by Hamel, B. B.
“Hey—” I started to say, expecting my dad, but stopped mid-sentence.
The guy looking back at me with a small smirk on his face was tall. His green eyes pierced into mine, and I took a small, unconscious step back away from him. I was surprised at the way my heart suddenly began to hammer in my chest as my eyes looked up along his muscular body and lingered on the hints of tattoos at the edges of his long-sleeve dress shirt.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah. Hi. I’m Laney.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Hi, Laney. I’m Easton.”
The name suddenly clicked, and I took a sharp breath. “You’re Susan’s kid. Easton Wright.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Alan’s daughter.”
Recognition bloomed across his face as he stepped out of the door and onto the stoop next to me.
“Well, Laney, I guess this makes you and me stepsiblings.”
“I guess so.”
“Good to meet you. I was just leaving.” He glanced back inside. “Susan is just inside, in the kitchen.”
“Okay—” I started to say, but he was already walking off. “Nice to meet you,” I called after him.
He raised his hand in a small wave but kept walking. It was a little rude the way he just walked off like that. He had stared at me like I was a total idiot for a second. Maybe Susan hadn’t told him about me.
I barely remembered Easton from high school. He was a few years older than me, probably three or four, and I only knew him as a legend. He was an athlete, though not the star of anything, and pretty popular. But he was best known as being the king of the debate team.
In our town, you weren’t popular, athletic, and on the debate team. It just simply wasn’t done. The fact that Easton somehow managed to do all of those things was impressive in itself. There were also other stories about him, mythical kind of things, mostly stuff that was probably made up.
But I had to admit, after seeing him up close, I began to understand his reputation. He was known as a player, or at least he had been back in the day. Suddenly I knew why someone like him was able to get as many girls as he did.
“Laney?”
The voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I looked inside the house. Standing there with her arms crossed was Susan Wright, smiling slightly.
“Hi, Susan,” I said, coming inside.
She gave me a quick hug and offered to take my bags, but I declined. She led me into the kitchen, chatting amiably the whole time.
“Your father is late as usual,” she said. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t pick you up at the train station.”
I shook my head. “It’s totally fine.”
“Did you see Easton on your way out?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, I did.”
She frowned. “Sorry about him. He can be very rude sometimes.”
“It’s okay. I thought he was fine.”
Her expression shifted back into a smile. “Good. I’m glad. You’ll be working with him, so I hope he was nice.”
My eyes widened a bit, and I felt my heart rate jump. “He works for the FBI agent too?”
Susan cocked her head. “Oh, I didn’t tell you? Easton is the FBI agent. Well, ex-agent at least.”
I opened my mouth and then shut it. I’d be working for my stepbrother, the most notorious player in all of Mishawaka? I didn’t know what to say. “He’s so young,” I blurted out.
She nodded. “Yes, he is. Too young to be an ex-agent, but, ah, personal things happened.”
I wanted very badly to ask her more, but I decided against it. The look on her face suggested that it wasn’t the best topic in the world.
Just then, the front door opened up and my father swept into the room.
I stood up and smiled. “Hey, Dad.”
Alan Mason was a broad man. Not particularly tall, and not exactly overweight, but still thick set. He was always smiling and always busy. His hair had gone a bit grayer since the last time I’d seen him, but otherwise he was the same person I remembered.
“Laney, it’s so good to see you,” he said, wrapping me up in his usual hug.
“You too, Dad.”
“I’ll let you two catch up,” Susan said, and disappeared.
“Your new house is really nice,” I said, looking around. So far, from what I had seen, the place was absolutely huge and very, very modern. I had to admit, it beat the hell out of my dinky apartment back in Chicago.
“I’ll give you a tour. Come on.”
I followed up through the halls. He showed me the living room, the game room, and the dining room. Out back, there was a large deck and a nice pool. Upstairs, there were several bedrooms, including their master bedroom. I was staying on the third floor so that I’d have more privacy.
“Best room in the house,” he said with a wink.
The bed was enormous, a four-poster thing, like something from a fairy tale. I had my own desk and dresser and walk-in closet, plus a little TV.
“I can get a computer in here too, if you want,” he said.
“No, no thanks. This is already too much.”
He laughed. “I’m just happy you’re back home. Anything you want, just ask.”
We walked past two more empty rooms and he showed me the bathroom. Marble floors, huge tub, huge shower. It was absolutely unreal.
“When did you get this place?” I asked him as I walked through the bathroom, gaping at everything.
“Just two months ago, actually. Susan picked it out.”
“It’s incredible.”
“I know. It was hard to sell the house on Beaker, though.”
I nodded. Beaker Street was where we’d lived with my mom, all those years ago. I thought of that house as my childhood home.
But this new house would do just fine.
“Why don’t you get unpacked and then come downstairs. We’ll have something to eat.”
“Sounds good, Dad.”
He paused outside my door. “Thanks again for coming home.”
“Thanks for doing all this for me. I’m glad I’m here.”
He smiled and then left.
I collapsed onto my bed, my mind spinning in tight circles. The house, my father, Susan, and Easton were all incredible. It was almost too good to be true.
Except the part about working for Easton. That made me nervous, in all honesty. I had no clue what he was like, and, plus, he was so young. How could I really learn anything from him? He probably barely knew anything himself.
And why had he left the FBI? Susan’s comment about it made it seem very mysterious. Maybe I could ask Easton himself, though he hadn’t exactly seemed super friendly when I’d run into him earlier that day.
As I unpacked my stuff, I could feel my heart racing. I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew I was in for an interesting summer. All reservations and hesitations about Mishawaka were forgotten for the time being.
I had a job and a decent place to stay. What else could I possibly want?
2
Easton
Coming home was not what I wanted to do on my twenty-fifth birthday. But after you’re honorably discharged from the FBI, or “let go” as they like to say, there’s not much else to do.
So I packed my things and drove across the country. It passed by like a blur, one long string of shitty fast food place after the next.
Finally, like magic, I found myself back in Mishawaka. The place was full of memories. And the last thing I wanted was memory.
I had enough to last a lifetime.
I didn’t tell my mother at first. She was probably too busy running the town with an iron fist to care. She’d notice eventually, anyway, when some young upstart kid started plying his trade in town. She was one of the most powerful members of the city council, after all, and any changes in town inevitably went through her.
Still, I got my private license, I used what savings I had left to rent out some office space, and I put a little ad out in the
paper. Work started coming, but slowly.
It took my mother three months to notice that I was home. Needless to say, she was pretty unhappy when she found out that her son had been fired from the Feds and was suddenly working as a cheap private eye for hire right in her city center without her knowledge. That sort of thing just didn’t happen to Susan Wright.
I took a little pride in the fact that I had lasted so long without her noticing. I used every trick I could think of to stay underneath her radar, but eventually she was going to find me out. I thought three months was pretty damn good.
That first conversation didn’t go well. I didn’t much care whether she was happy to see me or not, but I knew she could make my life difficult if she wanted to.
Eventually, after another few weeks or so, things got a little better.
I parked my car around the corner from her house, a habit I’d picked up when I was an agent. Never park right out front; never leave yourself exposed. I was a careful person and always had to be. When you worked in my division of the FBI, you had to be.
There were some fucked up, dangerous people in the world.
I walked slowly around the block and up my new stepfather’s stoop. Susan had moved in with him after she had convinced him to sell his old house and to upgrade. It wasn’t surprising that she refused to live in anything but the best.
I rang the bell and waited, shifting my weight foot to foot. In the Feds, they teach you to always be ready for everything.
I still had a lot of habits from my days in the bureau. I glanced down at the tattoos peeking out from my shirtsleeves and grinned to myself. I had picked up a few new things, too.
Susan answered the door after another few seconds.
“Mom,” I said.
“Easton. Nice to see you.”
Her tone suggested otherwise.
I followed her inside, not saying anything. We walked into the kitchen and sat down at a nice little island. I guessed the house was worth at least a million, possibly one point two. I knew that Alan Mason could afford it, considering he was the most successful property developer in Mishawaka. Actually, he was the most successful developer in the whole county, if not the state.
“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked me.
An ominous beginning. “No, Mother, I don’t. I have work to do, so let’s make this quick.”
She frowned at that. “No need to be uncivil.”
“Nothing uncivil about needing to work.”
“Some drunk cheater you need to follow?”
I smirked at her. “Heroine addict, actually.”
She scoffed and shook her head. Susan Wright believed that staking out drunks and cheaters was below her, and her son by extension. Personally, I wasn’t above or below anything, which was something I had learned the hard way.
My job wasn’t glamorous. For the most part, I followed around cheating husbands. Ninety percent of being a private investigator was waiting around to take pictures. The life of a PI was all about patient and diligence, and I had both in spades. Though I wasn’t hunting bad guys at the federal level anymore, I was still helping people.
Even small towns like Mishawaka needed help. There were enough bad people to go around.
“At any rate,” she said, moving on, “I wanted to ask for a favor from you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
She nodded. “I hoped it could be a way for us to mend things.”
“I’m listening.”
“You know that I’m married now, but did you know that Alan has a daughter?”
I nodded. “Laney Mason. Twenty-one. Junior at the University of Chicago.”
“Very good. You did your homework.”
“It’s my job.”
She would have been surprised by the other things I knew about her new husband, but I kept that stuff to myself.
“Well, did you know that she’s studying criminal justice?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t. And I can guess where this is headed.”
“Before you say no, hear me out. She’s a bright young girl.”
I stood up. “Sorry, Mother. I’m not interested.”
“Please, Easton, sit down.”
I sighed and looked back toward the front door. I had absolutely no interest in hiring some daft undergrad girl to hang around my office all day long. I didn’t need a secretary, and frankly I couldn’t afford one. I didn’t like babysitting and I didn’t need another distraction in my life.
“Why do you want this, anyway?”
“Because, despite what you may think, I want us to be a family again. I’d hoped that you could help her, maybe teach her some things.”
“She’s some spoiled, small-town girl. She doesn’t want to work with me.”
“Actually, she does. She’s on her way here right now to meet you.”
I clenched my jaw. An ambush. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’ll pay for her,” she said quickly. “You won’t have to worry about that. Just take her on, teach her what you can.”
“I don’t believe that you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” I said, turning away. “And I’m not interested in being a part of your little games.”
Her response was swallowed by the sound of the doorbell.
“There she is,” Susan said softly.
I glared at her. “I’m leaving. Tell her I said no, and that it’s nothing personal.”
“Tell her yourself,” mother said.
I turned away, shaking my head, and walked toward the door. I pulled it open, not sure what to expect.
That was the first time I really saw Laney Mason. We had gone to the same school together, though we never ran in the same crowds. I never knew her and barely ever saw her. What I remembered was a gangly young girl, all knees and braces.
Laney had grown up.
Her hair was long and dark, and her eyes were a deep brown. Her skin was pale and her lips were full, the kind of full that you couldn’t help but imagine would wrap perfectly around the tip of your cock. Her body was full and I could tell she kept herself fit.
I stared at her for a second, feeling something stir. She wasn’t what I’d expected, not at all.
“Hey—” she was saying, but stopped and suddenly looked awkward. The way she bit her lip drove me fucking insane.
“Can I help you?” I asked, deciding to see how she’d respond.
“Uh, yeah. Hi. I’m Laney.”
“Hi, Laney. I’m Easton.” She shifted nervously as I stared at her, a smirk playing on my lips.
“You’re Susan’s kid. Easton Wright.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Alan’s daughter.”
“Well, Laney, I guess this makes you and me stepsiblings.”
As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I had a strange, sudden jolt of adrenaline. I’d never experienced something like that before, but I knew instantly what it was.
Lust, pure and simple. I’d wanted plenty of women before, and had plenty. But never before had I experienced that initial desire like a jolt of lightning to my core.
The girl was damn sexy, and she was my stepsister. It was fucked up and wrong, but I knew instantly that I wanted her.
“I guess so.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, looking back inside. “I was just leaving. Susan is just inside, in the kitchen.”
“Okay—” she began, but I was already moving past her. My heart was racing and my cock was slightly hard as I imagined what those lips could do. “Nice to meet you,” she called after me.
I gave her a short wave but kept moving.
Laney Mason, my new stepsister. My mother’s proposal came back to me as I moved closer and closer to my car.
I had some work to do, but maybe it was worth considering. I could use a little help around the office. And maybe Laney was as bright as Susan said she was, and maybe she would be an asset.
Or she’d be a total waste o
f my time. Part of me was looking forward to finding out.
My office smelled like sweat.
Probably because I’d been sleeping there ever since I’d come back to Mishawaka. At first it was because I couldn’t afford both home and office space, but it quickly became apparent that I just had no interest in finding a separate apartment.
I lived on the top floor of a three-story building. It was a mix of mostly offices and dentists, though I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only person living there. I was lucky enough to grab a spot with a small shower, and the tiny kitchen space did the trick. I sighed as I unbuttoned my shirt, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.
As I poured two fingers of the cheap whisky, I thought back on the last few years of my life. My time in the FBI had been ideal at first, and I had fit in perfectly. I had stellar scores on all my exams at the academy, and people were even calling me a rising star. It became obvious how good I was at my job when they assigned me to a special division operating out of Texas.
We called ourselves the Serial Hunters, because we specialized in tracking and capturing serial killers. Law enforcement from all over the country would call us for help on their most difficult cases, and we were expected to crack them every time.
I loved it. I loved the challenge and the prestige, of course, but most of all I loved getting into the mind of a killer. The men we tracked were the worst of the worst, the baddest, most sadistic fuckers that ever existed. They were men that killed for fun or pleasure or for some twisted reason we couldn’t even fathom, and it was my job to try to think like they did.
And I was good at it.
I slugged back my whisky, dropping down onto the couch that also pulled out into my bed. The back room served as my living room slash bedroom while the front room was where I met with clients. After all, I had to keep some semblance of cleanliness and professionalism, otherwise I’d never get any work.
And shit did I need the work. The FBI had been pretty generous when they’d let me go, but I found that money quickly was getting sucked up into my monthly rent check.
As I turned the TV on to whatever football game was on that day, I heard my doorbell ring. Sighing, I took another sip of whisky and then stood up and buttoned my shirt back up.
