Stepbrother Wants (His Twisted Game, Book Eight) (3 page)

He knew I was here.
 
Jeffrey knew I was here.
 
I was sure of it.
 
Whoever had answered the call up in Jeffrey’s
office – a receptionist or an assistant – had surely told Jeffrey I
was here.
 
And he was refusing to
see me.

He’d sent that video to Cole, in a move
that was so slimy, so deceitful,
so
underhanded and
meant to intimidate.
 
And now I was
here and he wouldn’t even talk to me.

I thought back to that day, the day in
the woods, how he’d felt,
his
breath hot against my
neck, how I pretended to enjoy it.
 
The promises he’d made, the things he’d told me so I would let him do
what he’d done.

How he’d thrown me away like I was a used
tissue.

The same way he was trying to do now.

The same way Cole had done just a few
moments ago.

I was sick of
it,
sick of these men fucking up my head and making me feel worthless.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms over my
chest.
 
“I’m sorry, but I’m not
going to leave until I see him.”

I knew it was fruitless– the guard
was already on his way out from behind the desk, his meaty arms straining
against the sleeves of his uniform.
 
I looked around wildly for a way into the building, imagined myself
jumping the turnstile and rushing into the elevator, running into Jeffrey’s
office and demanding he see me.

I spotted a security camera perched high up
in the corner of the lobby, and the sight of it made me crazed.

“You coward!” I yelled at it.
 
“You fucking
coward!
 
You can’t even come down here and see me, you can’t even talk to me
after what you did
?!
” A voice deep inside of me told
me to stop, told me I was acting crazy, told me I was just making everything
worse.

I knew it was just a security camera,
knew there was no way Jeffrey was watching me, that the feed went to a security
office, that Jeffrey would never even see it.

But I couldn’t stop.

I was yelling so loudly that the sound of
my voice drowned out my thoughts until I didn’t even know what I was saying.

“Miss!” the security guard said.
 
He put his hands on my shoulders and
tried to turn me around and point me back toward the revolving doors, but I
reached out and started pummeling his chest with my fists.

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed.
 
“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me,
don’t
touch me!”
 

He’d pulled out his walkie talkie, he was
calling for back up and I thought about how those cops had converged on Cole
with their sticks, and I wondered if maybe the security guards were going to do
that to me.

My legs went rubbery and my knees
buckled.

 
I felt like I was falling to the ground, but I wasn’t.
 
I was just sort of weaving, and then I
felt arms circle my waist from behind, strong and forceful.

“Stop!” I yelled as the person picked me
up and began carrying me toward the door.
 
“Put me down!”
 
I kicked my
legs backwards and connected with the person’s shin, and then I heard his
voice.

Cole.

“Avery!” he said.
 
“Stop!”

The sound of his voice was enough to zap
the fight out of me, and I felt myself melt into him, felt my legs to go weak
and my
body soften
.

“You know this girl?” the security guard
asked.

“Yes,” Cole said.
 
“She’s my sister.”

“Stepsister,” I said weakly.
 
But no one was listening to me.

“Well, get her out of here,” the guard
said.
 
“If she comes back, we’ll
have no choice but to press charges.”

Cole didn’t reply, instead carrying me
out of the building and out onto the street.
 
He set me down and looked at me.

My head was woozy and the concrete felt
like it was swirling under my feet.

“Avery,” he said.
 
“Avery, look at me.”

I looked at him.

“What the
fuck
 
were
you thinking?”

“How did you know where I was?” I asked.

“I was watching you,” he said.
 
“I saw you leave that bench, and I knew
you were going to get yourself into trouble.
 
So I followed you.”

“He wouldn’t even see me.”

“Who cares?” Cole said. He shook his
head. “What were you going to do to him, Avery?
 
Yell at him?
 
He
doesn’t give a shit.”

“Cole,” I choked.
 
“I don’t… I can’t… ”
 
I started to cry then, sobs that racked
my body so hard I felt like I was hyperventilating.
 

“Shh,” he said, pulling me close to him.
 
I buried my face in his muscular chest,
felt his strong arms encircle my body, comforting and warm. “Shhh, come
on.
 
Let’s get you home.”

***

He called us a car, loaded me into the
backseat and took me back to his apartment.

The apartment was pristine, returned to
the condition it had been in before it had been broken into.
 
The kitchen had been put back together,
the TV had been replaced,
the
furniture set back to
the way it was.
 
Everything was
back to being shiny and clean – Cole must have had a team working all
night.

He brought me to the guest room and
slipped me between the cool, crisp sheets of the bed.

“I want to go home,” I said, but my voice
sounded weak.
 
Whatever strength
and anger I’d felt before was completely gone and now I was beginning to feel
disconnected from my body, like I was floating up above myself, watching Cole
sitting on the side of my bed as he took care of me.
 
I looked pale and wan and weak, and I felt scared.

I knew that disassociating was not a good
sign, wasn’t something normal people did, and I started to wonder if maybe I
was having some kind of mental breakdown.

“Shh,” Cole said.
 
“You need to rest.”

He put a hand on my forehead.
 
“You feel hot.”
 
He crossed the room to the thermostat
on the wall and turned it down.
 
“I’m going to get you some water.’

He returned a few moments later with a
tray filled with chicken soup in a bowl, a bottle of water, ibuprofen, and a
washcloth.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, turning away
from him.
 
Spots were dancing in my
vision and I closed my eyes and blinked rapidly in an effort to get rid of
them.

“Avery,” Cole demanded.
 
“Look at me.”

I sighed and turned back over.

“You need to have some water.”
 
He uncapped the bottle and held it to
my lips.
 
The water was cold, I
could tell from the condensation on the bottle.
 
But it felt hot as it slid down my throat, the liquid gritty
and heavy.

“Cole,” I said, turning away again.
“Please.
 
My stomach hurts.”

“Shh,” he said.
 
“You’re fine.”

He picked up the washcloth that was
sitting on the tray and put it on my head.
 
It was cool and soothing, and it instantly made the room
stop spinning.
 
He pushed my hair
back from my forehead, smoothing it over and over rhythmically.

I opened my eyes and he stared down at
me, his blue eyes filled with concern.
 
He was so beautiful, I thought sleepily.
 
He was so beautiful, and all I wanted in this whole world
was for him to be mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured.

It was the last thing I remembered before
I drifted off to sleep.

***

When I woke, the room was dark.

My head felt heavy, my eyes gritty.

I reached for the water Cole had left on
my bedside table and took a long drink.
 
I opened the bottle of ibuprofen, shook two into my hand, and downed
those as well.

Cole had set out a t-shirt and a pair of
sweatpants at the end of the bed for me, along with a clean towel.
 
I grabbed them, then got up and walked
to the bathroom, studying my reflection in the mirror over the sink.

I looked like hell.
 
My eyes were bloodshot, my hair a mess.

I showered and dressed, trying to let the
hot water wash off the horrible day I’d had.

When I was done, I returned to the
bedroom and sat down on the bed.
 
I
was curiously awake.
 
I felt calm.

The apartment was
still,
quiet, like no one was home.
 
But I
felt sure Cole wouldn’t have left me alone.
 
So I got up walked down the hall toward the living room in
search of him.

But before I got to the living room, I
heard a noise coming from his bedroom, almost like a rustling.

His door was halfway open and I peeked
in.

He was sitting at his desk, watching
something on his computer.
 
The
glow from the monitor illuminated his face, the light flashing off his strong
features.

I hesitated.
 
I wanted to go to him.
 
Everything inside of me wanted to be near him, to ask him how he was
feeling about everything.
 
I had
the urge to beg him not to kick me out, to let me stay here with him.

I knocked on the half open door.

“Cole?” I asked softly as I slipped into
the room.
 
His room was all
hardwood and clean, modern lines, and the floor felt cold under my bare feet.

He didn’t answer me.

Instead he just sat there, fixated on the
huge flat monitor screen in front of him.
 

“Are you working?” I asked softly.

He glanced up at me, his eyes meeting
mine before they flicked back to the screen.
 
His chin rested in his hand, the expression on his face flat
and hard.

I waited a beat, but he didn’t tell me to
leave so I walked further into the room.

He reached out and clicked the mouse, then
leaned forward in his chair.

“Cole?” I tried again.

But he still didn’t say anything.

He just sat there, his concentration
trained on the screen.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently.

Something flickered on his face then,
sadness or worry, but it only lasted a second before he went blank again.

I walked around behind his desk so I
could see what he was looking at.

My hand flew to my mouth as acid burned
the back of my throat.

He was watching the video of
me and Jeffrey
.

The video reached the end, and Cole immediately
started it over again.

“Cole,” I said.
 
“Please, turn it off.”

He stayed silent, his face a mask of
nothingness.

“Cole!” I yelled.
 
I reached over and pushed the button on
the computer, pausing the video.
 

Cole turned around in his chair, looked
at me standing there.
 

“Why?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shook my head.
 
“I told you, it was stupid.
 
It was just… ”
 
I took a deep breath.
  
“It didn’t mean anything.”

“You let him fuck you up against a tree
and film it and it didn’t
mean
anything?”

“I liked him,” I said.
 
“It was stupid, I know.
 
But he… he made me
think
that if I was with him, he would take care of me.
 
He promised me things.”

Cole gripped the sides of his chair, his
knuckles turning white.
 
“What kind
of things?”

“Money.”

“He wanted to pay you to have sex with him?”
 
Cole flew out of his chair and began
pacing the room.
 
He ran his
fingers through his hair, his eyes crazed.