Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  Yeah, she thought. I just bet it is.

  “Go ahead and close the door.”

  “I'd rather not.” She leaned against it instead, ready to bolt. “Did you cancel a pending charge on my card?”

  She could tell he didn't like the defiance or the accusation. He set down the pen that he had been toying with, a Montblanc, leaning forward to study her in a way that made her fold her arms over her chest. “Yes,” he said. “I did. Why would you need to go to a hotel?”

  “For a girls' weekend,” Jay said defiantly.

  “Well, I'm afraid you'll have to cancel or postpone,” Damon said, leaning back. “I need you here to keep an eye on Nicholas and his friends.”

  A hysterical giggle bubbled up her throat. She swallowed it back down. “He's eighteen. He can keep an eye on himself. And I'm twenty-two. I should be able to make my own purchasing decisions.”

  “I would agree,” Damon said, very slowly—as if she were slow. “If it were your own money.”

  “Well, you certainly took care of that, didn't you?” Jay had told herself that she wasn't going to snap, but she found she couldn't help it. All of her anger was boiling over like a pot of water left too long on the stove. “I'm not staying here alone with your son. He's been inappropriate.”

  Damon made a sound. “Really, Justine. Inappropriate? What does that even mean?”

  “He touched me,” Jay said, forgetting to keep her voice low. “He said he would—”

  “Justine.” His voice was cold. “I've made you a part of this family.” No, you haven't. “I've put up with your disrespect. I've even paid for your college education. And you spend my money on whatever you wish, which I permit to an extent, but ultimately, the final call comes to me.”

  Shaking with fury, Jay took a step forward. “But—”

  “But,” he said, cutting her off, “I won't have you making up lies about my son, lies about this family. Words have consequences, my dear—legal consequences, in some cases. You can't just go around telling people these kinds of vile, outlandish stories whenever you don't get your way. One day, Nicholas will inherit the company and I don't want any scandals in his past that might compromise the business.”

  “The business,” Jay repeated. “But you—”

  “That's enough.” He stood up from the desk and Jay immediately moved closer to the door. “I've tried to be patient with you, but frankly, Justine, your behavior leaves much to be desired. You've become willful, ungrateful—” his eyes flicked over her baggy sweater in distaste “—and slovenly. It's a disgrace, what that school has turned you into. The last thing this world needs is another man-hating little bitch. A good girl stands behind the men in her family.” He folded his arms, regarding her coldly. “You are a good girl, aren't you, Justine? You used to be.”

  “No,” she said.

  “That is a shame. I'm afraid I have no use for a petulant child who refuses to listen to her betters. Even your mother knows when to back down, because she knows she is entirely dependent on my financial support. As are you.” He took a step towards her. “Now, I suggest you forget whatever Nicholas said to you that set you off and do as you're told.”

  Jay felt a cold chill wash down her spine. “You're whoring me out to him.”

  “Don't be so crude,” said Damon. “You're still a lady—barely—and it isn't becoming.”

  “Oh, so swearing bothers you, but the fact that you and your son are both sick fucks, doesn't?” Jay stammered, trying to remain calm. “You can't do this to me. I'm going to go out and tell everyone what really goes on in this h—”

  Damon slammed his fist against the door with a bang that echoed through the house.

  Jay jumped, glancing at his arm, inches from her right cheekbone. When he pulled back, she saw blood on his knuckles; it had left slight discolorations on the splintered paint he'd buckled with his fist. “You will do no such thing if you want to keep that pretty face.”

  Jay fell back against the door trying to avoid him when he reached for her. His hand was clammy, like raw meat. She had to set her teeth to keep from screaming.

  “You're an adult, as you were quick to point out, which means you can do anything you want. But being an adult means you pay for it. I suggest you think hard on what that means and how it pertains to our previous conversation. You'll get no further assistance from me, so do not come to me about this again. You won't like the consequences.”

  He pushed her out of the office, making her stumble at the touch of his hand at her lower back. She twisted, spilling into the hall, and whirled around just in time to see the door closing.

  “Perhaps Nicholas can be moved to pity you. You two used to be so close.” The door closed behind her with a click. She could still see the brownish smudge on the door.

  Used to.

  Stunned, Jay walked into the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. The ice clinked into the glass, echoing the dissonance of her thoughts.

  Being an adult means you pay for it.

  Now go be a whore for my son.

  “What's the matter, little bird?”

  Jay jumped, causing the ice to shiver in the glass. Slowly, she turned to see Nicholas leaning against one of the bar stools. She glared at him, despite the lump in her chest. Little bird?

  “Don't call me that.” She turned back to the blinking light of the ice dispenser. “H-how long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to see you stumble out of there like a drunk at closing time.” He slid off the stool in a sinuous movement that had her whipping back around. “Didn't work when you ran to Daddy? But then, he's not your Daddy is he?”

  Jay's fingers tightened on the glass. “You were eavesdropping on me.”

  “No. But it wasn't exactly subtle that you were trying to narc. I knew you would. Poor blue jay. I could have told you he doesn't give a shit about who I'm fucking.”

  She made a sound, like she'd been punched in the diaphragm. “We're not fucking.”

  “God, it sounds so prim and tedious when you say it.” His hand brushed her face, barring her escape. “You're not going to bore me, are you, Jay?”

  “Yes. It's going to be awful.” She swallowed. “You'll hate it.”

  “I doubt that.” His lips moved against hers in something too fleeting to be a kiss. He was wearing a shirt but it was clinging to his chest in a way that made the fabric look damp, outlining all those ridges of muscle. “I think I'm going to find you very, very exciting.”

  Fear bubbled through her again, as bright as a sparkler, as he fingered the strap of her tank top possessively. “I heard a slam. Did my father hurt you? There's a dent in the door.”

  “Why do you care?” she asked woodenly. “It's like you said. He's not my daddy.”

  “No,” he said, the low register of his voice sending a chill through her that was colder than the glass in her hand. “He isn't. But I could be. I'll be your Daddy. You can tell me what's bothering you and I'll make it all better.” His hand covered her left breast, flattening over her pounding heart. “I don't let people mess around with what's mine.”

  Jay jerked her shoulders.

  “So.” Nick moved even closer, crowding her against the fridge. “When do you want to fuck?” The contrast between the searing heat of his body and the cold metal at her back was making her chest tight. He ran his hand down her side, the way he had in his bedroom, touching her in that alarming way that traversed the boundary between reverence and degradation. “I've been feeling pretty mouthy. I think you need to come over and convince me to shut me up.”

  Her hand trembled and then she remembered the ice. With a gasp, she sloshed it into his face and he threw up his arm, cursing, giving her just enough time to run.

  She fled up the stairs and into her room, locking the door firmly behind her. Her insides felt as if they had been replaced by hot liquid and every drag of the rough weave of her sweater made the tips of her breasts ache. She could still feel the hot impression of his hand, as if it
had been branded into her skin. I can't do it, she thought, feeling as if she were about to fly apart. I can't.

  One way or another, this was going to break her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  2008

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  It had been a while since Nick had thrown a party at his own house. His father didn't like the noise or the mess and the step-bitch was always lurking around with her tits hanging out, trying to mack on his friends, and it was usually more trouble than it was worth anyway to have a bunch of strangers in his house, fucking with his shit.

  Nick wasn't really sure why he'd bothered. Maybe because it felt like it was his last chance to have one of those old school house-shakers before the demands of college. Maybe because he was bored and wanted to feel something. He set down the Jack and Coke he'd been drinking. So much of it had melted that it tasted like the dregs of an watered-down soda fountain. He set it on the bar counter, wiping his hands on his jeans. He felt something, all right.

  Frustrated.

  Jake and Alonzo were both excited for college. For Jake, it meant pussy, and for Alonzo, it symbolized freedom. But Nick was thinking that for him, it was just going to mean more work. He had decided to declare Finance as his major, and his schedule was already making his head ache. Financial Analysis, Statistics, Econ, and one of the required undergrad English classes, of which there were two parts. Like one isn't enough, he thought grimly. He hated writing.

  Math, he didn't mind as much. There was only one right answer, and it was just a matter of getting to it fast enough. Logic was cold-blooded, full of sangfroid—just like chess, which he'd played a handful of times with one of his tutors who thought it would help him focus in Calculus. He hadn't minded that, either, not that he could tell anyone. You couldn't play that game without getting yourself branded as a nerd just like Jay.

  Nick thought Jay would be pretty bad at chess. She didn't take loss well. She would probably scramble around the board trying to save each and every piece, while her opponent plowed through her defenses, and because she was so trusting, she would fall for every trap.

  She'd always fallen for his.

  The thought of her made him stir a little. So had the way she'd looked at him earlier—that wide-eyed, fearful look filled with injured dignity and the slightest hint of anger. It was the last Nick had seen of her all day. She thought her cute little ass was safe in her room.

  She had no idea how wrong she was.

  You could come downstairs and join me, he messaged her, keeping up the illusion. He didn't really expect a response. The odds of her coming down here in a tight dress and picking up a drink were about the same as him going to a church and becoming a priest.

  After shrugging off someone who tried to get him to go into the pool, he noticed Jake. He started in that direction, annoyed to feel a pull on his arm. “Come on, Nick,” the girl said. “A bunch of us are going to do water wrestling. Weren't you on the swim team?”

  “I'm not wearing my trunks and have other stuff to do. You go ahead. What, Jake?”

  “Where's the food, man? There's no fucking food in your house. I'm starved.”

  One glance at his reddened eyes and Nick could guess why. “Have you been smoking Dave's shit in the house?” he asked, folding his arms. “I told you how my dad feels about weed.”

  “N-no,” said Jake. “Only out by the pool. Like you said.”

  “Good.”

  “Is there food, though?”

  “Go bug Dave,” he said impatiently. “I'm getting the food.”

  Nick pulled out his cell phone and ordered a few pizzas, and asked Yelena to pick up soda and chips from Hollybrook Grocery, which earned him a cool stare and a muttered phrase in Spanish. He supposed she was still mad at him for enlisting her to trick Jay.

  Oh well. She'd get over it. It wasn't like he'd forced her to take the money. She'd agreed to sell Jay out. He looked at her closed bedroom door and his heart hardened a little bit.

  You're going to find out exactly how much your soul costs, little bird.

  He'd roped off the staircases to keep people from fucking in the bedrooms and roped the liquor cabinet in his dad's study shut, too, in case people decided to help themselves. People often did. He'd stocked a pretty good bar in the kitchen, full of top and middle shelf booze, and someone had brought a lot of Ciroc. There was an open case of Four Loko, too, but he wasn't going to be touching that.

  Nick glanced at his phone as he headed outside. Jay hadn't responded. It was that easy for her to look away and pretend he didn't exist. A waste.

  Outside, someone had started playing Kings of Leon's “Sex on Fire.” He went out through the lounge, where the doors had been thrown open. The deck was wet from people coming in and out of the pool. There were a bunch of people he didn't know, but a couple of them waved, so he waved back absently on his way to the detached garage. Probably Dave's friends.

  He let himself in with the keys, closing the door behind him. They didn't really keep much out here. Stuff for the pool, holiday decorations, a big freezer that was supposed to be for meat but since they never grilled anything, it was mostly just mildewed and empty. The step-bitch and her lover liked to fuck on it. The circuit breaker was out here, too, and next to that was a little wooden box mounted on the wall that kept the spare keys to the house.

  Nick grabbed the one he wanted, attaching it to his key ring, and left the garage.

  “Hey, Nick,” some girl said, grabbing his arm. “Drink this.”

  “Smells like drain cleaner,” he said. “Looks like drain cleaner, too.”

  She giggled. “It's called Sex in the Driveway. Wanna try it?”

  “Maybe you should give your Sex to someone else,” he suggested, and then his eyes flickered, catching a glimpse of a red and white van. “I have to go.”

  He answered the door and paid for the pizza, which he set in the kitchen with the booze. He was beginning to remember why he didn't do the party shtick. It was fucking exhausting.

  “Great party, my man,” said Dave, who was lurking in wait for the box like a stoned vulture. “I'm gonna miss your ass when you're working the grind. Is that the 'za? I could go for some 'za right now.”

  “Literally no one calls it that,” said Nick. “You fucking weirdo.”

  “Food!” Jake said, like he hadn't been gorging on chips earlier. “You're the best, Nicholas.”

  “Yeah, I am,” said Nick, raking a hand through his hair. “Now I have to go take care of something upstairs, so if you really want to show me I'm the best, keep everyone down here and don't bug me for about an hour or so unless the house is on fire. Comprenez-vous?”

  “What, gotta go rub one out or something?” Jake asked, mouth full of cheese.

  Nick gave him a look. Jake swallowed hard.

  “No one upstairs,” he repeated. “Got it. Have fun doing your thing.”

  Nick clapped him on the shoulder just a bit too hard. “Good man.”

  And then he slid under the rope and went upstairs.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Danielle and Damon had left that morning with Vlad, who was driving them to LAX.

  Jay, ensconced in her room with a hoard of granola and water bottles, settled in for a long, miserable wait. She had thought reprisal would be swift and vicious, but Nick had done nothing to her for throwing the ice into his face. Maybe he planned to exact the cost of it from her flesh.

  Money didn't seem to make parties better, just louder. From the stereo downstairs, she heard the heavy blast of a bass line. Rap or hip-hop, she thought. Nothing else had that kind of beat.

  At one point, her phone buzzed. You could come downstairs and join me.

  Yeah, thought Jay. How about never.

  It had been a pretty dull day so far. She'd updated her Livejournal, scrolled around on a few forums on the fansites of some authors she liked (on the Mercedes Lackey one, she was PegasusWarrior11). She'd tried to read but couldn't really focus; her mind kept wand
ering.

  To him.

  Curious, she watched a few of Nick's guests arrive through the window. She had seen some of the guys before at the house, including that walking sleazeball, Jake, but she didn't recognize many of the girls. They were all incredibly beautiful, wearing skin-tight clothes with easy confidence and makeup that seemed to make them glow. Had they gone to HHS or were they from other schools? She could only imagine how they knew her brother.

  Watching them sway up to the door, some of them in thin cover-ups over their swim suits, others in club wear, Jay found herself wondering what it was like to walk around with that much confidence. Had she ever been like that? Maybe when she was younger. It had been so long.

  Someone turned the volume of the music up and she actually recognized this one. “Gimme More” by Britney Spears. Ugh. Jay rose from her bed, stretching her stiffening joints, and turned on her own CD player, popping The Sundays's “Reading, Writing and Arithmetic” album.

  Her room filled with the mellow sound of faded guitars and soft female voices. She relaxed.

  When she sat in her desk chair, Gypsum, who had been lurking at her feet, immediately hopped onto her lap. With people coming in and out of the house, Nick had turned off the AC and it was a bit hot and sticky to have a cat on her lap, even with the breeze coming from her window. She took a sip of water, troubled, as she ran her fingers through the cat's silky white fur.

  She had only seen Nick once this morning. He had been wearing faded jeans and a tight black T-shirt splashed with a vividly colored dragon. Ed Hardy, she thought, or one of the knockoffs. He had glanced at her and the look in his eyes—a hot, calculating look that slid over her entire body to scald her with its heat—had frightened her. Even though she'd been wearing another one of her light, crocheted sweaters, it had left her feeling naked.

  I need to get out of here. Out of Hollybrook. Out of L.A.

  But how was she supposed to do that without any money? Damon's words echoed menacingly in her ears—being an adult means you pay for it.