by Stone, Holly
THROTTLE
A Stepbrother Romance
By
Holly Stone
THROTTLE – Copyright © 2015 Holly Stone
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United Kingdom. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Holly Stone (Image purchased from www.fotolia.com by @Zsolnai Gergely)
Edited by Claudette Cruz
Reader Advisory: THROTTLE contains scenes that may be a trigger to those sensitive to portrayals of non-consensual sex.
1
Emma couldn’t move. The arms that rested at her sides felt as though they were strapped to the bed, but they couldn’t be, could they? She was home; she knew that from a single flash where her sight cleared enough to register the pattern of glow-in-the-dark stars that had been on her ceiling since she was a little girl. Her eyes were so dry and she wanted to blink, to scrunch her eyes, but nothing was working in the way she expected. It was as though her brain had lost control of her body.
Time passed in darkness interspersed with strange flickering light. She heard distorted sounds and saw weird mystical things. Colors drifted across her vision.
Nothing felt real.
Her tongue seemed swollen in a mouth so dry it felt as though it was packed with cotton wool. The short, fast breaths she took through her nose sounded loud as they rattled around her motionless body and addled mind. She wanted to speak, to call out to someone, but the words she needed kept disappearing into the fog inside her head.
The room was so hot she could feel sweat trickling down her hairline, but couldn’t move to swipe it away.
Darkness again. Then a noise, cool air on her legs, a relief at first.
Hot hands pushing, fumbling, hurting. In her mind she squirmed to get away, she slapped out to stop the fingers, but her body didn’t move at all.
Pain between her thighs. Weight pressed her down. A strong smell invaded her nostrils.
A face loomed. Couldn’t be, couldn’t be, couldn’t be...
Dark eyes, open mouth.
Sounds. Horrible sounds.
She tried to close her legs. She wanted to cry.
Then there was nothing.
2
Had it been eight years already?
Most days dragged by so slowly, it felt as though an eon had elapsed since Jared’s incarceration began. At the same time, the events that led to his imprisonment were as clear and fresh in his mind as if they'd occurred only the day before.
He hadn’t even known there was a word for what he did until he’d been dragged up from the cells and interrogated by the police. He’d kept his hands under the table in front of him because he didn’t want them to see how much he was shaking.
No one outside could imagine what it felt like to squeeze the life out of a man, to feel the jerking and juddering as you throttled away their last breath. Sometimes Jared found himself staring at his own hands, marveling at what they’d done, disgusted at their violence but proud of their ability to protect.
Eight long years.
Did he regret them?
That was hard. It was impossible not to look at the loss of so many years of freedom with anger and unhappiness. When he thought of all the things he could have been doing in his twenties he wanted to punch a hole in a wall from frustration. But he couldn’t regret what he did because the alternative was unthinkable. That filthy bastard hadn’t deserved to live another day with the power to hurt and to abuse. Jared wouldn’t ever regret putting a stop to what he had seen. Those memories couldn’t be erased, but he wished that they could. He’d do anything to never have to remember again. He shook his head in an instinctive attempt to clear his mind, not wanting to think about that night, especially not on the day he was getting out.
He flexed his fingers then put them behind his head so he could do another set of stomach crunches. One, two, three. He counted them off, trying to hold his focus so he wouldn’t have to face seeing a flash of that image again.
Emma.
Her name was like a fire in his mind and a cool breeze to his soul.
Ten, eleven, twelve…he wasn’t even feeling it yet. There hadn’t been much else to do in the pen except build up his fitness and strength. He’d gone inside at eighteen and learnt pretty quickly that a man needed to be able to protect himself. That train of thought brought back more memories he didn’t want to recall.
Twenty, twenty-one. Jared had called Seth last week; he’d be waiting outside to collect him. Emma had wanted to. Her last letter had confirmed it, but Jared couldn’t face her, not straight out of jail. She’d already seen him reduced to nothing more than a number. He’d never wanted her to see him dressed in orange, looking like the criminal he was.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine.
They were letting him go. That’s all that mattered. It was all he wanted to think about.
And he was never going back.
3
"Did you hear? Jared got out last week."
"Really?" Emma asked, feigning a look of surprise as she glanced toward her friend. It'd been six days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes since his release.
Not that she was keeping track.
"Yeah, I heard about it from Seth. I guess Jared got in touch with him for a place to stay," Nicky said, her eyes filled with concern. "So he hasn't come to see you?"
"Nope," Emma answered with a dismissive shrug. Or what she hoped was a dismissive shrug, anyway. It was hard not to give away the anxious anticipation that coursed through her at the very mention of his name.
"Weird, you'd think that'd be one of the first things he'd do."
"Nah, I don't think so," she said, shaking her head.
"Really?" Nicky's eyebrows rose in surprise. "After everything he did, you don't think he'd wanna see you as soon as he got out? I mean, it's been—"
"Eight years," she said, inhaling sharply. "I know how long it’s been."
Emma turned away, glancing across the empty field that stretched into the distance beside them. Just saying the words left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, made her heart ache with longing. Everything had changed. Everything was the same. Where was he?
Nicky regarded her with keen eyes, ever curious to know more. "Didn't you send him letters all these years?"
Every week without fail. Four hundred and twenty-three letters in total. Enough words to fill several volumes. And twice a year he wrote back; sixteen letters that she cherished, hidden away discreetly where prying eyes would never find them.
"No," she lied.
Nicky scoffed in disbelief, but let the subject drop. They were almost back to the old house Nicky called home. Each worn step up to the porch creaked in protest under their feet, like the old oak door that clung to its ancient hinges.
Emma barely noticed. Her mind was awash with old, familiar memories. As teenagers, she'd practically lived at her best friend's house. That was before Jared’s father had moved in with her mother promising stability, marriage, and enough money that they wouldn’t have to count out the pennies at the register any longer. It had all started out so promising.
She remembered watching Jared chopping the firewood to the side of their home on the first night they became a family of sorts. He’d been so closed off at first, wary, like a wild animal that had been cornered and was look
ing for a way to escape. If she closed her eyes and listened carefully, she could almost hear the rhythmic blows of his axe, the cracking split of the wood and the scent of his sweat-soaked skin when he returned from his work and brushed past her in the narrow hallway.
That had been the start of it for her. The spark of feeling that grew inside her until she had to face the fact that she had fallen in love with the man who was at that time, for all intents and purposes, her stepbrother.
"Are you going to see him?" Nicky's voice broke through her reverie.
"Huh?" Emma's gaze snapped back to her friend, then dropped to the floor again, picking over the peeling linoleum. "No, I don't think so."
"Why not? I don't get it, Emma. I know you've been waiting for him to get out. What happened between you two?"
"Nothing!" she snapped, glaring at her friend.
"But he killed—"
"Nothing ever happened between us. Just drop it," she growled.
Emma didn't want to remember how things were after what happened but before he was sent away. The pain, the fear, the desperate uncertainty—they were a distant memory. She preferred it that way. Distance made it easier to deal with the fallout of those dark, broken months.
It was late when she finally left, bidding Nicky farewell in the doorway. The sun had dropped beyond the mountains, leaving the sky with fading shades of blue and gray. Nights were getting colder as summer faded and fall began in earnest. She wrapped her coat more tightly around herself, shoving her hands deep into the fleece-lined pockets.
Their houses were only a mile apart; Emma knew the path by heart. Still, with the dark of night drawing in, she felt a chill pass down her spine and hastened her steps.
Overhead, the streetlights started to click on, each one emitting a low buzz at first as the bulbs came to life. With a sigh of relief, she reached the end of her street and trudged up the cracked concrete driveway, heading toward the front door.
It was dark along the side of the house. The security light had been out for weeks, but damned if she could be bothered to replace it. As she neared the door she saw the note tucked behind the knocker, her name written in the neat cursive she had grown so familiar with.
Jared had come to see her and she hadn’t been home. Emma cursed under her breath and looked around, hoping desperately that she’d see his retreating figure and be able to call out to him, but he was long gone. Fumbling her key into the lock, she swung the door open and reached for the light switch, then tugged on the note carefully.
Her fingers itched to open it and read his words, to pour over them as she had each letter he’d sent, but she was scared. When he hadn’t replied to her last letter to confirm his release time she was worried. She’d read through his letters again and noticed that in all the years he’d been incarcerated, he’d never promised her anything. Sure, he’d said that he missed her, that he was thinking of her, that her letters kept him going and other more fevered things that kept her awake at night. But he’d never made plans to come back to her.
And with every hour that passed since he was set free her dread had increased. What if Jared didn’t want her? She’d be devastated, but she’d understand. He’d witnessed something terrible that night, something that he might never be able to look past. If Emma was thankful for anything in her life it was that her memories were patchy because of the drugs. Jared’s wouldn’t be, though. There was nothing he could do to erase what had happened from his mind, and the guilt she felt for it all was something she’d been pushing down inside herself since the judge handed out Jared’s sentence.
Emma closed the front door and perched on the edge of the chair in her hallway, holding the note gingerly as though it were an unexploded bomb. The clock ticked away minutes while she worked up the courage to open it, finally accepting that knowing was better than remaining in limbo. With a deep breath, she flipped it open and read quickly.
Emma,
I’ve been out for a week now, wanting to come and see you but not being able to find the courage to do it. I keep thinking about you and I can’t get past knowing that I’m not good enough for you anymore. You deserve a man who isn’t going to have a mark against him for the rest of his life, who isn’t going to struggle to put a roof over his family’s head. I should have told you to find someone else a long time ago, someone more worthy of you, but I couldn’t. I needed you while I was in there, I was selfish and I’m sorry for that.
I want you to know that I don’t regret a thing. Not one day has gone past since that night that I’ve wished I’d acted differently. If I were faced with it again, I’d do the same thing.
I love you Emma, too much to come to you and be with you like I know you want.
You’ll find someone else, someone who can be everything that you deserve. I’m sorry that life hasn’t been easier on us and that our chance was taken. I’ll always love you Emma, but I know this is for the best.
Jared x
By the end of his note, Emma’s tears were dripping onto her jeans, leaving dark-blue blotches of sadness. The sense of loss and disappointment was terrible. Even though she’d been fearful that he’d do this, there had been a huge ball of hope insider her, too. But worse still was the realization that he was trying to do the right thing again, to sacrifice yet more of himself for her happiness. Imagining him writing that note, pushing down the love he felt to suggest she try to meet someone better than him was too much for her to bear.
She wasn’t going to let him do this. She didn’t want anyone else. Why couldn’t he understand that? Emma rested the note on the little table next to her and swiped at her eyes. Jared might think this was his decision to make, but she was going to make damn sure he heard her out. He’d already given up more for her than any man should have to in a lifetime. Now it was her turn to show him how that she’d fight for the man she loved.
4
Jared sat propped up by pillows on the bed in Seth’s spare room. His best friend had insisted he stay there while he was on parole, and although being in the same town as Emma was going to make things more difficult, he’d needed a place so he could get back on his feet.
He flicked through the music on his phone, unable to decide on a track that wouldn’t be too sad or too upbeat. He didn’t want to wallow in lyrics of love or loss or listen to something with no soul. Tossing his phone aside, he put his hands behind his head and breathed out a long sigh.
Jared had labored over the note he’d left on Emma’s door, rewriting it over and over to make the words convey the message he wanted to get across. He’d met his parole officer a few days before and would be bound to the restrictive routine for ages. The humiliation of having to check in with someone had solidified his resolve. He didn’t want to drag Emma into the sordidness of it all. She’d already gone through too much during the trial. It was why he’d never let her visit him, afraid for her to see him like a caged animal, surrounded by so much filth. He didn’t want to drag her down with him.
He rolled onto his side, pulling the comforter over his shoulder. There was a loud crack of thunder and a few seconds later a flash of lightning. As the rain began to patter against the window, he heard the front door open and the sound of voices. He wondered if maybe it was Seth’s girlfriend coming over to stay.
After a couple of minutes there was a tap on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” he called out, and Seth opened the door as Jared maneuvered himself to sit up. “What is it?”
“The postman came late tonight,” Seth said, throwing a white envelope onto his lap.
“Postman?” Jared looked down at the handwriting and realized who had been at the door. “Emma,” he said, with so much longing in his voice he was embarrassed.
“Yes, Emma. She came over here in the rain to drop that off. She looked like shit too. I don’t know what you’re playing at, bro, but Emma’s a good girl. She waited for you all this time.”
Jared shook his head, not wanting to hear it again. Seth just didn’t under
stand and wouldn’t understand. He hadn’t been through the horror of that night. He hadn’t seen the girl he loved drugged and abused by…
He had to stop, not wanting to pollute his mind with those thoughts again.
“You know I’m doing this for her good, don’t you?”
“She didn’t look that appreciative just now. Read the letter, Jared. I hope you’ll come to your senses.” Seth left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Jared flicked on the bedside light and held the envelope, looking down at his name printed in Emma’s lovely handwriting. Even if you didn’t know her you’d be able to see what a sweet, happy person she was from the round neatness of her writing.
He tore it open as carefully as he could, knowing he’d tie this letter up with the pile of her others that rested at the bottom of his closet.
The note inside was so short he read it in a few seconds.
Jared,
I love you. I love you so much that I won’t let you do this. You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me again. If you don’t come to me, I’ll wait for you until you do. There will be no one else. I’ve waited eight years. Don’t make me wait any longer.
Emma
It was the first time she’d signed off a letter without a kiss. That told Jared something about how she was feeling. He put the letter down and rested his head in his hands, feeling utterly confused about what to do next. Emma had given him an unexpected ultimatum, taking charge of what she wanted in a way that she hadn’t before. The fifteen-year-old girl he’d left behind had grown into a strong woman who knew her own mind and wasn’t afraid to express herself. It reassured him to know that she wasn’t broken by what happened. Somehow, through it all, they’d held themselves together. Or maybe, through their letters, they’d held onto each other.
Jared got up and crossed the room, opening the closet door and squatting so he could store away her letter safely. All her words were precious to him, from the sweetest to the most confrontational. He had hardly any possessions, but Emma’s letters were his most treasured.
