Title Page

Contents

Contents

Also by BROOKLYN CROSS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Thank You

Stalk Me Links

Copyright

Copyright © October 2022

UNHINGED CAIN

Book 1 of

The Buchanan Brother’s Duet

Written by: Brooklyn Cross

FIRST EDITION.

ASIN ebook: B09XJZD8FX

Edited by: JustAskHer Productions In House Editing Team

Cover Art: Books and Moods

Book Cover Disclaimer: Individuals depicted in the images on the cover and anywhere are models and solely used for illustrative purposes.

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without the author’s written permission. Author Brooklyn Cross.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are productions of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

The ideas represented in this book are not factual representations of anyone’s thoughts affiliated with Author Brooklyn Cross, or of any of the trademarked acknowledgments mentioned in this story. This story is simply a work of fiction.

Trademark Acknowledgements

The author Brooklyn Cross acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of familiar wordmarks, products, actors’ names, television shows, books, characters, video games, and films mentioned in this fiction work.

Created with Vellum

Also by BROOKLYN CROSS

Also by BROOKLYN CROSS

The Righteous Series

(Vigilante/Ex Military Romance - Dark 3-4 Spice 3-4)

Dark Side of the Cloth

Ravaged by the Dark

Sleeping with the Dark

Hiding in the Dark

Redemption in the Dark

Crucified by the Dark (Coming Soon)

Dark Reunion (Coming Soon)

The Consumed Trilogy

(Suspense/Thriller/Anti-Hero Romance - Dark 4-5 Spice 3-4)

Burn for Me

Burn with Me (Coming 2022)

Burn me Down (Coming 2023)

The Buchanan Brother’s Duet

(Serial Killer/Captive Romance - Dark 4-5 Spice 3-4)

Unhinged Cain by Brooklyn

Twisted Abel by T.L Hodel

The Battered Souls World

(Standalone Books Shared World Romance/Dramatic/Women’s Fiction/All The Feels- Dark 2-3 Spice 2-3)

The Girl That Would Be Lost

The Boy That Learned To Swim (Coming Soon)

The Girl That Would Not Break (Coming Soon)

The Brothers of Shadow and Death Series

(Dystopian/Cult/Occult/Poly MMF Romance - Dark 3-4 Spice 3-4)

Anywhere (Coming Soon)

Seven Sin Series

(Multi Author/PNR/Angel and Demons/Redemption - Dark 2-5 Spice 3-5)

Greed by Brooklyn Cross

Lust by Drethi Anis

Envy by Dylan Page

Gluttony by Marissa Honeycutt

Wrath by Billie Blue

Sloth by Talli Wyndham

Pride by T.L. Hodel

WARNING

Playlist

Prologue

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

So I hung my head, and I cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I’ll always love you and make you happy,

If you will only say the same.

But if you leave me and love another,

You’ll regret it all someday.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

You told me once, dear, you really loved me

And no one else could come between.

But now you’ve left me and love another;

You have shattered all of my dreams:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

When I awake, my poor heart pains.

So when you come back and make me happy

I’ll forgive you, dear. I’ll take all the blame.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

By: Jimmie Davis / Charles Mitchell

Chapter 1

CAIN

I lay in a bed that was too small for me, but my parents refused to get new beds for my brother or me. I had no idea why. Their answers never made sense when I asked them questions. Looking over at my nightstand, I let my eyes follow the globs of red lava and sparkles ever so slowly as they floated around inside the glass container of the nightlight. It was supposed to look like a spaceship, but it reminded me more of the thing that vibrated in my mother’s drawer, just fatter. My eyes drifted from the slowly moving gloop that was meant to relax me into sleep to my small angel statue and my leather-bound bible. Sitting up, I pushed the little angel in the middle of her face, and the miniature statue fell back with a tiny thud.

“Stupid statue.”

I grabbed the bible that was not much bigger than my hand. My eyes traced over the gold cross, and the words ‘Holy Bible’ splashed across the front of the book. Like, I wouldn’t know what this boring book was as soon as I opened the cover? My thumb bent the book and let the pages flutter, the tiny words nothing more than a blur. That was the other stupid thing about this book. Why did they make the words so small that everyone interested in the crap the pages held would need glasses to read it? I couldn’t explain why, but I found that strange little fact funny.

Being born as intelligent as I was was a blessing and a curse. I was far more intelligent than even the smartest adult I knew, although they’d argue that fact. Adults didn’t like being told they were wrong about anything, and their favorite answer was ‘because.’ That word was not an answer to a question. Even a kindergartener could tell you that.

Sighing, I was bored, and the air in the room was hot and sticky. Glancing at my window, I took in the curtains that were hanging perfectly still and decided to fan my face with the book since it was the only thing it was good for—well, maybe except for burning it. I’d lit one or two on fire, and they burned hot and fast, the gold pages sizzling as they turned to ash.

Church was interesting, not because I cared what the priest said, but because it gave me the perfect place to watch those that came and sat among the pews. They were never the wiser that I envisioned how I wanted to kill each and every one of those stupid people. They were lemmings in my game, and just like the little floppy-haired animation, they would follow along one after the other. Sure as shit, if one went over the cliff, they all would. I could picture them yelling, ‘praise Jesus,’ on the way down.

I stopped fanning myself long enough to stare at the words again and wondered why adults tried to say the words inside were from God’s lips to our hands. This statement was filled with major issues that they all liked to ignore. If this book was so perfect, why was it missing major portions that no one wanted to discuss? Or why did they say that boys shouldn’t have sex with one another and that God would be angry when that wasn’t referenced until the King James version in 1946? Did God come down again and whisper in some old man’s ear that he didn’t like it? I highly doubted it.

Last Sunday, I was marched out of church because I stood up and told the priest that the Noah’s Ark story was actually a retelling of Gilgamesh. When we got home, my father smacked my ass until I couldn’t sit without wincing for speaking out in church and making the priest look bad. You’d think that the man would know if he’s teaching the crap. Seemed logical to me. Then my father made me stand in the corner like I should be wearing a dunce cap, but really it should be on his head. Should be on all their heads.

Sitting the book down on the nightstand, I slowly shook my head. I didn’t like the sheep in the barn, they were noisy and stupid, and the human versions that lived in this house were no better. Someone needed to cull them from the herd, and as far as I was concerned, they’d get whatever they had coming to them.

A memory of hunting season drifted through my mind. It was this past season when dad had gotten lucky. He’d shot two deer, and their dead carcasses were hung in the shed, and with the memory came the rich metallic scent of fresh blood. There was something about the scent of blood that stirred desires in my young body, desires I didn’t fully understand, but I knew I wanted more.

My tongue ran along my teeth as I felt every rough ridge and sharp point. What would it be like to have fangs and be able to tear the flesh right off the bones of my prey?

My parents were my prey.

I mean, they named me Cain and my brother Abel. What did they expect to happen? I always thought it was funny that my parents were the smiling and faithful parishioners that prayed to a fake god while I was the devil planning their deaths. I suspected that my brother had the same urges. He seemed to enjoy the little games I’d ask him to play as a test. ‘Pull the wings from the little bug’ was the first game. Abel was so enthusiastic that I turned the game into ‘pin the kitty to the board.’ He excelled at that, but my brother was erratic. That was what my parents called it. I saw it, too. He needed to be guided, but if he had someone to point him in the right direction…

I smiled at the thought.

It was too hot to sleep. Untangling myself from the white sheet, I padded my way down the hall and stairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. The fridge light was bright as I opened the door, and I blinked as I grabbed the clear thing with water that mom liked to keep in the fridge. She said it made the water healthier to drink. I just liked that it was really cold. Pulling over the stool, I climbed on top and opened the cupboard for a glass. I didn’t like using the kiddy plastic ones with farm animals all over them and instead reached for the clear adult glass. If mom saw me, she’d freak out and squawk like a chicken about to have its head cut off.

Sitting on the counter, I let my feet swing and poured the water into the glass before chugging the cool liquid down. As I was pouring myself a second glass, I noticed the block of knives that was pushed to the back of the counter. The deer memory came to mind again, and I wondered what my father would look like hanging upside down with his throat cut. Pulling the largest knife out, I stared at the metal blade that looked like a sword in my small hand. As I turned it from side to side, the metal glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window.

I took a deep breath as I remembered clearly the first night the dark thoughts of blood and pain entered my dreams. I hadn’t been out of diapers, and every time she changed my smelly white diaper, she’d make these weird noises and smile down at me. When you get bigger, I’ll show you how to do this or that. She’d ramble on as if I cared, but all I wanted to do was to rip her pretty blue eyes out of her head. The sound of her screaming was loud in my mind as I imagined my mother’s fear while she cowered in a corner as I cut her over and over again.

Hopping off the counter, I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward the bedrooms. I noticed Abel looking at me from the crack of his doorway. I didn’t look his way or acknowledge that he wasn’t hiding as well as he thought. Even at seven, I knew that if Abel wanted to be like me, he needed to come to me, not the other way around, and if not…

Well, then he’d have to be taken care of at some point, but of all the humans I’d met, the boy that occupied the same woman’s womb with me for nine months was the only person I had any connection with on this planet.

My feet were no louder than a mouse. The kids at school would say dark basements and hallways had monsters hiding. I didn’t know what lies they were being fed, but there were no monsters in this house, except maybe for me.

Stopping at my parent’s door, I stared up at the gold-colored knob of the handle. New energy I’d never experienced before was going through my body and excited me as I reached for the handle. I liked this new feeling. I turned the knob so slowly. It never made its normal squeak sound as I quietly pushed open the door.

I stood in the doorway for a long time. It felt like I was there the whole night watching my parents sleep. I found myself mimicking their sleep, the way their chests rose and fell. My father was snoring loudly, an arm laying over his eyes as his mouth hung open. My mother had a strange mask on her face and her hair up in curlers as she, too, made strange little noises in her sleep.

One light step after the other, I finally reached my father’s side of the bed and watched his chest move with each loud and annoying breath. My hand tightened on the wooden handle of the knife as I imagined slitting their throats and shutting him up for good. Would their snoring turn into strangled screams? Would they scream at all or just look at me? Would they be scared or die in seconds like the animals did when we slaughtered them? My eyes took in the white sheet lying on their bodies, and my lip curled up with the thought of it turning red.

As if sensing my presence, my father startled awake and opened his eyes. He turned his head, looked at me, and then down to my hand. He sat up quickly, and I noticed the change in his breathing. He was breathing fast, his eyes wide. He was scared as he stared at my hand holding the knife. I liked that.

“What are you doing, son,” my father stupidly asked.

I wasn’t much for lying, so I simply answered, “I’m thinking of killing you.”

Chapter 2

CAIN

I stood over Heather’s body and stared at her mere inches away from her uninteresting face as the light slowly faded from her eyes. It was always the same. Even when they were silent and didn’t scream, there was this moment of complete fear as their body clung to life. Then as they finally died, you could see the shift. I wanted to understand this moment of acceptance and peace. The muscles in her face relaxed as the fight in her body disappeared and the eyes that seconds ago had stared at me in horror and fear now stared up to the ceiling at nothing.

Moving closer to her head, I got low to her body, so our cheeks almost touched. Turning my head to stare at the metal ceiling, I could only see the rafters, chains, and the plastic I used to protect from splatter. There was no bright light or hell-bound demon—everything was exactly as it had been before.

“What did you see,” I asked, my tone soft as I brushed her bloodied hair away from her face. “I want to know what you saw.” Her skin was damp, and yet I could still feel the softness under my touch. “I have to say that you were very unhelpful. Completely useless, just like all the others.” Sighing, I shook my head. “Just once, can one of you fucking people say what you see before you die? Is that too much to ask?”

Straightening, I stared down at the woman. I needed to find a way to bring them right to that moment of death but force them to hang on just long enough to tell me what they saw. I brushed the few stubborn strands still clinging to her forehead out of the way so I could continue to work. The warmth in her skin would remain for some time yet. I stared at her exposed body, taking a moment to marvel at my work.

The carved lines that created the intricate pattern on her pale skin were stunning. It was some of my finest art to date, and I appreciated this moment. I didn’t fully understand what it meant to be happy or experience happiness, but I was able to comprehend that these moments with my prey were the closest that I’d get to that feeling. I’d heard all the clinical reasons why I was the way I was, but it didn’t matter to me why I took pleasure in killing others. I was simply myself, which meant I was at the top of the food chain.

My father insisted they put me in therapy after finding me in their bedroom with the knife. It was the only smart decision I’d ever seen them try to make, but what they failed to understand was that I didn’t need help. Their smart decision turned into stupidity when they continued to throw good money at a non-issue. They truly thought the help would fix me, but I didn’t want to be fixed.

I lasted two sessions before swapping places with Abel, who enjoyed the game of becoming me. I scoffed at the memory of the psychiatrist’s stuffy office and the idiot doctor who thought he was treating me the entire time. Or worse yet, my parents drove us both there but didn’t notice which son went into the room. On the other hand, I should thank them if they weren’t already dead. The doctor’s ignorance and my parent’s idiocy gave me the idea to make sure that from that moment on, Abel and I remained one hundred percent identical. If he cut himself and it turned into a scar, I’d purposely cut myself in the same spot. When I broke my left arm falling from my bike, Abel followed suit and fell the exact same way I did, so our breaks would be as close as possible to matching.

We may have been two people, but we slowly became one person to the rest of the world.

I picked up the expensive professional camera and took pictures of the woman from every angle. I wanted to capture this moment. The last image I took was of her eyes, and I made sure to get close enough to see all the detail.

Setting the camera aside, I softly whistled Edelweiss, the lullaby that my mother used to sing. My lip curled as I remembered exactly what it felt like to cut her tongue out and how her voice was no longer soft and beautiful as she choked around the blood pooling in her mouth. Sadly, she’d already been close to death by the time I got to have any fun. It had been important to me that she understood who and what I was as she reached for me, silently begging for help. Abel had lost his cool and decided to kill her. Not surprising with my brother, and that was when I put my rules in place that he needed to follow.

I quickly adjusted my cock in my jeans as the image sent a shot of adrenaline through my body. This woman hadn’t screamed as sweetly as my mother had. No one had since, and it was always disappointing to think that the best kill I’d ever experienced was already behind me. Then again, like plucking a virgin’s cherry from her pussy, maybe it was always the first time that was the best.

I designed all my tools. Each one was specifically crafted to fit my hand and be used for a specific purpose. My favorite tool had a curved end to the blade, like a subtle scoop. Picking it up, I held it in the light, admiring my invention.

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