Psycho Ex Boyfriend (Standalone New Adult Romance) (The Alpha Brotherhood Book 2) (21 page)

Adam

Age 23

There are three sets of reporters and cameramen sleeping on the sidewalk outside of my office. Vultures. I can’t stay in here forever.

Alright, technically I could. There are enough assistants to bring me anything I need and plenty of work that needs doing to keep my mind off the scandal until it blows over. Shane is thankfully up in San Francisco. Apparently the paparazzi hate the cool, cloudy weather and haven’t been giving him a hard time. Good. I doubt the neurotic little introvert could handle it.

The older brothers are really taking the hit. Only two of them work from here and they both immediately flew off to some Southeast Asian paradise where no one gives a shit. Must be nice. Now we have to deal with the fallout from their mistakes. Typical.

Not that Trent is even fucking here. Traitor.

Ian calls and I have no choice but to answer. He and Elijah want to conference with a public relations firm about strategy this afternoon. Trent is the PR guy over here and they’d obviously prefer to speak with him. Where is he? This is his territory and therefore his fucking problem.

I text him and receive nothing. Then I finally get a text back.

Come over here

Oh, that’s just fucking fantastic. I’m not even going to bother calling to ask why. I’d rather drag his sorry ass into the office with my bare hands and kick him in the balls a few times along the way. There is no way I’m dealing with this bullshit alone.

It’s not even business related! I don’t understand why we even care. I thought there was no such thing as bad publicity. Perhaps that’s just for celebrities.

Which is exactly what I feel like during the sprint from the office door to the car waiting for me outside. There are only so many times I can say no comment without losing my shit.
Get the hell over it, assholes!

Trent chose the most ostentatious of Goodson residences available, with wide sidewalks on a quiet street. Plenty of room for camera flashing zombies to stand and shout accusations. Fuckers. My driver is being a little too nice as he inches through the mass. I’d probably have run one or two of them over.

“Trent!” I shout as I storm though the door. There’s no answer. What the hell is he doing? “I’m going to rip your fucking head off!”

I start up the staircase, noting a trail of high heels and my brother’s favorite Armani shoes. There’s red dress cast off on the floor in the hall, along with pieces of his suit. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Bring one of the girls home in front of the press. That’s exactly what we need.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I admonish him, pushing open his bedroom door violently. “We are in the middle of a—”

My heart stops pumping. I can feel the veins and arteries around it collapsing in a vacuum. A glorious mass of dark curly hair, messy and wild. The most beautiful brown skin in the world, her most private of parts concealed with a white sheet pulled up to her chest.  A pair of doe eyes staring up at me that I know well, so well. But they’ve never seemed quite this hateful and satisfied before.

“Sabrina?” I choke out before I even have a chance to decide whether or not I’d like Trent to realize what he’s done to me.

Her mouth twists into a cruel smile, but says nothing. My eyes drift over to my oblivious shithead of a brother, sleeping on his stomach with his bare ass in the air. My bloods starts circulating again, pumping pure rage through my system.

“I am going to fucking kill you!”

I throw myself across the room and grab him by the shoulder as Sabrina screeches and runs from the room. I’ll deal with her later. I roll him over, outraged that he can’t even bother to get up. My fist is clenched and I’m about to give him the rude awakening he deserves when I notice that his face is pale. Too pale. Are his lips blue?

“Trent!” I kneel at his side and check for a pulse. “Trent?” I can’t find one. Holy shit.

I shake him back and forth and draw back, only to realize that his body continues to tremor after my hands have left him. Fuck! Is he having a seizure?

“Sabrina!” I roar. “Holy shit. What did he take? Sabrina!”

She pokes her head back into the room. “What?”

“What the fuck did he take?”

She steps back inside, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know.”

“Think!”

“I’m not sure. We were just drinking.”

“Go check his pockets for pills,” I order as I pull out my phone and dial 911.

“I can’t find anything!” Bree calls up to me.

“Look harder!” It’s one thing to fuck my brother. It’s quite another to let him die in his sleep.

“I found this, but it’s empty.”

Sabrina creeps back into the room, staying as far away from me as possible, which is a probably a good idea. She drops a little black vial onto the bed and I pick it up, but there’s nothing inside but white powder. It’s probably a mixture of his preferred poisons and won’t be of much use to the paramedics. Great.

Trent stops seizing and groans, his eyes fluttering open but not regaining consciousness. The love of my life moves to check on him, but I catch her by the arm and fling her away. How could she fucking do this? How?

I take a deep breath and try to focus on what’s important. But there’s nothing I can do for Trent except hope he recovers so that I can kill him myself. The sirens get louder and closer. I watch the ambulance approach, blaring its horn as it forces its way through the crowd.

They race up the stairs and load him onto a gurney, asking questions that neither I nor the whore next to me can adequately answer. She tells her story and I try not to listen, but I’ve never been able to keep from torturing myself when it comes to Sabrina.

They met at a bar. He’d been drinking a lot, even before they started talking. They came home and… She never saw him take anything and he was never out of her sight.

My legs give out as I picture it, but I don’t want anyone to notice. I turn my impending fall into a controlled descent onto the stairs. Bree approaches me with a concerned expression.

“Go with them,” I tell her.

“But—”

“They might have more questions for you and the ambulance is the only way you’ll escape this quagmire without your picture ending up on the news.” The last thing I want is for my humiliation to become public.

“Adam…”

“Go!” I yell. “But don’t fucking be there for long. I never want to see you again.”

She swallows a gulp of air and drops her face, turning away from me and chasing after the paramedics. Our eyes meet right before they close the ambulance doors. I don’t know why she looks so remorseful. This is obviously what she wanted.

I try to resist, but I break down sobbing like a little bitch once they’ve departed. I could blame it on the potential demise of Trent, but this pain is pure Sabrina. Her lipstick rolls down the stairs, bouncing wildly. Like she was bouncing on him last night.

She doesn’t love me anymore. She honestly doesn’t. It’s over before it ever truly began.

I howl, flying over to a glass case filled with Trent’s precious antiques. Why he collects this shit, I will never understand, but he won’t have it for long. I destroy everything that isn’t bolted to the walls, and even manage to mangle some of that.

His front room is demolished once I’m through. I don’t feel any better, if anything, it’s worse. Some of those objects were fascinating, priceless artifacts that survived centuries against the odds. Until they got to me.

All I did was break his toys like a child. There’s nothing I can take from my brother that remotely compares to what he’s taken from me.
Nothing
.

Trent is fine. Well, not fine, but he lives. His mentor demands that he checks into rehab, more for show than because any of us think Trent will ever genuinely attempt to live a sober life.

The scandal is soon forgotten like they always are. I, however, am forever changed.

Sabrina calls occasionally, but now I’m the one who doesn’t answer. I don’t care what she does. I don’t care who she fucks or who she loves. I don’t give a shit what becomes of her. Perhaps if I keep telling myself that, it will eventually become true

My father was right. Love is a weakness. If only I had listened.

With the wistful vision of our future shattered, I move on. I try, anyway. But now that all hope is lost, the revenge that’s been calling to me for so long becomes louder and more urgent. I’ve put it off for far too long.

I don’t know how to live without an obsession. I need a new one, someone else’s every move to track. Not another woman. Never that. But an obsession just the same.

Adam

Age 26

The soil has finally thawed. I stand at a distance with the medical examiner’s assistant, a private doctor that I’ve hired, and the mortician. We watch as the workmen move in with shovels to finish the job by hand. The wind picks up and a cardinal flies by, the bright red streak a stark contrast against the dull grey landscape. It lands on a nearby branch and sings beautifully. He won’t be alone for long.

“When will they know for certain that it’s her?” I ask, unable to turn away from the scene of a pine box coffin being hoisted free of the cold earth.

“I’ll be able to run tests this afternoon and have the results to you by this evening,” the doctor replies. “The results won’t be official, however.”

“Why not?”

“The sample needs to be processed by a state facility before the body can be released.”

I nod in understanding. “And if it is someone else?”

“Then we’ll need a judge’s order to test the adjacent graves,” the mortician replies, attempting to lay a comforting hand on my arm. I shift my weight, moving away from him. “We will find her, Mr. Goodson.”

I almost correct him on the name, but stop myself. Donovan seems more fitting at the moment. We all take turns signing the correct paperwork as the medical examiner explains the grisly details of a second autopsy and forensic analysis that I’d rather not think about.

A few hours later, I’m approached by a woman at a bar. That’s a first. She’s pretty. Friendly. Seems intelligent enough. Intuitive, too, asking me if I’ve had a bad day as she buys my next drink. I let her, just for the sake of novelty. Alyssa has no idea who she has just met. Not a clue. A perfect chance to start over.

There’s nothing stopping me now. There are no more hoops to jump through, no one’s approval to win, not a single stipulation to follow. I’ve been set free. I could easily call the number on the business she’s just given me tomorrow and go on perhaps what would technically be my first date as an adult. We might kiss each other goodnight, maybe go home together the next time. No whips. No chains. No safewords needed. No broken hearts to mend and no betrayals to overcome.

Instead, six more drinks and a Xanax later, I’m stepping out of a car and looking up at a building that I’ve never been inside. It’s a good building. In demand real estate at a premium price. A building full of accomplished professionals who’ve worked hard for a room with a view.

Sabrina bought it herself. She didn’t even have to ask her father for a down payment. I did my best not to be, but I was still proud of her when I saw the address. I finally opened those file folders filled with monthly reports that I’ve been paying for all this time. I couldn’t look at them and once I did, it was a bit like reading a biography.

With a deep breath, I knock on the door and silently pray that she’s alone.

I can hear her behind the door, but she doesn’t open it. I knock again gently and again a few moments after that. My phone vibrates and I answer, not saying a word as my ears start to ring, drowning out the voice on the other end of the line. It was her. Molly. My sister’s body will be on its way to the funeral home as soon as the DNA test results are confirmed.

I need to pick out a real headstone. Maybe a quote. I have no idea how to do that, no idea what she’d like. At least there isn’t much color choice involved.

A well dressed couple eyes me with concern and apprehension as they pass. I’m slumped over suspiciously on the oak floorboards with my back against Sabrina’s door. I’m picturing her sitting the in the same position on the opposite side, with only a few inches of wood or metal separating us. I knock again, not bothering to rise until I hear the metal clack of a lock sliding out of place.

My heart thumps erratically at the sound of another locking mechanism, then another. This is a safe building. Did she have all these installed in case I ever dropped by? She’s still afraid of me.

The door opens a mere four inches. One single fearful brown eye perfectly framed by splash of turquoise eyeshadow stares at me through the gap.

“Hello,” I say hoarsely. She doesn’t reply. “I was just in the neighborhood.” The door slams shut. I knock again, but not before popping a few breath mints into my mouth. “Please,” I mutter, resting my forehead against the cool surface. “I won’t do anything.”

“You’re drunk,” her little muffled voice retorts through the door.

“Yes, I am.” There’s no sense in lying.

“I’m with someone now.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m… I need…” There aren’t any words, at least none that I’m willing or able to say.

“Are you alright, Adam?”

“No,” I answer honestly, smiling as I listen to her exhale in an exasperated breath.

The door flies open and I waver, thrown off balance. Suddenly I’m staring down at her, our eyes taking everything that’s changed about us in the past three years.

“You look like hell,” she says.

“You look incredible,” I reply.

She rolls her eyes and plants her hand on her hip. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

I let out a shaky croak of a laugh that dulls the wrathful fire in her eyes. Instinct should kick in any moment and I’ll turn on the charm. Steal her heart away from whoever has it now. Keep it for a night as I fuck her as hard as I hate her. Then break it into a millions pieces in the morning the way she did mine. But that instinct is failing me now and the only thing I can manage to tell her is the truth.

“I had Molly’s body exhumed this morning,” I whisper. My voice cracks and a shiver runs up and down the length of my body. “It would have been her 32nd birthday.” In another life, I would have taken her out to dinner. Maybe spoiled her kids with presents, interrogated her husband to make sure he was treating her right.

Sabrina’s gorgeous lips part in shock and I see her fingers stretch toward me even as she keeps her hand firmly against her side. Without a word, she steps to the side and allows me into her home.

The door closes behind me and my lips lift into a grin as I take a deep breath through my nose. Sabrina’s place. It’s been too long since I’ve caught a whiff of such a comforting scent. A hint of her musk masked by her preferred detergent. An amalgam of her favorite perfumes, the cheap one she loved as a kid and the more expensive varieties that she prefers now. Notes of pure shea butter and vanilla. Marinara sauce. Too much red wine.

I spot the glass next to a sketch pad on the coffee table, colored pencils scattered across the floor. A fire is burning. It’s the only source of light in the room, so she must have stopped drawing and not bothered to clean up. I still have every little note she ever snuck to me, every single fucking drawing that I’ve ever received. Even when I couldn’t bring myself to look in those folders to see how she was doing, I still tortured myself with those ancient mementos.

I’m on my knees, though I don’t recall falling to them. Sabrina creeps around my side cautiously, but this isn’t a trap. She has to know that.

She’s on the floor in front of me, her hand lightly resting on my knee. My mouth waters and a long dead part of me begs to forget everything, to give in and kiss her. But those lips don’t belong to me anymore.

Touch me.
Her fingers graze my brow and I worry that I may have said that aloud.
Please just fucking touch me.
I groan, falling into her shoulder as her caress travels across the back of my neck.
Oh, fucking God, please. Touch me. No one else ever has, not like this. Never.

Sabrina says my name, her tone overly compassionate. I hug her around the waist and pull her closer, my heart breaking at her resistance. It doesn’t last long and I shudder violently, my stomach turning over as my body becomes so cold it hurts. I choke, sinking lower in a pathetic heap until my head is in her lap.

She found me like this once. Twenty goddamned years ago. Just a useless, crying child in the dark. Apparently not much has changed. I’m not aware of the awful noise ripping out of my throat until she skims her fingers through my hair, like she did back then.

The back of her shirt is balled into my fists as I fall apart, not that I have a choice. Sabrina’s soft belly muffles every scream and sob as my body curls around hers. I don’t have to worry about impressing her anymore. There is no need to be embarrassed because we don’t fit together anymore and never will again. I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing left. All for fucking money and status, for the admiration and respect of people who I don’t give a shit about. I might still have my sister if I’d just stayed in that fucking house and lived a normal life. I’d never have reconnected with the woman holding me in her arms, but I lost her anyway so it doesn’t fucking matter.

Just please don’t stop touching me. Don’t let me go. Just for tonight.

I wake up with an excruciating headache in her bed. Sabrina is far away on the opposite side of the bed, her breathing long and heavy. I get a glass of water, barely able to look at my drawn face in the mirror, the swollen flesh around my eyes, speckled with dots of red and purple.

Crawling back into bed, my eyes adjust to the dark and I move closer to her. She jerks and turns over, exposing the velvety skin on the small of her back. The curve of her arm resting in front of her, exaggerating the delicious arc of her small waist sweeping into her luscious ass. I pinch a single curl between my fingertips and stretch it down to see how it’s grown. If it was straight, it would fall to her hips.

Get the hell out of this bed before you do something stupid. Right fucking now.

I stumble onto the silent city street, alone. My eyes look up as a light flicks on, but there are too many windows to be sure that it’s hers. Still, I feel her staring down at me so I keep my eyes lifted, my heart sputtering painfully in my chest. The car I called pulls up and I reluctantly disappear into its warmth, wishing that I’d lost myself in hers instead.

Shane surprises me in the morning, sitting in a chair when I finally wake up just before noon. He pushes a cup of coffee toward me. How convenient

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Shane thinks before he speaks, a natural ability for him, but one that I’ve had to perfect over the years. “I want to help you,” he finally says.

“Help me do what?”

“I know what you’re doing, buying Marlowe’s assets.”

My eyes dart up as my heart thumps to life. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s no coincidence that you’re investing in shitty little businesses that compete with the legitimate holdings of the drug lord that slaughtered your sister. Or his debts. You’re bleeding him.”

“So what if I am?”

“There’s a paper trail, Adam.”

“So what if there is?” I laugh.

“Well… I didn’t have a hard time finding it.” Shane pauses, his gaze flicking to mine. We rarely hold eye contact for so long. “There can’t be a paper trail leading back to you once I finish the job.”

“What are you blathering about, little brother?”

“You can financially ruin someone, then kill him after he’s suffered long enough and not get caught.”

“I’m not going to… Christ, Shane. You are making a lot of assumptions.”

“No, you’re living in denial. Of many things.”

Wise little fucker. When are you going to crack?
He was a complicated kid, but didn’t grow into a very complicated man. “Why the hell do you care?”

“Self-preservation, for one. Unnecessary competition, for another.”

We sit in silence for a bit. Then it comes to me. “You own Insulae, don’t you?” That’s the corporate entity that I’m always running across, the one that sometimes gets to the loans and small business owners before I do. Or afterwards, with a higher bid. But why?

I flip through the mental file I keep on Shane’s life, what’s important to him. I have to go a long way back to find a reason. How the fuck did I forget about that? Marlowe stole something from him, too.

“You fucking asshole,” I snap. “You’re going after him.”

“I’m not letting that man walk away from what he’s done and step into a real life. In
our
world.”

“Oh, come now,” I say, reminding myself of my father. “He’ll never get to our level.”

Shane’s pale eyes narrow into slits. “Any fucking level. Marlowe can stay in the fucking gutter where he belongs until another thug usurps him with a knife to the gut or a shot to the head. I just didn’t think you’d want to be that thug.”

I lean forward. “This is
my
grievance, Shane.”

“I know that you see it that way,” he replies calmly.

“No, it
is
that way. You didn’t…” I stop before I tell him that he never lost anything, unwilling to antagonize him. “My sister, Shane. My fucking sister.” He doesn’t have one of those. He can’t know what it’s like.

Shane nods, smiling devilishly. “I told you that I wanted to help.”

My little brother takes a sip of his tea and pushes a stack of papers across the table towards me. After an appropriate amount of time, I take a peek.
Brilliant little fucker.
Why didn’t I think of that?