging his fiancée not to kill him—or at least not to cancel the wedding.
“Remember the good times, Becky-beans,” Dan pleads from the elevator.
“Fuck that,” Becky spits at him. “I don’t even want to remember you exist. I’m
going to forget everything, Dan. Every single fucking thing about you—and you can just fucking
wallow in obscurity.”
“Becky-beans, please!” Dan wails, but it’s too late.
She’s already flung that million-dollar engagement ring at him and the elevator
doors close up right behind it.
Becky Brooks.
She’s bubbly, bright and—even I have to admit—more beautiful than any man
deserves. Green eyes like an Irish morning and an ass so tight, you could bounce fifty pence off
of it.
When she turns to me, I open my arms to her. She might have put on a brave face
before Dan the Man and his goons and his whores, but there’s no shame in crying now.
She nestles her pretty little red head against my broad, muscled shoulder while
she sobs.
“There there, love,” I say, stroking her fiery, silken hair. “Let it out.”