STEPBROTHERS (3 Book Stepbrother Romance Collection) (35 page)

After a few moments he leaned against the grimy wall and managed to look me in the eye.

Fear ran through him, but he there was no escaping, and he knew it.

“Thought you’d just leave me high and dry, did you?”

He coughed and spluttered, but in between the dry rasping noises I managed to make sense of a few words. “It’s… not… like… that.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Let me guess, you we’re gonna call, weren’t you? But you happened to lose my number, and then your grandmother died, and you were in a car crash…” A combination of a grimace and smile slid across my face. “I’ve heard it all before, Rene. Now where’s my money?”

“I don’t have it.”

I sighed. I hated liars.

I started to count to ten but only reached four when my fists demanded that I hit him. And who was I to object?

Rene cried and moaned like a baby and slid down to the ground trying to protect himself from my onslaught.

“You wanna try that again? I know you’ve got some money, you little shit. Hand it over, and I won’t break your legs.”

“Fuck,” he whimpered and eventually dug a hand into his wallet, then threw it at me.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be rude. You have a debt to pay, and I’m here to collect—you got yourself in this mess, Rene. Not me,” I said as I counted the bills inside. There was less than 20% of what he owed. Up until last week Rene had been one of my regular customers who paid on time with no fuss. But in light of him being fired, I couldn’t help but think he’d been skimming from the hotel bar to pay for his little gambling problem, and he had finally got caught.

“You’re short,” I stated.

“I’ll pay, I promise. Just give me a few extra days to pay it back. You know I’m good for it.”

They all say that, too.

A clatter behind us, deeper within the alley, echoed and bounced off the walls. A few angry shouts sounded; a man and a woman arguing… more like the man was shouting and the woman was begging for him to stop.

I turned back to Rene. “Fuck,” I muttered, as he was no longer where he had been. He’d taken his chance and scarpered away. I glanced back towards the noise in the alleyway, then back to street trying to decide what to do. Go after Rene, or come to this woman’s rescue?

The woman sounded scared, squealed to be let go, that he was hurting her.

Goddamnit.

She cried again, full of anguish.

“Fuck,” I muttered, and I groaned again. Why did I have to always go after the damsel in distress? It was like my fundamental flaw that had been ingrained in me since… I knew the reason why I was like this, but I pushed it out of my mind and started creeping down the alleyway. A door was propped open and a shaft of light cut into the darkness. The door was on the same side as the hotel, and I assumed it was some sort of fire exit being used incorrectly.

The shouts grew louder as I approached. I hugged the wall and kept to the shadows, edging around a large dumpster on wheels that smelled of everything that was rotten with the world. I was a few feet away when the shouting abruptly stopped. The figure of a young woman was propelled into the light and fell to the ground, her hands braced for impact.

“You’re fucking fired!” a familiar male voice shouted. It was strained, almost panicked, but it tried to give off the tone of authority.

The woman on the ground, through cries and streaming tears, picked herself up and spun around to her attacker. “You’re firing me cause I won’t suck your cock? Fucking piece of shit!”

Her anger fought through her tears that I could see rolling down her cheeks, and she took a hesitant step forward. But with a second thought to her safety, she thought better of arguing.

“Fuck you, Donte. I quit.” The woman untied her apron, part of a maid’s uniform, I presumed, threw it at her target and sprinted down the passage. She passed me, unaware that there’d been an audience to the little domestic.

From behind the open door there was a shuffle and the quick scratch from a lighter. The orange glow bled out into the darkness, and I came out from the shadows and around the door.

“Jesus Christ!” Donte yelled as he spluttered and coughed up a thick cloud of smoke that he had difficulty expelling from his thin lips. He recovered quickly. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

I knew I had to play it cool if I wanted him to cooperate; needed to rein in my temper for just a second longer in order to find out what he was blackmailing Beatrice with. “Think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” I said, saying the words as sincerely as I could muster.

“Oh, really?” Donte’s elongated eyebrow twitched in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“So what do you want?”

“Information. Rene Fowler, I need to locate him,” I lied. “There’s some money in it if you help me.”

Donte scoffed. “I don’t need your money. If you haven’t noticed, I own this hotel.”

He shook his head, amused by my request. “Just go. I’m not going to give a piece of scum like you anything.” Donte’s hand reached the edge of the door to pull it closed and end our conversation.

But the rage that was burning inside me finally escaped. I’d kept my cool for far too long. What had I expected? That he was just going to invite me in and we’d discuss what he’d done to Beatrice in a civil manner? Or that other girl, for that matter? Nah, the only thing that would get through to a man like that would be a taste of his own medicine. And in retrospect, the alley was the perfect place. There were no cameras or witnesses.

Before he managed to pull the fire door closed, my hand caught his, my thick fingers wrapping around his wrist like vines, and I yanked him out.

The fire door slammed shut as Donte lost his balance, catching a toe on a bit of debris; there was a clattering sound as a glass bottle rolled away into the darkness. I let go of his arm, and he crumpled to the dirty pavement, his no doubt expensive suit getting suitably scuffed up in the process. I grinned at him from my stance high above.

“So, you like hitting woman do you?”

“What?” he asked, as if he had no clue what language I was speaking.

“Don’t play dumb!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Donte scrambled back, shuffling his butt in attempt to get away from me as I stepped forward.

My head throbbed; the urge to release the pent-up anger that had been festering in me for the better part of a day and a half was ready to make an appearance.

I lunged for his tie; it made it effortless to pull him up towards me, and though Donte wasn’t what I would call a small man, lifting him by the noose he wore around his neck was almost comically easy for me.

He tried to pry my fingers loose, but my grip was like fused steel.

“What do you want?” he whined, making every pointless effort to try and squirm away, knowing now he was in true danger.

“I want you to admit it. Tell me what you did to her. I want you to say the words.” All thoughts of why obliterated from my reasoning. I just wanted an excuse to hit him now.

“You mean to Dot—, I mean Beatrice?”

I nodded.

“And then you’ll let me go?” he asked hopefully.

I nodded again. He frowned, but self-preservation was kicking in. The urge to be released, to avoid danger at all costs, was evident all over his panic-stricken face.

“She fell,” he said, and I growled my displeasure at his answer. “Wait! I mean, she fell because I pushed her into the wall.”

“And then what?” My other hand gripped the lapel of his suit, bringing him closer to my snarling mouth.

He sighed, all hope draining from him; he was damned if he spilled the beans and damned if he didn’t.

“And then I tied her up, and forced her—”

My hard forehead smashed into his face.

I
was only
a couple of minutes late. Traffic was a nightmare, but I hoped Donte wouldn’t punish me for being tardy. I sat at the hotel bar, sipping a cocktail, dressed in a more modest, less revealing dress this time. A black number which showed off my curves—no hiding those—but it managed to look more like funeral attire than something you’d wear to meet a client who paid for sex. It was muted, echoing my mood, and it would get the job done. Damn him if he thought I was going to dress up and play nice for him. He’d have to like the bare minimum. I’d also had to style my hair slightly differently; my parting was now on the opposite side, doing its best to hide the ugly mix of yellow, muddy greens and purple smudges that my concealer had done little to cover.

Ten minutes had gone by, and in my nervousness I’d drained my glass. Donte didn’t seem like a man who’d be late or who tolerated lateness. He was more like those men who had to have everything scheduled down to the minute, their lives structured around making money—lateness meant lost income to them.

Signalling the barman who’d just finished up serving a grey-bearded gentlemen, the one who kept giving me a meaningful, hopeful eye, I asked if Donte was running late.

“Not that I know of,” he replied cordially. “Let me check for you.”

“Thanks.”

Not wanting to give the bearded man any encouragement, I shifted my body and turned to stare out towards the lobby.

My fingernails tapped quietly against the polished bar, nervous thoughts flying crazily around my head.

He wasn’t coming.

Dread sank to the bottom of my stomach. Had Donte decided that it was better to let my secret out? To embarrass my father? But what motive would he have to do that? I was what he wanted, surely? I couldn’t figure out his end game. Of course, I didn’t know him that well, but one rich guy was practically indistinguishable from the next; they wanted power, and by hanging my secret over my head he had all the power he wanted. He could do anything to me, and I would let him. Anything to avoid seeing the disappointment on my father’s face.

“One of the members of staff saw him a while ago going up to his room,” the barman said, interrupting my thoughts. I nodded and thanked him, not sure if I should stay or go. I glanced back towards the lobby and frowned as someone very out of place walked by. A flash of a rumpled black leather jacket, but it stood out from amongst the suits and dresses.

Vincent? What was he doing here? I slid off the stool, wanting to make sure it was him. It had certainly looked like him from afar, similar build and rugged, but I couldn’t be sure.

Thinking about him brought the kiss from Friday night to the centre stage of my mind. It had stayed with me throughout my lonely weekend—you couldn’t easily forget a kiss like that anytime soon—his taste, salty and addictive, made me want more.

But I buried the thoughts; it was folly to think that there could ever be anything between us. He was off-limits, and I had other things to worry about; getting involved with my stepbrother was not going to be one of them. Not to mention the strict insistence from my father that he was certainly not part of the family.

By the time I got to the lobby he was gone, and for a moment I distinctly felt disappointment wash over me. I could’ve gone out to the street and tried to pick him out of the crowd, chase him down, but what would be the point? Instead my eyes travelled to the lift, which ultimately led to Donte’s penthouse room.

Might as well get this over and done with.

If he wasn’t going to come down, then I’d better go to him. Otherwise, I feared he’d use it against me, and the secret life I’d built would soon be brought out into the light.

The lift dinged and I stepped out, swallowing the thick lump that had been growing as I rode up to his floor. I could just leave, I thought. Forget about the whole thing and let the cards fall where they may. Was I that ashamed of what I’d become? No.
Yes.
Maybe. I didn’t know anymore. These past few days I felt like I’d somehow split apart, lost who I was, and every hour that passed I became increasingly fearful that I would never regain that lost sense of self.

Before I knew it, my feet had already made the decision, and I was standing by his door. Puzzlement overcame me when I saw it was already open, a sliver of light slicing in between the door and frame. Maybe he’d left it open for me, I considered.

Gently I pushed it open further. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my brain willed me to be cautious.

Something wasn’t right. The air in the apartment was too still, deathly quiet.

“Donte?” My voice cracked as I called out his name. No answer came back as I listened in the small foyer. Not wanting to hear any more of the silence, I called out again as I made my way deeper into the luxurious apartment. “Donte? I waited in the bar…” I trailed off, knowing somehow, instinctively, that there was no one there, that the apartment was vacant. But stubbornness made me check each room, a niggling sensation that told me to me to keep looking. And god how I wished I’d fought that impulse and just turned on my heel and left.

But I didn’t.

The smell hit me as I approached the master suite. A strong metallic tang, it coated the inside of my nostrils and mouth, as if I’d been sucking on a whole load of old copper pennies.

Then I saw him, what was left of him at least.

My hand went to my mouth to stifle the scream that fought its way out, and I stumbled back; my body hit the bedroom door I’d just come through.

Lying motionless at the foot of the bed, each of his limbs strewn at awkward angles was Donte. One side of his cheek was pressed against the carpet. His face was mangled and his eyes open wide, lifeless and no longer looking at anything.

I couldn’t move. I was stuck taking in every gory detail, waiting for my brain to catch up and tell me what to do.

Blood covered him in thick dark red globs; there was barely any of his skin that hadn’t been touched or stained by the gore.

The most unusual feeling came over me as I continued to stare: I was glad. After what he’d done to me, this was the least that he’d deserved. But as soon as the thought came, a vile wash of nausea overwhelmed me. I struggled to reach the bathroom in time and retched as angry tears stung my eyes.

Finally, sitting on the cool, tiled floor, my brain started to kick into gear. I had to get out. I couldn’t be here when the staff found him. Self-preservation launched me to my feet, and with a last glance at his still body, I left him there—beaten, bloody and dead.

C
old sweat trickled
down my spine as I made my way to the lift. I knew I had to get out before someone found me there. Travelling down the short hallway, passing doors on either side, it felt like there were several sets of accusatory eyes peering out at me from their peepholes, watching me, telling me that it was all my fault that Donte was dead. I kept my head down and tried to ignore the sensation; I was just being paranoid.

I reached the lift, but before I could jab my finger on the button, I saw the green illuminated numbers in the display glowing at me; the numbers were increasing rapidly. I held my breath, but with each passing number I took a step back.

A quick glance around me told me there was no where to hide should someone be coming up to this floor… of course there were the stairs, the fire escape, but they were on the other side of the long hallway from where I was standing. There would be no time to get to them without being seen.

The ominous lift was now only two floors away. Panic set in, clutching and squeezing at my neck; it was getting hard to breathe.

I had only one hope—go back to Donte’s apartment and pray that whoever was travelling up to this floor would be going to one of the other penthouse apartments and not Donte’s.

But what if it was security? What if they’d seen me on the cameras that were no doubt watching me right now?

One floor away. I had seconds to decide. Stay and be confronted with whoever got off the elevator, letting them witness my presence only metres away from where a dead body lay, making myself a suspect. And not only that, one with a motive—a secret to hide.

Fuck.

I had no time to think; I had to act.

I didn’t want to go back into that apartment, but there was no other option, and as I quietly darted back behind the door, the lift announced its arrival with an accusatory ding.

Time’s up.

Before the brushed metal doors could slide open, I tried to close the door to Donte’s apartment, but as I pushed, there was no click—no mechanism that kept it secure and locked. It merely swung open again. The lock had been broken, forced open? I leaned my body against the heavy door, holding it closed, peered through the peephole and sucked in a breath.

The warped view, distorted around the edges but clear and sharp at its centre revealed a dark, almost hunched-over figure stepping out of the small confines of the lift The guilt in me made me half expect to see a large security force or hordes of uniformed police coming to track me down, to see why I was on this floor. Instead it was someone I least expected.

I recognised him at once. Backlit from the glowing lights from within the tiny lift, he was a sight to see. Large and domineering, he moved purposefully, directly towards me. His head was tilted down slightly, and the way he looked in my direction, even though there was a solid barrier between us, it felt like his gaze was piercing me.

Shaken by the effect, I blinked and refocused my eye through the spy-hole. He was still coming towards my hiding spot behind the door.

The closer he got, the more his frame filled the circular window and my mouth went dry. I could see the dusting of stubble on his face and the cracks in his leather jacket that looked like it was moulded to his bulging arms beneath.

It was then, when he was only inches away, on the other side of the door, that a dangerous thrill sent shivers right to my core. I suddenly realised I should be terrified of the man I was gazing at; I should’ve been scared of Vincent and the acts that I now knew he was wholly capable of.

He had after all just murdered the man who lay in the room next to where I was standing.

But I was more intrigued than scared; at least that’s what I told myself, trying to keep the panic that was bubbling up inside me at bay. He had inadvertently gotten rid of my problem. It seemed very clear that Vincent also had an issue with Donte, and vice versa, from their confrontation on Friday night, and possibly he had his own motive to get rid of him. But I clung to the hope that he’d killed him for me.

Either way, he’d done me a favour.

The killer had come back. Perhaps he’d forgotten something after he’d beaten Donte into the afterlife, but what would he do if he found me here? What would he do to me if he knew I’d witnessed his return?

Glued to the spy-hole, unable to move away, unable to breathe, not just because of the way Vincent mesmerised me, but because if I let it go, the door would creak open, making him aware that someone was there.

I waited and watched Vincent as he stood frowning. His head tilted to the side a fraction as he glanced downward, at the door handle perhaps?

An eternity passed as I studied him through the little window, and he in turn penetrated the door with his gaze. Why hadn’t he tried to come in yet? What was he waiting for?

A high-pitched chirp from my phone broke the stalemate, and almost immediately Vincent pushed the door open. Almost losing my balance I stumbled backwards a step but I managed to my palms, laid flat, against the door, and I tried with all I could to keep it closed, but Vincent was too strong, and there was nothing I could do to keep him out.

My weak, shaking body was no match for someone who looked like and did in actual fact spend hours on end building himself up in a gym.

“Nooo,” a pitiful cry escaped my lips. With a final thrust I was launched back into the room, and the door was finally open.

“Why the fuck are you in here?” Vincent questioned, his face twisted in a thunderous and murderous rage.