by Opal Carew
Well, I hadn’t wanted to then. But right now, I’m not sure that anything could stop me.
Slowly, I open up the first box.
A black t-shirt sits on top. I pull it out and smell it. It’s lost Seth’s scent, and now age and dust and cardboard tickle my nose. I set it aside and continue to dig. There’s another shirt, and as I pick it up I realize there’s something wrapped up inside. I take it out, unwrapping the fabric to find a stack of photos.
Slowly I flip through them and my stomach clenches when I realize they are all of me. And yet… I don’t recognize any of them. These are not photos I remember being taken. I didn’t pose for any of them. One is of me sitting in the back yard in the grass reading a book. It must’ve been in the spring. Another, I’m playing cards with my dad and laughing. I continue flipping. There must be over fifty pictures here. I’m shocked and a bit unsettled.
A loud crash comes from downstairs, and a scream catches in my throat, wheezing out into the stale air. I jump and the pictures fall from my hands. I hurry to pick them up and shove them back into the box, somehow feeling guilty.
“Dad?” I scurry to the top of the stairs. I’d been glad that Dad wasn’t home, because I hadn’t wanted him to look at me with those laser eyes and demand to know what had upset me. But right now? I’m feeling just unsettled enough to welcome the company.
I wait and listen, my heart pounding in my chest. Then I see a flash outside and I realize it’s lightning, and what I just heard had been thunder. Sighing out a slightly hysterical laugh, I rub at my chest, trying to soothe my racing heart.
I’m not a damsel. I can handle a little storm.
The next clap shakes the house, and I instinctively grab for the railing. But then I hear something else, almost masked by the boom. I’ve lived in this house my whole life, and I know its sounds. I know when someone is on the stairs, I know when someone crosses the living room because of the squeak in the hardwood floor.
And I know when someone has come in through the back door. It’s not Dad. I would have heard the garage door.
My phone is in my bag downstairs. Do I hide, or do I try to get my phone?
Pulse accelerating until I feel nauseous, I begin to slide down the stairs as quietly as possible, careful not to step on the one creaking spot on the fourth stair. When I reach the foyer I look around for my purse. I’m sure I left it on the side table, but it’s not there. There’s a landline in the kitchen, if I can just make it there without noise.
I hear footsteps in the hallway in front of me, and my heart pounds so loud that I’m sure the intruder can hear it. My breath begins to come in pants. I know there’s someone here. Who? Why? Surely it’s not Seth?
Even after all he’s done, I can’t imagine him trying to scare me like this. Or maybe… maybe I’m letting my heart—and my hormones—fool me.
I feel like I’m about to explode. I can hardly breathe, but focus on controlling that, like Tristan taught me.
I’m strong. I’m fit. I’m mean. I think I can hold my own, at least long enough to get away.
That doesn’t help me when I’m petrified with fear.
Jesus, all that training and I’m too shit scared to use it.
I think again of Seth, of the violence I know he’s capable of, and my stomach sinks. Those photos… and why is he back in Galveston? Did he follow me home? Has he always been watching me, waiting for this moment? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s busy running an empire. Not to mention that’s just crazy.
It must be a neighbor. A stray cat. Something.
This doesn’t help my terrified heart.
A figure appears in front of me, and I can’t help it, I scream. While I scream, I stare, my body rigid, but the figure isn’t advancing on me. Still, I flatten myself against a wall, eyes pinned to the intruder.
It takes me a minute, but I work through the adrenaline, see that the shape is familiar. I squint and see pale skin in the flash of lightning. Wrinkles around puffy but familiar eyes. Eyes I definitely know. But much harder.
Crude tattoos on sinewy arms. Oh my God. It’s Theo.
“Bless your heart, Theo, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Why didn’t you announce yourself?”
He pins me with the stare from his deep blue eyes. Once those eyes were innocent, but right now they’re utterly blank, and the lack of expression has a chill crawling up my spine.
“Hey, pretty girl.” His arms open for me, for an embrace, but somehow it doesn’t feel welcoming.
This man, leering at me, isn’t my brother, at least not how I expected him. So I stay still, my breath again beginning to rasp in and out of my lungs.
Theo closes the distance and wraps me in his arms anyway. He stinks, the way I imagine prison smells, stale and offensive and reeking of fear.
And still he draws me tighter, tighter until I’m having a hard time breathing. I work my palms between us, manage to shove him away. I expect him to pout, a Theo-like response to not getting his way.
Instead, there’s just that leer. It makes every cell in my body cold.
“Now, what kind of hello is that for your big brother?”
The Other Brother continues in Part 2: Taboo, available NOW!
The Other Brother, Part 2: Taboo
From two New York Times bestselling authors comes part two of the scandalous story started in The Other Brother Part 1: Forbidden...
Nothing has changed... and everything has.
I've tried to forget him. I know I never will. But that doesn't mean I should welcome him back with open arms, right?
But the heat that once sparked between us has become an inferno. He's changed... but so have I.
I don't know if I can resist what was once so taboo. But first?
We have some seriously unfinished business to take care of.
The Other Brother is a novel told in three parts. This is part two of three.
**Contains graphic sexual content and harsh language. It is only appropriate for adult readers age 18+**
The Other Brother continues in Part 2: Taboo, available NOW!
About Lauren Hawkeye / T.J. Stokes
Lauren Hawkeye/ Lauren Jameson never imagined that she'd wind up telling stories for a living... though when she looks back, it's easy to see that she's the only one who is surprised. Always "the kid who read all the time", Lauren made up stories about her favorite characters once she'd finished a book... and once spent an entire year narrating her own life internally. No, really. But where she was just plain odd before publication, now she can at least claim to have an artistic temperament.
Lauren lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada with her husband, toddler, pit bull and idiot cat, though they do not live in an igloo, nor do they drive a dogsled. In her nonexistent spare time Lauren can be found knitting (her husband claims that her snobby yarn collection is exorbitant), reading anything she can get her hands on, or sweating her way through spin class. She loves to hear from her readers! You can contact Lauren through her website, www.laurenhawkeye.com or on Twitter @LaurenHJameson. And if you like chance at getting advanced copies of books, are interested in reviewing, or just want to chatter about hot men and interesting things, make sure to join the Reader Group that Lauren shares with the amazing Suzanne Rock on Facebook, Lauren Lovelies/ Suzanne and Ava’s Awesome Readers.
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Tawny Stokes aka Vivi Anna is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author in paranormal romance, urban fantasy, scifi, and young adult. Since 2003, she’s written and published over 40 books for New York publishers such as Harlequin, Kensington and Avon. She’s also independently published several projects on her own. Vivi is also a screenwriter and TV writer and is one of the co-founders of #TVwriterchat.
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