Score - A Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

I
found
myself nodding in response to his order.

After he’d growled the order at me, he was gone in an instant, and I was left with a whole crowd of people staring at me. Before Landon or Michaela could object, a man from Score’s team pulled me aside, and I felt like some kind of mafia wife.

“Please follow me, miss,” he said in a serious tone, and I almost giggled on the spot. All of it felt like some kind of silly action movie.

I was escorted outside and made to sit in a nondescript car. I leaned back against the chair and took a deep breath, unsure of what to make of all this. I’d accepted his order, sure, but was I really ready to spend a night with some guy I barely knew? Surely this was dangerous as hell, and I was being an idiot…but holy God, I couldn’t resist a temptation like Score.

The car ride was short, and we came to a stop in front of a building I recognized as a hotel downtown. Nothing fancy, but not seedy, either. I opened the door and got out, and before I’d had time to object, the car had sped off.

Slowly, I made my way inside the building and ended up at the reception desk, feeling totally lost.

“Are you looking for someone, miss?” an annoyed-looking receptionist asked me.

I had no idea what to say, so I just blurted out the first thing on my mind. “Um, yes—Score?”

Her eyes flickered with recognition and she nodded knowingly. This must have been a regular thing he did, then.

I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing I wasn’t somehow special.

The receptionist passed me a key card, this time with a glowing smile on her face. “Floor 6, room 627.”

I nodded and left for the elevators. My hands shook as I pressed the button for the sixth floor, and I felt cold and clammy sweat running down my back. It was like I was about to be executed, not about to sleep with a super hot random guy.

Finally, I was in front of the door. I nearly dropped the keycard twice, trying to get it to open, but finally I managed, and I was in.

The room was enveloped in darkness, and I could only make out silhouettes of the furniture, but I still felt his presence; dark, ominous, and oh-so delicious.

His hand wrapped around mine and I gasped out loud as he pulled me in.

“Glad you came,” he growled in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I was rendered speechless, unable to utter a single word as his mouth descended on my throat. It was so dirty, being here in complete darkness with a total stranger.

He nibbled on my neck, gently at first, then harder and harder. I knew he’d end up leaving a mark, but for once, I didn’t care.

“Can we turn the lights on?” I asked weakly, my voice shaking even though I fought hard to hide the fact. “I want to see you.”

“You see me well enough,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine.

He wasn’t patient, sliding his tongue inside my mouth and pulling on my bottom lip gently with his teeth. I could feel the heat building up between my thighs, and on a whim, I grabbed his hand and pushed it between my legs as he kissed me.

“I like that,” he growled, and I could feel the smile on his lips as his mouth descended on mine. “Now strip.”

I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, but I still managed to get my shirt off, and I was left feeling exposed in my bra, even though the room was dark as hell. A cold breeze from the half-open window made goose bumps rise on my skin, and Score’s fingers trailed over my tummy.

“Beautiful.” His words were low and throaty.

I hadn’t felt that turned on in my entire life, intense pleasure bubbling just under the surface as he kissed my throat and my collarbone, slowly descending to my décolletage.

He ripped my bra off with a single move of his hand, and I could tell he’d broken it, but I didn’t care. His mouth descended on my breasts next, a low growl coming from between his lips as he took my hard nipple and bit down on it gently.

“Oh…” I murmured, overwhelmed by intense pleasure as I watched my bra drop to the floor.

There was an underlying feeling too; something dark and horrible in my mind, like this was somehow wrong. Totally and utterly wrong. I didn’t dare speak up as vague memories flashed in my mind.

Be a good girl, Lina. Such a good girl.

I shivered, and this time around, it wasn’t from the cold breeze in the room. Even though my body wanted this, alarm bells were going off in my mind, alerting me that something was off.

But what?

I tried to forget, pulling Score closer and moaning in his mouth as he kissed me, his mouth skilled and strong against mine. I could feel his rock-hard cock pressing against me, thick and long, just like I’d pictured it.

My heart pounded, each beat shouting one word only.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

And suddenly I knew I had to get out, right away.

I pushed him away, the raw need to have him inside me still pulsing between my legs. He came at me again, probably thinking I was playing some stupid game, but even though my skin was on fire from his touch, I knew I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t sleep with Score, as badly as my body begged me to…something was wrong, and I couldn’t understand what it was.

“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice breaking over the words. I felt hot tears of humiliation in my eyes, ready to start falling. “I need to leave.”

“Are you kidding?” his voice was almost offended, incredulous. “You’re going to leave right now?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” I pleaded with him, already searching for my missing shirt in the darkness. My fingers wrapped around fabric and I raised it protectively in front of my body. “I need to leave…I don’t feel okay.”

“What’s wrong?” His deep voice had grown worried, but I couldn’t answer his question. Not when even I didn’t know what the problem was…

I found the door and it flew open as I yanked on the handle. The air in the hallway wasn’t thick with sex like our hotel room, but stale and oppressing.

I threw one look back over my shoulder, seeing Score’s silhouette in the darkness, still asking me what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I said, already regretting what I was about to do.

And then I bolted outside.

S
he’d left her bra
.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’d changed her mind on me at the last possible second and left me with the worst case of blue balls in history, she’d left her fucking bra behind as a reminder of her rejection.

I’d never been rejected before.

Not once.

I guess it had to happen somewhere along the line, but I hadn’t thought it would be with her.
Her
. The second I’d locked eyes with her in the warehouse, I’d known she was different. Special. Totally unlike all the other girls who came to watch my fights, with their pierced nipples and eyebrows, fake tits and bleached-blonde hair. This girl had smooth skin, unblemished by tattoos or piercings, and long silky hair that made me want to thread my fingers through it, pull on it, make her scream as she rode my cock.

The second I’d seen her at the fight, I’d felt it. A skipped beat in my heart, a jolt of energy, a burst of heat in my groin. She was the hottest girl I’d ever seen, and she didn’t even seem to know how hot she was, judging by the shy, innocent expression on her perfect face.

And I was going to have her.

After all, I was Score, and that’s what I did—score. I secretly fucking hated that nickname. It was unbelievably lame, but it was better that people call me that than call me by my real name, which I knew could never be associated with illegal fighting, or fighting of any kind, for that matter.

Chase Stryker. My real name. In another life, Stryker might have made an awesome nickname for a fighter, but here in Chicago, the Stryker name was associated with wealth, privilege and politics, thanks to my father, grandfather, and many ancestors before them.

Speaking of names…Jesus, I didn’t even know her name; the girl who’d just left me high and dry when I’d been dead-set on having her for the night. I wanted to pretend that I knew it, roll it over on my tongue, but I’d never asked. That was the deal with nights like this, though—don’t ask, don’t tell. I never told any of the girls I brought back to the hotel my real name for obvious reasons, and they usually didn’t tell me theirs. Or at least I didn’t remember theirs. Some of them would scribble it down with a number on a piece of paper, which I’d graciously accept and then toss in the trash the second they sashayed out of my hotel room.

Just my luck that the one girl I might want to see again didn’t bother to leave hers.

I still had no idea why she’d left. She’d seemed into it, just like every other girl was with me. Despite her innocent appearance, everything about her had seemed to ooze sex, and she’d been more than happy to come back here with me and get things started.

Until she hadn’t.

She’d been saying she didn’t feel good, like she was sick or something. I’d been concerned at first, but now I wasn’t sure. A lot of girls these days liked to be teases. They’d get a guy all amped up and ready to go just to prove that they could, and then they’d back out at the last second, feigning a headache. It’d never happened to me before, but I’d heard about it from my buddies. Prick-teases. I guess I’d finally met my first one.

Fuck it.
Who cares?
I was Chase fucking Stryker, and in my other life, I was Score, champion underground fighter. In either life, I could get any chick I wanted, and I did. I never fucked the same girl more than once, even if they were hot as hell. What was the point? They’d only get attached, and obviously, I wasn’t one for relationships.

So yeah, fuck it. Even if this chick hadn’t backed out, she would’ve been gone in the morning anyway, never to be seen again, no matter how much I told myself I’d want to see her again. That was just the blue balls talking.

At least that’s what I was gonna tell myself.

Her bra caught my eye again, mocking me with its cute little bows and the memory of me sliding it off my mystery girl, revealing her perfect tits.

Fuck.

“
C
hase
? Did you hear me?”

I glanced up at my father, Peter, as he stood in the lounge room of our Highland Park home, staring down at me. He’d been prattling on about…what? I’d barely been listening. It was something to do with a woman he’d been seeing. I couldn’t even remember her name. Something Diaz? Fuck knows. She was a waitress he’d met at one of his campaign dinners a few months back, and I had no idea why he was so enamored with her.

Sure, she sounded like a nice woman from what he’d told me in the past, but it wasn’t like it could go anywhere between them. My father was your typical arrogant politico—the way he saw it, waitresses were for fucking, not for relationships. Only women of ‘high breeding’ or some such shit were good enough for serious relationships. Fucking elitist bullshit, but that’s how it was with my family.

“We’re engaged. I proposed to her last night,” he said, staring at me intently to gauge my reaction.

Shit. Did I hear that right? Did he seriously just say he was fucking
marrying
the waitress?

Scratch everything I just said. Obviously the status quo had changed, and a waitress was apparently good enough for my father now.

Maybe this change of heart had something to do with the upcoming election. He was running for Governor of Illinois, and right now, all he had was the votes of some of the upper middle class and the so-called elites in liberal circles. Marrying a woman like…shit, whatever her name was…would probably win him a lot more votes from a lot more demographics.

Yup, that sounded exactly like something he would do. To him, life was politics, and politics was life. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he was marrying a woman purely to gain an extra few demographics.

“You’re getting married?” I said, matching his gaze. “To...”

He rolled his eyes. “Nina. Nina Diaz. Yes, we’re getting married. And before you start, no, this has nothing to do with the election. I can see what you’re thinking.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Really? So you actually love this Nina woman. The waitress.”

I had no problem with her being a waitress. Fuck no, I wasn’t that much of an asshole. I just knew that my father would usually have a problem with ‘marrying down’ as I’d seriously heard him refer to it in the past.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his steely gaze still fixed on me. “I care for her very much. She’s a wonderful person.”

“And you went ahead and proposed to her without even running it by me first? I still live here, y’know.”

I’d wanted to move out and get my own place ages ago, but as long as I was in college, my father had insisted that I remain in the family home. So I’d stayed, only to shut him the hell up, and now he was springing a new mommy on me. Ha.

“It’s ‘you know’, not ‘y’know’. For heaven’s sake, Chase, I don’t spend all this money on your education only for you to speak like some sort of…”

“Like what? Like some sort of person in the service industry? A waitress, perhaps?”

I was only teasing him now, but his eyes narrowed.

“Knock it off. As for your other question, you might be my son, but I do not need to run any of my life decisions past you. You will meet Nina tomorrow night. We’ll have dinner at L’Atelier, and you can get to know her and her two children. In a civil manner, I might add.”

“Wait, she has fucking kids?”

Wow, so not only would my father likely be nabbing a large portion of the working class and Latina votes by marrying this woman, he’d probably be getting the votes of at least half the single mothers in this state. How noble of him…

“Here’s a photo of them which she gave me to show you,” he said, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a small, faded picture. “She has two daughters. Lina is eighteen, and Lily is five.”

I looked at it, expecting to feel nothing for the people who would soon be my stepfamily. Instead I felt like I’d been hit in the guts by a sledgehammer and had the wind knocked right out of me.

It was her. The girl from last night. She was in the photo, smiling as she held her little sister’s hand. Nina stood to her left, proudly grinning at the camera. I had to admit, they were a cute little family…but fuck.
Her.
No fucking way.

My gaze shot back up to match my father’s. “This…this is them? What did you say her name was?”

“Nina Diaz.”

I shook my head impatiently. “No, the daughter. The older one.”

“Lina. Why?”

“No reason. She just looks kinda familiar, I guess.”

Lina
. So that was her name. It suited her; feminine and sweet. Part of me was glad that I knew it now, but the rest of me was thunderstruck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’d almost screwed the girl who was soon to be my stepsister…and we hadn’t exactly parted on amicable terms. Shit, I still didn’t even know exactly why she’d split.

The worst part was that she’d met me at one of my fights. If she told her mom, and Nina relayed that information onto my father, I’d be screwed. And not in the good kind of way, I might add.

I’d been fighting in the underground scene in my spare time for a year now, and the only person who knew my secret was my trainer; my cousin, Tripp. We’d always gone to the gym together, and he’d first noticed my talent when we had a casual sparring match. He’d hooked me up with all the right people, under a false name of course, and the rest was history. Tripp was just like me—born into privilege, but didn’t care for the social and career aspects of it too much.

If my father found out what we’d been doing, he’d have a fucking heart attack and probably disown me. Stryker men went to elite schools, elite colleges, and then went on to careers in politics or law. Sometimes medicine. Never something as seedy and ‘lowlife’ as fighting. Especially the illegal kind.

With the upcoming election, all media eyes were on my father, and he needed me to put on the same façade of the bright, ambitious young college student I’d been putting on every day for the last year and a half. For all his faults, I had to admit, he’d given me everything I ever needed in life, so I didn’t want to fuck things up for him, and I was happy to get a degree in political science if it kept him happy and off my back.

However, if the media ever got wind of the fact that his son was participating in underground fights, the blowback could destroy his campaign. And shit, I wasn’t just participating in the fights, I was fucking
killing
it in the fights. I’d never lost.

It probably sounded strange that I wanted to fight, considering how much I didn’t want to screw things up for my father, but to me, it wasn’t strange at all. See, I didn’t just want to fight. I
needed
it. It sounded clichéd as fuck, but it was the truth. From the first second I’d tried it out, I’d experienced the craziest fucking adrenaline rush I’d ever felt in my life. That led to a sense of euphoria which couldn’t be matched by anything else; not drugs, not sex…nothing. Time slowed, senses heightened, and everything seemed right in the world for every second I was in that cage.

Selfish as it might have been, I had to keep doing it, because it made me feel so fucking good. It made me feel truly
alive.

Plus, I’d never even come close to having my true identity outed. At first I’d thought it would be hard to keep it hidden from the crowds of onlookers, to the point where I’d considered wearing a mask, but it actually wasn’t hard. Whenever I entered the room, half my face would be covered with a hood, and by the time I got to the cage, I was far enough away from the crowd so that I might look slightly familiar, but not familiar enough for them to put a name to the face…especially when that face was all bruised and bloodied by the end, when some of them would approach me for autographs.

When I brought chicks back to my hotel room afterwards, I kept the lights off so they wouldn’t recognize me from the papers when they got up close and personal, and the guys I fought never had any idea who I was either. They came from different backgrounds to me, and they weren’t the sort to follow gubernatorial races or any other political bullshit.

As for my father, he barely noticed when my face and knuckles were bruised. If he ever did, I just told him it was from Tripp and me sparring at the gym, and he’d nod and let it go.

So yeah, it was way easier to keep my identity hidden than you’d think….but Lina knew who I was, and she’d realize that fact as soon as she saw me at dinner tomorrow.

Shit. She better not tell.

Then again, I had a little material on her which might help to keep her pretty little mouth shut. I still had her bra. Maybe I could take it to the dinner tomorrow and hand it to her under the table while we ate with our parents. The message would be clear.
Tell our parents where you met me, and I tell them that we almost fucked
. She wouldn’t want that to happen. I pictured her squirming with shame as I handed her the bra, and the thought of her cheeks flushing red was enough to make my cock immediately stand to attention.

Yeah, that’d definitely work. She wouldn’t be able to tell our parents shit about me, because then she’d have to explain what she’d been doing at an illegal fight and how her soon-to-be stepbrother had ended up with her underwear.

I guess I was safe for now.

Now all I had to do was pretend like I didn’t still want to fuck the brains out of the girl who was about to become my stepsister…