Hooked: A Stepbrother Romance (25 page)

I’d managed to wedge myself into her apartment’s pocket-sized bathroom so I could hold her hair after a night of heavy drinking in the little Irish pub we’d found across the city.

I’d watched her coach the boys into a fantastic rugby team, and slowly help rehabilitate Theo until he was well enough to go on the three-day trip to a National Park that we’d soaked ourselves to raise the money for.

I’d essentially deserted my luxurious hotel room, moving in with her in everything but name, reveling in the way she felt as she slept curled up in my arms.

I wanted to keep her close to me, to make her mine forever. But the reality of our situations meant that it wasn’t going to happen, at least not yet. We’d talked about it repeatedly, reassuring ourselves that the distance wasn’t going to be a major problem. We could travel back and forth between the US and England, calling it
commuting
as if it were little more than a drive to the office.

I hoped we were right, though of course things were going to change some. They had to. We wouldn’t be able to hide in the storage closet at the rec center anymore, stealing a kiss and a grope. No more furtive glances in Adam’s office as he gave us daily briefings. There was an immense distance, but we were going to bridge it somehow.

She could visit me on her few days of vacation, and I’d visit her as much as I could. Of course, with the World Cup beginning in just a few weeks, I didn’t expect to have much time to spare. Still, I was determined to spend as much of it as I could in Emilia’s arms.

Pointing to the most delicate Cartier watch in the display, the saleswoman’s eyes practically flashed dollar signs as she pulled it out for me.

“I’ll take that one. I need it now,” I said, pulling out my wallet and handing the woman a credit card.

For the past week, time had seemed to be slipping away from us. Each hour seemed shorter than the one before it, picking up speed until the days were passing at a breakneck speed. I wanted to leave Emilia something more substantial than a waning scent in her bed, and a watch seemed like the perfect reminder that we’d be together again eventually.

It was a little bittersweet, but I couldn’t wait to see it on her wrist.

“Excuse me, but are you Simon Ferguson?” a shy voice called behind my shoulder. I turned to see a small, smartly-dressed woman staring right at me.

“That’s me,” I answered.

“Oh wow! It
is
you! I was so sure that I had imagined it” she said, her voice suddenly high-pitched as her cheeks flushed a dark red color. It was rare to meet fans in the States, but it did happen from time to time. I smiled politely and nodded.

“My name is Marjorie Evans,” she continued, breaking into a sweat as she wrapped her fingers tightly around my arm, dashing my hopes of getting back to Emilia without a prolonged encounter. I knew the type, the intensity of her excitement matching all the droves of fame-hungry women who would stalk me into the most unlikely of places in England. It was usually endearing, to a point, but today I was in a hurry.

“I collaborate with the Goodman Youth Center, you know. It’s so great what you’ve been doing there! Saving it from closing, helping get everyone interested in rugby. If people like you keep that up, maybe it’ll finally catch on a bit more over here.”

The saleslady returned with my card and the watch, leaving me to sign the receipt as Marjorie rambled on. Her enthusiasm was nice, but I hoped she would run out of steam soon and ask for an autograph or something so that I could hurry up and get back home.

“Watching you in the dunk tank with Emilia was so much fun!” she continued, my eyes widening just a little at the mention of her name. “I laughed so hard, and if you’ll excuse my indiscretion, you’re so well-built. No wonder so many people bought balls to throw at you. I know I did. So great that you raised all that money for the kids. They certainly need all the help they can get.” she said excitedly.

I nodded agreement, figuring that I might as well enjoy her bubbly personality while it lasted. “What exactly do you do with the Goodman Youth Center?” I asked, relaxing a little.

“Oh, I’m a social worker,” she explained. “A lot of my families go there, and I encourage it. I think it’s good for them, helps them stay out of trouble.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing over her expensive attire. She certainly didn’t look like a social worker, but then, I didn’t look like a person who bought Cartier watches.

“Theo talks about you so much. For a while there, I had real hope that he could actually be set straight,” she continued, finally catching my undivided attention.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked, cold fear seeping into my bones as she spoke.

“Well, you know what it’s
really
like out there. Hearing about how you started out as one of Argus Hunt’s cronies and escaped into a better life was downright inspiring. It’s what got me interested in rugby in the first place, actually I’d hoped that maybe something similar might happen with Theo…I guess lightning only strikes once, though,” she answered with a shrug.

Her words were like molten lead pouring into my gut, revulsion filling me as I heard Argus’s name mentioned in the same breath as Theo’s. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out as dread constricted my throat. Closing my lips again, I nodded, hoping she’d continue and wouldn’t notice the way my muscles were already tangling themselves into tight knots along my neck, hot tension building over every inch of my body.

Marjorie’s eyes went wide as she looked around in a sudden panic, clearly afraid of being overheard. She’d probably already put her job at risk by talking about one of her apparent clients, but I couldn’t let this drop.

“It’s okay,” I barely managed to say in a hushed voice. “Like you said, I’ve already been there myself.”

Taking me by the arm, Marjorie led me into a quiet corner of the department store and motioned at me to lean down.

“Well, things certainly haven’t gotten any
better
. As I’m sure you know, Argus won his little gang war shortly after you left for England. He basically runs the city’s underworld now, and he’s as ruthless as ever.”

I nodded, my throat dry. Argus’s so-called
little gang war
had gotten my best friend killed before my eyes, a burden I would struggle with for the rest of my life.

“Of course, there would still be crime even if he weren’t around. Just, as a social worker, I really detest the way he uses children to help with his drug trade. Mules and look-outs, it’s
disgusting
.”

The blood was rushing so fast in my veins that I had to grab a counter to steady myself.

“Theo? You mean when he was shot, that was because of
Argus
?” I asked, my earlier dread now replaced by an intense urge for violence.

“That’s my guess,” she said sadly. “He doesn’t really talk to me anymore, but I don’t believe it was just getting caught in the cross-fire like he claimed. Even Ella is keeping her mouth shut, but that’s no surprise. I’m sure Theo is bringing home a lot of money lately.”

Looking down, I saw that my knuckles had turned white as I squeezed the counter as if my life depended on it. I could feel the rage boiling up in my guts, pure hatred echoing out a name I thought I’d never hear again.

A little over fifteen years ago, Jake had died because I was too weak to protect him.

I wasn’t small anymore, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to Theo.

Thanking Marjorie for the help, I turned to leave as quickly as I could.

Past Marjorie and her red cheeks.

Past the saleslady and her hypocritical smile.

Past the security guard who was still glaring at me suspiciously.

Past my own sanity.
 

It was high time to settle an old score.

Theo is always so happy when I see him.

I’m glad that my visits cheer him up, but it’s hard to see him like that.

The whole situation reminds me too much of Jake.

The same violence, the same apathy.

Just another kid shot in the street.

No big deal, nobody really cares.

The police don’t even put on the siren.

What the hell is
wrong
with people?

It had taken no more than a few hours in a dingy bar to learn everything I needed to know. Argus Hunt had never been one for subtlety, and half the drunks in the city seemed to know all about him. A few rounds of drinks, and it had been the easiest thing in the world.

“The large red-brick building right across from the opera house, that’s where they say he lives. He bought it for his mom after making it big, and moved in with her,” explained a tall, bearded man as he wrapped his trembling hand around the pint I’d bought him.

“So it’s just the two of them?” I asked.

“Nah. She died, maybe ten years ago? Hear he has some cronies living there now, helping him out. She meant the world to him, he took it real hard,” the scraggly man explained as he brought the drink to his lips, pausing to drink like he’d been in the desert for days. Dark, frothy liquid ran down his hairy, dirty neck in two small rivulets out the corner of his lips. His eyes were glazed over, refusing to meet mine.

“Thanks for the info,” I said, standing up quickly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, sadly staring in to his now-empty glass. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want. But you never saw me, right? We never talked. I don’t want no trouble.”

“Of course,” I reassured him, leaning over the counter and paying the rest of his tab before leaving.

The air outside was still balmy, though just crisp enough to remind me every day that fall was coming. A large knot settled in my throat as I took the long walk to the opera house, finally settling my eyes on the big red brick building that reeked of entitlement.

It seemed that even today, with close to eight decades of life behind him, Argus was still calling the shots around here. At least enough that he could live in a prestigious house in the heart of the city.

Approaching the front door, I was greeted by a doorman who called my name over the intercom system.

“Mr. Hunt will receive you now,” he announced a few minutes later, ushering me inside.

Trying to ignore the sick feeling in my gut, I took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down the long hallway. A large, double door had been left ajar, and I pushed inside to find a gigantic living room.

My eyes scanned past the ivory-white reproductions of ludicrous Greco-Roman statues, a field of nymphs and naked heroes. At the end of a long carpet sat Argus, staring at me while hunching over an oxygen machine.

“Well, isn’t
this
something. My most major fuck-up, now all
grown
up,” he hissed. He took a moment to laugh, a slow dry groan rasping in his throat that seemed to wind him.

Two large, bulky men standing by the door both burst into forced laughter that ended the moment Argus had recovered enough to continue speaking. “I’ve followed you around, you’re hard to miss. Though I’m more of a soccer fan. Arsenal, Manchester United, that’s where the
real
sport is.”

“I didn’t come back here to debate which sport is better,” I said icily.