Seven Brothers of Sin

Looking inside, this is definitely the right place. Because not only does that food smell amazing, but there’s a young woman at the stove cooking. Who is that? My mind runs furiously. She’s curvy and dark-haired, and three of my brothers are practically salivating in their seats at the kitchen table, their boners about to bust through their shorts. Seriously, who is this chick? A body like a babe, wielding a spatula like a pro? Wet dreams do come true.

Quietly pushing the door open, I let myself in. And suddenly lightning strikes my brain. Holy shit, it’s little Macy Jones. Squinting, I look at the female again. Yep, it’s gotta be. Back then, she was scrawny like a twig, more like a boy than a girl.

But damn, have things changed. Because she’s got an ass that’s definitely not boy-like, with a rack that could make grown men weep. In fact, my dick’s practically dripping now, taking in the delectable sight.

And my brothers are on the same wavelength. As I step into the kitchen, their heads barely turn, eyes glued to the girl.

“Yo,” says one of them. The other two don’t even bother to speak, staring at our beautiful kitchen goddess.

“Yo,” I grunt in return.

The three look lot alike, same as when they were younger. Hell, we all look alike, with the same dark hair, blue eyes, and massive builds. It’s the black Irish blood.

But that doesn’t interest me right now. What interests me is the girl at the stove.

“Hey, I’m Trent,” I say. “You must be Macy.”

She turns, startled.

“Oh I didn’t even see you,” she murmurs. “Did you knock?”

I growl.

“No.”

She blushes.

“Well, we’re all neighbors here,” she says quickly. “And you have to be one of the Morgans.”

I nod. Like I said, our family resemblance is astonishing.

“Yeah, I’m related to these fuckers. Their big brother. Trent.”

She looks at me and blushes again.

“The doctor?”

“Yep, that’s right,” I drawl. “Here to take care of Daddy-O, he’s sick,” I say, brows lowering. But this isn’t the time or place to get into a long, drawn-out conversation about the specialized care my dad needs. So I change the subject.

“And what are you up to Macy? What’s goin’ on, hanging with these losers?” I nod at my brothers. “Last I remember, you were a pigtailed, soccer-playing tomboy.”

One of my bros busts in then.

“Macy here’s a cook,” drawls Tim. “And we’re her taste-testers.”

I guffaw. Seriously? These guys would eat anything, they don’t qualify as taste-testers. Literally, you could feed them slop and they’d gobble it up like pigs.

But clearly, an opportunity’s at hand, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

“It’s all good,” I drawl casually, sliding into a seat at the counter. “So what’s this taste-testing about?”

The brunette blushes again before looking up.

“Well, I just finished my freshman year at State,” she says. “I don’t have a major or anything, I’m still undecided. But I wanted to write a cookbook in the meantime, just self-published,” she says quickly. “Any real publisher wouldn’t be interested, not at first.”

I shoot her a glance.

“Have you talked to Matt?” I ask, nodding at my bro. “Mofo here has the writing itch too. He’s writing a book too.”

She turns to look at my brother.

“Oh really? What about?”

Matt, to his credit, looks embarrassed.

“A bunch of stuff,” he grunts. “I haven’t had a ton of time to work on it lately, these fools have been taking up a shitload of my energy.”

The twins don’t look guilty at all.

“Yeah, but you get a salary,” Tim retorts. “A real nice one I might add.”

This is where I butt in. Because actually, our family’s loaded. The company that the twins started has taken off like a fucking rocket, and the cash comes in waves now. In fact, they’re even trying to recruit me to be the company doctor. But I make a shit ton of money at my practice, so it’s gonna take at least double that to make me switch.

But we live a normal life despite being rich as Midas, and there’s no sense in giving it away. People would be envious, wanting what we have when they can’t get it.

So instead, I change the subject.

“Tell me more about the cookbook,” I say smoothly, shooting a warning glance at my brothers.

Macy colors happily, although she looks at Matt with empathy.

“It’s nothing big,” she says shyly. “I’ve always loved to prepare food, and it’s something that I want to do more of. Thus, the taste-testing,” she adds simply.

I drawl again.

“Honey, I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing. And we’re more than happy to be your guinea pigs. But do your parents know about this cookbook thing?”

She colors.

“They know, Jim and Marsha absolutely know,” she says slowly, puttering away at a simmering stew. “They don’t want me to do it, they want me to be an accountant or something,” she says, nose scrunching. “But I can’t see it. Me and numbers? It’s like saying it’s going to rain in the Sahara,” she says with a deprecating smile.