Stepbrother Savage Read online

  Finally, I open the door wide and snarl at the person in front of me. “What the fuck do you want?” I ask brusquely.

  “To come inside,” the voice replies and my mouth gapes open as I recognize the man in front of my as none other than stepbrother dearest. He looks … wild. His hair is ruffled, his shirt collar open, and I’m pretty sure he’s shaking a little, too.

  I ignore his words and block the entrance to my apartment with my body. “How about you leave me the fuck alone,” I sneer at him, finally letting out all the frustration, all the anger that’s been building up in my body over the past few months. I let the hatred flow freely as I stare him down, trying to turn him into dust with my eyes.

  He doesn’t even acknowledge me, instead brushing me aside like I’m a paper doll and making his way into the apartment. Outraged, I follow him and try to stare him down, but he refuses to meet my eye. He plops down on the couch and switches the TV channel.

  I’m so angry I’m about to start throwing the kitchen knives at him, when I realize something about him looks … off. He doesn’t seem drunk, but it’s almost like he’s in a trance. His eyes are glassy and red, and he’s staring at me like I’m not even standing a few feet away. I wonder if he’s on drugs.

  I sigh softly and close the door, pouring a glass of water and bringing it to him. He takes it from my hand without saying a single word and drinks all the water in three big gulps. I can almost feel how parched he is, the liquid hitting his throat like rock grinding on metal.

  “Are you okay?” I ask tentatively, but he doesn’t answer me, flipping the channels over and over. I look down at his hands, and they’re shaking. I start to worry.

  “Heath,” I say softly, but still nothing. Instead, I touch his face softly and make him turn towards me. His pupils are so dilated it’s hard to see where the iris of his eye starts. “Is everything okay?”

  He looks so broken, it tears my heart in two. And I know this feeling, because I’ve felt it many times over the past few months. I know it so very well.

  I touch his cheekbone lightly, my fingers grazing the arch as he flinches under my touch as if I’ve just struck him. I’ve never seen Heath like this. He’s vulnerable, breaking in front of my eyes.

  “Make it better,” he asks suddenly and I look at him, surprised. He has never asked me for anything. Ever since I can remember, he has only told me to do things, instructed and forced me to do as he said. I don’t know how to respond, but I keep stroking his face ever so softly and soon, he stops flinching from my touch.

  “It will be okay,” I keep saying over and over again, until I feel his muscles stop clenching and go slack under my soft fingertips. He goes loose for once in his life and even if we keep on fighting, I will always remember this moment. Remember that Heath Parker is not a monster, but human – just like me.

  ***

  “Do you remember her well?” he asks sometime later, and my heart misses a beat. I do. I do miss her, so badly, everyday. I tell him as much.

  “I do, too,” he replies, and the surprise seems to be evident on my face as he smirks. “Don’t believe me? She raised me like I was her own. She was the only mother I had.”

  I think back to those times and figure he’s right. I don’t know much, or anything, about Heath’s mother. I don’t think he does, either.

  “Sometimes I wish she’d never met your father,” I say softly, and realize too late what I’ve said might be hurtful. Heath moves away from my hand and sits on the opposite side of the couch, as far away from me as possible. I figure I’ve ruined it as he sits up straight and straightens his shirt.

  “I wish for that every day,” he says softly, and again, takes me by surprise.

  “Why?” I want to know.

  He is quiet and doesn’t offer as much as a shrug. I think back to the day I met him, the day we became stepsiblings. He was just 13, and I was only 10. My father had died a few years ago, and I couldn’t believe a new man – or two, if you counted the boy – were moving in with us. I decided to hate them on the spot.

  At least with Mr. Evans, there was something to hate. Heath was just a boy, always quiet, always working on something. He didn’t pay me any mind. But I remember the way my mother always defended him, always stuck up for Heath. I guess there was something there, and even if it was nothing compared to the love she showed me, it must’ve meant something to Heath.

  “It will be half a year since she’s passed in a few days,” I remark quietly and catch Heath sneaking a glance at me, so I half-nod, for no apparent reason, I guess just to show I’m coping somehow. He nods back, not offering any words of consolation. I wonder why he always has to be so cold.

  “Do you miss … your father?” I ask quietly.

  He finally looks at me and stops fiddling with the remote. His eyes scan my apartment for a split second and savagely, I hope he sees it just like the shit hole it is. He’s the one who put me here, after all.

  My mother and father were high school sweethearts. Together, they built a family and a company called Parker Inc, a conglomerate representing several worldwide luxury brands. When my father died, it all landed in my mother’s hands, but she took the blow well. She led the company for the rest of her life, and it flourished under her touch.

  Imagine my surprise when her will proved she hadn’t left anything to me. Not even her jewelry, which I watched being auctioned off with tears in my eyes weeks after she left me.

  I loved my mother, I really did.

  But I will never understand how she could’ve done this to me.

  Everything went to Mr. Evans. Everything. Suddenly, her office was remodeled for him, her name on the door disappeared. I was left well-provided for by Evans, and wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of my life if I cared to do so. But the fact that he was supplying all that money – that should have rightfully been mine – made me sick to my stomach.

  And then life threw another curveball. Only three months after my mother lost her battle with breast cancer, Peter Evans lost his life in a fatal car accident.

  And this time around, I was truly left empty handed. Everything down to the last thing I owned now belonged to his son from his first marriage. I watched the company my parents built be taken away, and I didn’t even have the chance to mourn it, because my stepbrother decided he no longer wished to support me. Suddenly, I was penniless.

  After sleeping on friends’ couches for weeks, he graciously offered me an assistant job - at the very company he took from me. It was in that moment that I decided he wasn’t just a sweet, quiet little child. He was sick and twisted, and he enjoyed nothing more than seeing me suffer.

  As the thoughts run through my mind, I become more and more bitter about the fact that he is currently sitting across from me in my cheap apartment, on the very sofa I saved up for a month to get, and it was used even then.

  “Do you miss Mr. Evans?” I ask, the viciousness dripping from my voice.

  He refuses to answer, and we’re back to switching the channels on TV. Fuck him, then.

  I stand up abruptly and cross my arms in front of my body, glaring at him hard, but he still refuses to meet my eye. It’s driving me insane.

  “It’s time for you to go,” I say harshly and force him to look at me with the sheer strength of my gaze. He finally looks up, and looks slightly deflated, which might make me feel guilty. Might being the key word in that sentence.

  “I’m not leaving,” he says softly, and then his face transforms into that well-known smirk he uses especially to mock me. “In fact, I might stay the night. You’ve overstayed your welcome in my office, so it’s only fair I return the favor.”

  The blood drains out of my face and I feel rage boiling in my blood. I walk to the door and open it wide. “Get out, Heath!” I scream at him.

  He gets up, laughing as he does so. He takes his time getting to the door, grabbing an apple from my counter and tossing it from one hand to the other. Stopping a few steps away from me, he star
es me down, but I’m not backing down.

  “Now,” I say sternly as he bites into the Golden Delicious with a crunch. He finally moves to get out just as I step back, and our bodies brush.

  I make a sound deep in my throat.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had any physical contact with my stepbrother. No family kisses. No hugs. Not even a handshake.

  I just felt a delicious, albeit dangerous burst in my stomach, like a warning shot of a gun fired into the air. My heart is thumping, my blood pumping.

  We exchange glances, confused with the feeling we seem to have both experienced. My hand trembles on the door knob and he’s almost in the hallway. I want to reach for him and pull him back, tell him I’m sorry for kicking him out.

  And just like that, the feeling’s gone, and I hit reality with a hard thud.

  “Tahlia, did you-” he starts just as I shut the door in his face.

  I rush to the sofa, because I need somewhere to sit down before I collapse. Shaking, I half-lie, half-sit on it and turn up the volume on the TV with trembling fingers.

  “Breaking news, a corpse of a young woman just found on a park bench, mutilated and violated,” the news reporter tells me as my insides clench. I don’t hear the rest at all, because I’m too busy replaying the moment when we touched in my head.

  Scalding.

  Fiery.

  Promising.

  Wrong.

  Chapter 5

  ALPHA MONSTER

  Done.

  I’ve made the first move, got the first kill.

  My trophy’s blood is still warm on my hands as I scrub them carefully, making sure I get rid of every single trace of her filthy existence.

  I might go see my lovely Tahlia today. I long to lay my eyes to rest on her delicious body. She’s getting thinner, and her curves have dwindled down to nothing. It reminds me of her when she was a child – she was like a little ragdoll.

  I pay special attention to my fingernails and pour bleach on them, furrowing my brows slightly at the sting. I must’ve gotten a cut somehow.

  Glancing at myself in the mirror above the sink, I wonder if she’ll connect the dots and realize who killed the girl. To me she was nothing – a mere pawn in my game, a means to an end.

  But still, the sound of the delicate bones in her neck snapping under my pressure brought me immense pleasure. And I know now that I’ve done it once, that I’ll do it time and time again, biding my time until it’s Tahlia’s turn. I’ll make her the dessert of the meal of a lifetime.

  Finishing up the cleaning, I throw all of the evidence into the fireplace and watch it burn, feeling pretty satisfied with myself.

  I allow myself to think of the dead girl once more before erasing her from memory.

  The way she laughed, like those annoying wind chimes we used to have at the house. The way she shivered when I touched her. Her dilated pupils indicating she wanted me.

  And then, finally, mercifully, her cry for help which was quickly nothing more than a mumble as my hand covered her pretty plump mouth.

  She said I was just her type. Strong, sexy, mysterious. She called me an alpha male. I liked that a lot. I decided to reward her for thinking of my name by carving the first letter of the Greek alphabet right under her left hipbone.

  I wonder what her name was. I never did find out.

  Chapter 6

  HEATH

  My weakness is shameful. I’ve been thinking about it all weekend, and I am deeply ashamed. When I haven’t been doing that, I’ve been thinking about our skin touching, the electric current making my hairs stand up.

  I never thought she’d feel so good. I’ve thought about it, dreamed about it, but it’s never actually happened. For all my life, I’ve tried to keep a safe distance from her, and that day, it all came crashing down on me. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to go back to the way we were, now that I know how her skin feels.

  Slowly, hesitantly, I make my way to the office. I enter into the space without my usual vigour, and I’m afraid of looking for her, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own, so they find her desk straight away.

  She’s here already, filing a report, her back turned to me. The slit in the back of her pencil skirt is daring enough to make my cock stir, and professional enough for me to clear my throat and avert my gaze. I make my way to my office, and for the rest of the day, I bury myself in paperwork.

  Of course, the merger with Japan didn’t go through. After the stunt I pulled on Friday, it was obvious they wouldn’t want anything to do with us.

  But as I stared at the stone-faced expressions of the three businessmen in front of me after Tahlia scrambled out of the office, I knew it was worth it.

  It’s better to taunt her, to mock her and make her angry, than to have nothing to do with her. It will have to suffice, at least for now.

  My work isn’t finished by 5 p.m., so I stay in late. I mentally congratulate myself for having the strength not to call her into my office once during the day, and averting my eyes whenever I venture outside of my paperwork haven.

  Finally, I can’t take the work any longer – it’s too late, and my eyes burn with strain. With a sigh, I gather my things and grab my briefcase, texting the driver to meet me up front.

  I say goodbye to the last few stragglers in the office and they look at me strangely.

  Am I really such a monster that it’s a surprise when I offer a goodbye?

  I guess you don’t get to where I am without being ruthless.

  As I take the elevator downstairs, I wonder about our talk yesterday.

  I eliminate the way she looked in that goddamn silk robe, ignore the feminine curve of her breasts, the lush brown waves sitting on her shoulders, covering her décolletage. I forget it all, and focus on her words, trying to stop picturing those luscious lips as she asks me questions that make me rough and violent.

  It’s hard for me to be gentle when I think of my father.

  But it gets a little easier if I picture her lips, sliding across mine, leaving a tingling sensation in their trail.

  I shake my head. Wrong.

  Instead, I wonder if I do miss my father.

  He was a very strict, very bad man.

  But it’s all in the past, and I’d like to keep it that way if possible.

  I’m about to exit the building when my eyes land on a silhouette on the sidewalk. It’s her, and she’s waiting for the bus again. I think back to Thursday, seeing her in the exact same position. Mocking her. Driving off, even though it tore me apart to see her there alone.

  I approach her, ignoring the alarms going off in my head.

  Because all my life, I’ve been telling myself one thing, giving myself only one rule.

  Stay away from Tahlia.

  But as each day passes, that rule is getting harder and harder to listen to. And I know eventually I will crack.

  I touch her shoulder and she flinches.

  Forbidden.

  Chapter 7

  TAHLIA

  It’s bitter cold again and I’m shaking. At least the street isn’t totally deserted today, as it isn’t that late yet. I refused to stay at work until midnight, but it is about 8 p.m.

  I was too distracted, wondering all day what game Heath was playing. It seemed like he had completely forgotten his impromptu visit, as he wouldn’t meet my eye all day. Mercifully, he didn’t call me into his office a thousand times, either, which meant I could finally finish up some loose ends at the office.

  I step from one foot to another in an attempt to warm myself up, when someone grabs me from behind. I whip my body around and take a step back.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say swiftly to whoever it was. It’s not a bad neighborhood, but I’m not taking any risks.

  “Will I catch something?” a well-known voice asks mockingly, and I roll my eyes as I spot Heath behind me.

  “What do you want?” I wonder out loud, and my heart pumps warm blood my flesh. I wonder why it’s beating so fast, and attri
bute it to the fact I hate this man with every bone in my body.

  “To offer you a ride home,” he answers simply, pulling a metal box out of his coat jacket and opening it deftly with one hand. He produces a cigarette and hands me his lighter, motioning for me to light it up, as one of his hands is holding a briefcase.

  I do as I’m told while regarding him suspiciously. “You treat me like shit,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why the sudden change in behavior?”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment as he drags on the cigarette as if it’s his lifeline. I didn’t even know he smoked, which proves just how little I know about this man, who is, all formalities aside, the brother I grew up with.

  “You look so pathetic standing here,” he offers with a wide grin, and despite the fact that he offended me and I can’t stand him, the corners of my lips twitch upwards. I find myself nodding just as his driver pulls around the curb and Heath stubs out his cigarette.

  He opens the door for me.

  What the actual fuck. My stepbrother is a gentleman.

  I get in the car, sitting on the backseat, which is separated from the front with a dimmed glass panel. Heath climbs in after me and I watch in wonder as he fastens his seatbelt.

  “Safety first?” I mock him, and he makes a face at me.

  He’s … a normal person. Who’s afraid of getting in a car accident, who has a smoke at the end of a long day, and who cares enough for me to take me home, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

  Those are three facts about him I know, and I learned them in the last five minutes. Had you asked me to tell you a mundane fact about multimillionaire Heath Evans a week ago, I would be stuck for ideas. Today, they are flowing.

  He chews on his bottom lip when he wants to say something.

  He always liked blueberry juice, but hated the fruit. He liked the way it stained his lips.

  His hands are hard and calloused – I don’t know what from.

  But his skin is velvety soft, and intoxicating.

  I clear my throat quickly and hope the darkness in the car is concealing the blush spreading across my cheeks.