Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  “Where's your sister?” Jake asked, so abruptly that Nick swung around to look at him. Faltering under his stare, he went on, nervously, “Is she—uh—still around?”

  “She's in her room.” Nick took a long, bracing sip of the concoction in his hand. The alcohol was so strong, it made his lips numb. “She hates this kind of shit and she's sick anyway, so don't count on her coming down.” Or at all, he thought darkly, tightening his grip on the cup.

  “That's a shame,” Alonzo said. “I always liked her.”

  “Yeah. Everyone does.” He sat on the arm of the sofa, trying not to move too much. The fabric of his shirt was really starting to chafe against his shoulder blades. “Jay's great.”

  Dave glanced up at him. “You seem tense and fidgety, man. You wanna toke?”

  “You have got to be joking. What did I tell you when you got here?”

  “Oh. Right.” Dave blinked. “I wasn't supposed to smoke in the house.”

  “Now I'm going to have to get the couch cleaned.” Nick growled. “I'm going to end you.”

  Dave swallowed nervously. “Uh . . . I can pay for it?”

  “You better.” Nick leaned back and hissed through his teeth. “I'll bill you. You can pay for it with your fucking drug money.”

  “Hey,” Dave said defensively. “Some of that is from honest living.”

  “Really couldn't care less.”

  Nick kicked everyone out around nine, citing a need to clean up and a concern for the neighbors, though he really didn't give a sideways fuck about either. He wanted to take his damn shirt off. He grabbed the aspirin from his medicine cabinet, popping two himself, and then grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge before going to Jay's room.

  She had locked the door again. Rolling his eyes, Nick switched the items to one arm and unlocked it before stepping inside. Jay, still in bed, but now wearing pajamas, jumped. She'd been reading a book—one of her fantasy ones. He could see the bright colors on the cover.

  “Party's over,” he told her, not missing how she gathered her robe tightly around herself as he approached. “Thought you might like to know in case you wanted to come down.”

  He set the water and the aspirin on her nightstand and she stared at them, drawing her bare legs away when he sat down on the bed. He didn't miss the flicker of anger on her face, or the wince. “How are you feeling, blue jay? Still sore? I hear it usually hurts the first time.”

  She did look up at him then. “Get out.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I'm feeling pretty sore myself right now.”

  “Get out.”

  “I've got news for you, little bird. You're not the one calling the shots.”

  “Stop calling me little bird,” she said. “It's stupid.”

  “But that's what you are. You're Daddy's little bird.”

  “What?” the word seemed to be ripped from her lips. “No. Stop saying that.”

  “You'll get used to it—just like you'll get used to the feel of my cock.” Jay made a sound of disgust and he laughed a little, tugging at the collar of her robe. “If you really want to get me off, you'll call me Daddy when you fuck me. Otherwise, I'm going to make you say it. By punishing you. Sexy punishments.” He pressed a kiss to her neck, just above the collar of her shirt. “But maybe not-so-sexy ones, too. Remember, little bird. I can ruin your life.”

  She tried to hit him and he caught her fist, studying her hand in his. The sleeve of her robe had fallen back, baring her forearm. Nick found himself thinking, suddenly, of that strange remark his dad had tossed off about Jay's wrists at dinner. At the time, it had seemed like his father was trying to put the step-bitch in her place for being such a prig about the bracelet, but now he wasn't so sure. The thought of his dad noticing Jay the way he did was . . . unpleasant.

  Nick slid his hand down until his fingers were encircling her wrist. Her arms were slim, still tanned from the sun, but there was a wiry strength there. Jay was neither a small woman, nor a passive one, which suited Nick just fine because he had no use for either. No, underneath all that cool reserve of hers was something hot and bright that he wanted all to himself, something that infused her moral correctitude with a warmth that belied her restraint.

  He looked up to find her watching him and very deliberately pressed his mouth to the back of her hand before allowing her to free it.

  That was the price. Control—or the absence of it.

  He was going to make her lose it all.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Jay thought Nick would get bored and abandon this cruel game of his, as he had tired of so many of his other passing whims, but he wouldn't leave her alone. The house that had seemed so big when she had moved into it at fourteen had become a cage that housed them both.

  He called her little bird. He made her call him Daddy. She hated this, found the whole thing utterly humiliating and wrong, and at first she had pleaded with him not to make her say it, to not call her that, which had been a mistake, because her pleading had only seemed to stoke the flames of his tireless will and make him even more insistent that she do exactly as he asked.

  And he asked for a lot.

  He ignored her around his friends and acted more or less the same around their parents as he always had, although she thought she detected a new chilliness in the way he spoke to his father. It was hard to tell. He had never been warm. She found herself watching people's faces, dreading seeing the knowledge of her activities there, the leering judgment, but Nick didn't seem to have said a word to anyone and when she Googled herself, the results were always clean.

  One night, he grabbed her on her way out of the kitchen and started kissing her so hard, she couldn't breathe. “Beg,” was all he said to her, before working the buttons of her blouse. He didn't even take her into his bedroom; he pushed her over the couch in the den, where he had taken her from behind while fingering her, until she gasped, Daddy, please, no, someone might see, which made him groan a little in approval, even though her despair hadn't been feigned.

  The only one looking at you is me—and I like you a little slutty, he'd whispered, right in her ear, and she had covered her mouth as she came, trying to muffle the gasps that were coming out like sobs as he filled her so deeply that her insides seemed to pinch. Arch your back and take me deeper, little bird. You've been a bad girl and now I'm going to fuck you like one.

  She felt sick afterwards, straightening her top and pulling up her jeans, his running stream of filthy commentary burning her ears like acid. Over the pounding in her head, she'd heard the clatter of footsteps moving around upstairs. Yelena cleaning. She could have walked in on them at any moment. And Nick's father—the thought of him looking over that wall and seeing her like that left her feeling cold. You don't know the thoughts that go through a man's mind when they see a girl who looks like you, he'd told her, inside that bar, and at the time, she hadn't.

  But she did now. Jay stared blindly at the television screen with her pulse buzzing around in her throat like an agitated hornet. Oh God. She looked up at the wall, which had a clear view of the couch, and Nick glanced over at her, tightening his arm around her waist. “What's wrong?”

  “Don't mess around with me out here.” She met his eyes unflinchingly. “I don't want your dad to see us.”

  Nick leaned back against the couch, twisting his torso to prop his elbow against the back. “Why?”

  “Because what we're doing is sick enough without an audience. Please.” Jay looked down at her hands. “I'm begging you.”

  “Are you? Are you begging me, Jay?” His face became unreadable then. He picked up her hand and looked at her, running his thumb over her palm. “Has my dad ever touched you?”

  Jay let out a hiss. “What?”

  “You said you didn't want my dad to see us. Not our parents. Just my dad.” He leaned closer, creeping towards her until she was half-bent over the cushions. “My dad—who thinks you have nice wrists. Don't think I haven't noticed how you cringe when
he's around.”

  “What are you insinuating?” she said. “I never let him—”

  She broke off, realizing she'd said too much when he looked at her with that searingly intent expression that seemed to be boiling parts of her away. “So he tried,” he remarked. “And I bet you gave him that same pretty speech you gave me about how you don't have a price.” Nick made a sound of grim amusement. “I bet he loved that.”

  Jay could feel herself growing clammy and pale beneath the layer of sweat still sheening her skin. “It's not funny,” she gasped, feeling the stab of tears at her eyes.

  “It kind of is,” Nick said, in that same dark voice. “God, he doesn't know you at all. I bet he thought you'd be some biddable dumb bimbo he could buy off with a sparkly necklace just because you don't say much and you have a nice rack.”

  “Nick,” said Jay. “Stop. You're being—”

  “Terrible,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I know. I have a terrible personality and you hate it so fucking much. Don't remind me. Is that why my father hates you now? Did you go off and sermonize him when he wanted to fuck you? Did you tell him he was a waste?”

  Jay jerked her hand and his grip tightened. “I told him,” she said fiercely, “to fuck himself.”

  A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. “You did, didn't you? Fuck, Jay. For one of the smartest people I know, you can be really dumb sometimes.” His voice was hard; there was no trace of laughter in it now. “You really don't want to fuck with him.”

  “So it's my fault.” Her voice sounded stiff and cold. “I brought this on myself.”

  “No. But the thought of my father popping a stiff one doesn't really do it for me, so thanks for the mental imagery.” He released her hand, combing his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Believe it or not, I'm really not all that interested in supplying my dad with wank material.”

  Jay gripped her hand where he'd touched it, watching him lean back. “Gross.”

  “Yeah. I've seen him post-coitus. You really dodged a bullet.” He glanced at her and something in his face softened, which made her wonder what he'd seen in hers. “You can relax. I won't fuck you out here again. You can come to my bedroom or I'll come to yours.”

  “Thanks,” she said sourly, as she drew in a shuddering breath. “You're a real prince.”

  “He's screwing with you, isn't he?” He flicked at her arm with his fingers. “That's what he does when he doesn't get what he wants. If it ever gets bad, you can come up and see me. Just let me know. My roommate's a total nerd and he's wired so tight, I think he'd snap if I yelled at him. They paired me with some little 5'4” shrimp who has a haircut his mom gave him. He nearly pissed himself when I shook his hand. I bet I could make him leave for a night or two.”

  “That's so cruel,” said Jay. “Why would you do that? Do you like messing with people?”

  “Yeah, I do, actually. To be honest, it gets me off a little—finding out what people's buttons are and pressing them. Waiting them out. Watching them squirm. It's such a rush.”

  Jay felt her mouth go dry. She hadn't expected an answer that brutally honest. “That's sick.”

  “You asked.” Nick smiled mirthlessly. “Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to, Jay. Unlike you, I have nothing to hide. I know exactly what I am. I don't share, either. So if you think me going off to college means a free pass, think again. I'm taking a copy of the video with me and I'll know if you've been unfaithful.”

  “We aren't dating, you freak. I can't be unfaithful.”

  “I mean it,” he said. “You don't want to test me on this because you'll lose. If I find out you've been seeing other men, you're going to be very, very sorry.”

  “Screw you.” She gave him a cold look, trying to quell the rush of disquieting agony that threatened to be her undoing. “If you think you can just keep me here on retainer like some brothel girl, I'm going to want to see a test before you touch me.”

  “A test,” Nick repeated, looking thrown. “Like an STD test?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That kind of test. I've heard you're familiar with them.”

  His eyebrows shot up and some of the intensity faded from his expression. “What you've heard about me is wrong,” he said coolly. “I don't sleep around.”

  “Sure,” said Jay. “All those girls in school were making it up.”

  “They were. Most of them have seen me in a Speedo, so they can lie pretty convincingly.”

  It took her a moment to grasp his meaning. She felt her face burn. “Why would they lie?”

  “Lots of reasons. They think it gives them social cache or that it might catch my eye or make somebody else jealous. But I don't date anyone and if I fucked as many girls as people say I do, I'd have a fractured pelvis.” Watching her carefully, he said, “I've only been with one person other than you. But if you want a test, that's fine. I'll get one. Just for you.”

  “Charming,” she said flatly.

  “I can be.” He tugged at a strand of her hair, turning back to the screen, letting his arm slip back around her waist. “Did I ever tell you Dad hired me an etiquette tutor when I was nine? He thought it might come in handy in case I ever had somebody to impress.”

  “She failed,” Jay said flatly.

  “It was a man.” He sounded smug. “His name was Alan Bates. Master Bates, I called him.”

  Jay stared at the cartoons on the screen. An etiquette tutor. Suddenly, she felt drained. “This isn't normal,” she said, speaking into the silence. “None of this is normal.”

  His fingers traced just under her breast, as if daring her to move. She was wearing a button-down shirt—pink plaid, shot through with silver threads—and the touch of his hand through the thin fabric was like flame on her skin.

  “I would have given you anything you wanted, you know.”

  Jay shook her head, turning her face away.

  “Anything,” he repeated insistently. “All you had to do was say yes.”

  “I don't want anything you have, Nick.”

  Nick didn't speak again and Jay didn't move. They stayed where they were until they heard the heavy steps of Nick's father coming down the stairs. Only then did he let his arm fall.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  2008

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Jay told herself she hated it—the sneaking around, the simmering anxiety before he touched her, the fear of getting caught. And while she did, it was starting to become only half-true; as much as she despised Nick for what he was doing to her, she was starting not to mind the way he made her feel when he did it.

  Her mother didn't appear to notice anything was wrong. She continued going out with other society women, clinging desperately to the fringe of Hollybrook's social scene, and when she wasn't doing that, she seemed to spend a lot of time outside. Talking to the pool guy. It seemed to be harmless flirting but since nothing her mother did was without cause, Jay wasn't sure.

  “Oh, yeah, they're fucking all right,” Nick said, when she brought it up with him one night. He wouldn't tell her how he knew, though, which either meant that he was lying or that he'd seen them doing it himself. And since Jay didn't want a play-by-play of her mother's infidelities, she didn't ask. What if he had a video of it? It was just better not to know.

  Damon, on the other hand, watched her in a way that made her wonder if he knew exactly what they were doing. It was a speculative, sinister look. Assessing. Libidinous.

  He'd looked at her that night in the bar. It scared the shit out of her.

  How's the job search going? Jessi asked. You beating the recruiters off with sticks, yet?

  Jay looked sadly at her phone. She desperately missed Berkeley. Sometimes she dreamed that she was still on campus, buried somewhere in the silent, sweeping library stacks or sleeping under a tree in the quad between classes, and she would wake up happy until she remembered where she was and that her days of answering to no one were over.

  Because Nick had done to h
er exactly what his father had tried to do. He had just done it more cunningly, not making a move until any mode of retreat was gone.

  She didn't think she could ever forgive him for that. Especially since he was about to go away in less than a week himself and leave her here, alone, at the mercy of his father, while lording that video over her head like a child playing keep-away with a ball.

  And since she could say none of that to Jessi, she didn't respond at all.

  She'll give up soon, thought Jay. Cori already has. They both have their own lives.

  Jay brushed her teeth and changed into pajama pants and a tank top with a pink sweatshirt from American Eagle. The house was always cold. Damon kept the air conditioner cranked up to full blast in the summer, so Jay often fell asleep with her hood pulled over her face and the covers pulled up to her nose.

  She crawled into bed, shivering a little, and curled into a ball beneath the quilt. Tomorrow I'll apply to more jobs, she thought tiredly. Even if I have to go far away—I'm getting out of here.

  It was a dreamless sleep. Jay remembered reading somewhere that everyone dreamed and people who thought they didn't have any dreams just didn't remember the ones they did. She'd had vivid dreams when she was younger but now it was like being spilled out into consciousness while suspended in dark syrup. She groaned, shifting on her pillow, a patchwork of hot and cold.

  An uneasy breath escaped her and her body jerked—not out of reflex, this time, but fear: she was unable to move her legs. She reached down and grabbed what felt like a muscular thigh and a nervous cry escaped her. “N-Nick?”

  His mouth brushed hers, soft and teasing in the dark, before covering hers completely. Without meaning to, Jay relaxed beneath him and felt his hand stroke her cheek. “Hi, blue jay.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was lying in bed . . . thinking of you.” She felt him lean closer and her hand tightened on his leg. His chest was bare. “And then I remembered I could just let myself into yours.”

  Jay let out another, rougher breath when he kissed her neck, pinning the flesh with his teeth and sucking hard enough that she knew she'd have a mark. “I wish you wouldn't.”