HUGE X2: A Twin Stepbrother Romance (With Bonus Book 'ESCAPE')

by Stephanie Brother

  After I end the call with Holly, I wander into the kitchen. It’s just after 8pm and I’m famished. Then my intercom buzzer goes and I suddenly remember I’m supposed to be having Dad over for dinner tonight. And I forgot to replace the steaks. I rush over to let him in, and then start frantically digging around in the fridge for something I can throw together fast. I have pasta and some crème fraiche. Throw in some smoked salmon and lemon and it’ll be delicious and quick.

  I put the pasta on to boil and start to shred the salmon and grate the lemon rind, managing to get it mostly prepared before Dad knocks at the door. When I open it I’m overwhelmed by a rush of emotion that I hadn’t been expecting. He’s dressed up smarter than usual in a crisply pressed button down shirt and slacks and he’s got something in his hair to style it too. He grins at me, proud of himself, and I pull him into a big hug that he seems surprised to receive. “Hey,” he says. “You happy to see your old pop?”

  “Yeah,” I say as he pats my back like he used to when I was a kid. “Of course I am.” We draw apart and I tug him into the apartment and close the door behind him. “I was home a bit later than expected but the food won’t be long.”

  “That’s fine,” he says, going to sit on my couch. “I’ve had a busy day and I’m ready to just relax.”

  “What’s been going on?”

  “Ah, just lots of papers and exams to mark,” he says. Dad’s work as a Professor of Legal studies has always kept him very busy. His enthusiasm for the law is what made me want to become an attorney, and his passion for justice is what made me want to defend rather than prosecute.

  “Well, you can just rest now,” I say, giving the pasta a stir in the pot.

  “So, what’s been going on with you?” he asks and I pause, not having had a chance to consider whether I should tell him about Brandon. I know Pop loved Brandon very much and hearing what I’ve discovered will most likely make him very sad. And worried too, for both of us.

  It’s just been me and my dad for such a long time that I can’t really comprehend keeping something so big from him. When you don’t have a mother through your teenage years, your father has to step into that role, buying sanitary products when you start to menstruate, taking you to purchase your first bra. I guess all that just made us closer. We haven’t spoken about Brandon in a while. At first I would mention him all the time and Pop would always listen and join in as I would churn through memories to try and keep Brandon’s memory fresh. Over time I just ran out of things to say and I guess Pop did too. He loved Brandon like his own son and it had broken both our hearts to say goodbye.

  “Pop, I ran into Brandon yesterday,” I say in my most nonchalant voice.

  He twists around quickly to look at me. “Our Brandon?”

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “Oh my goodness. How is he?”

  “He’s good. He looks good,” I say, feeling heat rising to my cheeks at the memory of my hand gliding over his muscular abdominals.

  “Wow. It’s been, what, fifteen years?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So what’s he been doing?”

  I pause, wondering what to say to limit the shock factor. Pop always had high hopes for his stepson and what he would achieve. We had membership to the local zoo and a whole shelf of reference books to feed Brandon’s interests.

  “I think he’s gotten himself wrapped up in something bad,” I say and my father’s expression darkens. We talk for a while about what I’ve been told and what I know for sure. Pop is quiet for a while as I stir the crème fraiche and other ingredients through the pasta and serve out into wide bowls. I take the food to where he’s sitting and we eat on our knees. After a few mouthfuls, Pop stops to talk again.

  “Can your contact keep eyes on Brandon for a few days without implicating you in anything?” he asks.

  “I think so. He’s on the firm’s books so it should all be fine. But I’ll need to talk to my boss about using him further.”

  Pop looks really worried and it deepens the level of concern I feel too. “You’ll tell me everything you find out? I’ll want updates every day.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “And you’ll tell me what the bill is at the end?”

  I shake my head, not wanting him to take on this burden. I know Brandon is his family too but this feels like something I need to be doing. Pop frowns.

  “He was my son. For two years. Maybe that isn’t very long but he will always be important to me, however many years pass. He’s still in my will too.”

  “He is?” I’m shocked but not unhappy. I hadn’t realized just how connected my dad still felt to Brandon.

  “Of course. I’m glad he’s back in your life, Sam. If nothing else, we know he’s alive. And if the investigator can tell us more, we’ll have to consider what to do when the time comes.”

  I nod, thinking about how devastated we’d both be if we find out Brandon has been doing anything truly horrific. I can’t believe it of him, but then I’d never have thought him capable of anything the police insinuated.

  When Pop finally leaves, I change into my PJ’s and sit in the dark on the love seat in front of the window. The city lights twinkle and cars wind their way like illuminated beetles. Brandon is out there somewhere, and I say a silent prayer that he’s safe, whatever he’s doing.

  Chapter 8

  Brandon

  Adam is pissed with me from the moment I walk into Jackson’s. Maybe it’s because I’m a few minutes late, or maybe because he can sense something is different. He’s always had a nose for trouble and tonight it’s focused on me. I have my usual beer and down it in one. That’s probably my first mistake. I look like a man with a mind that is elsewhere, because I am. I find myself rubbing my hand over my face agitatedly. That’s probably my second mistake. When I look up he’s watching me, his empty blue eyes taking it all in. I meet his gaze because I might be terrible at hiding what’s going on in my head, but I’m damned if I’m going to look shamefaced about it. He doesn’t own me, although he’d like to think he does.

  “Brandon, you’re going to meet Leon tonight. He’s changed the location for the drop. Tom has the details. You’ll be handling it together.”

  I look across at Tom and he shrugs. Connor and I usually handle the drops. Tom does Sandra and the other cathouses. Harrison handles the books; he’s some kind of math genius who should have been a billionaire hedge fund manager, not a backstreet bookie. Jared and Cory, twins who look like the love children of Goliath and Hulk Hogan, look after protection and loan sharking. There are others but they’re not trusted enough yet to do anything important.

  And Adam watches it all.

  I look across at Connor and he stares at me as if I’ve done something to influence Adam. He doesn’t like being taken off the high risk business to be sent round to gather up the sweaty bills from the palms of desperate men.

  Because Adam has willed it, Tom and I make our way towards the deserted warehouse where we will be meeting Leon and his crew. Something feels off but I blame it on myself because I’m distracted with thoughts of Sammie instead of focusing on the exchange. I have my gun tucked in the back of my jeans, hidden under my plaid shirt, and the money in a small backpack that I’ve slung across my shoulder. Tom’s parked the car in the shadows and is follows me around the corner. I turn to glance at him behind me and catch him looking around, eyes darting more frantically than feels natural. We know these guys. We’ve been doing business with them for years so why’s he suddenly so on edge, so nervous? This isn’t our usual meeting point, maybe that’s what it is. But then I remember that Tom got the new details from Leon. Why would Leon have trusted a man he’s only met once with a change in our arrangements?

  My uncertainty makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and the sensation flows through my shoulder and arms into my elbows in a rush. I flex my free hand, thinking about my gun that I’ve never had to fire, mentally calculating how long it would take me to pull it fro
m my waistband and pull the trigger. Shit. Maybe I’m being stupid. I’m unsettled because of what happened last night. This is paranoia.

  I feel sweat gather under my arms as I slow, waiting for Tom to pull up alongside me but he stays behind, lurking almost in my shadow. We’ve known each other a long time, and to doubt him would risk our long term working relationship but my instincts are telling me something stinks and my life is worth more than the damage to our friendship that my suspicions would cause if I’m wrong.

  I scan the area in front of us.

  The wall we are following is made of well-worn brick, the ground covered in weeds and scrubby grass. At the perimeter there are trees against a wire fence. It’s so damn dark I squint my eyes to get a view of the furthest corners. I slow and catch Tom purposefully shortening his steps as though he doesn’t want to get in front of me, then he does something strange with his hand, a signal, and it’s then I know.

  This whole situation is rotten.

  Fuck. My heart is pounding in my ears and the hand that is clutching the bag shakes. I steal another glance at Tom and catch a movement in the trees to the left of us. In that split second I grab hold of Tom around the neck and clutch him to me. He makes a protesting sound as I all but throttle him, dragging him backwards and using him as a shield.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I hiss in his ear, “or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  He goes quiet, taking quick steps backwards to keep up with me. I just need to get back to the car but I don’t have enough hands to carry the payment, hold onto Tom and reach out for the gun to protect myself. Something’s got to get left behind.

  “What the fuck, man,” Tom mumbles.

  We’re not far from the car now, but my eyes are still on the trees. As I feared, three men I don’t recognize emerge and start running toward us fast. I don’t see Leon with them and he’s always present at the exchanges. He doesn’t trust anyone with the amount of cash I have in this bag. This whole thing has been a set up. Leon’s probably waiting at the usual drop location right now, cursing me for being late.

  We’re not far from the car now and I look over my shoulder, checking there is no-one behind me. The hood of the car is around ten yards behind me and I make a snap decision in that moment that it’s going to be Tom that gets left behind. I let go of his throat and push him forward, grabbing for my gun with reflex speed. I stick to the wall, scrambling backwards as fast as I can, seeing the men lifting guns of their own. Tom has turned now and is heading towards me, but I have my piece pointing right at him. “What the fuck are you doing, Bran?” he asks and I want to gouge his piggy eyes out for using Sammie’s nickname for me.

  “Stay away from me,” I shout at him. I’ve got less than five yards when the first shot splits the quiet night in two. There are two more before one hits Tom in the back of the arm and ricochets off the bone. He cries out and grabs at his wound, trying to stem the blood. More shots ring out and I fire my own gun, making the men scatter to try and take cover against the wall and in the tree line again.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” Tom shouts.

  I turn and make a sprint for the car, keeping my head down in a way that feels pathetic. Three inches aren’t going to save me if one of them takes a good aim. I hear two more shots before I get to the car door and yank it open. The money goes in first, and I shoot one more time at nothing in particular, hoping it will be enough to keep the men distracted. It’s then I notice Tom is now kneeling on the ground, hand still clutched to his punctured arm. He has a frozen look on his face that I realize is a death mask. I don’t stay to watch him fall or to see the damage the bullets have made to his back. The keys are in the ignition and I fire up the car and screech away, the car door still half open, my gun still in my hand. A wall of dust and grit rises behind me like the trail of a stampede and my heart sounds like a drum between my ears. The radio is playing something loud and upbeat that is totally at odds with the situation.

  I curse loudly as I hit the road, stashing the gun on my knees and slamming my hands against the steering wheel as the adrenaline hits a peak. I almost fucking died. I can’t believe Tom double-crossed us. It had to be Tom, I think. Could Adam have known? My head feels like a spinning top. Adam couldn’t be in on this. What would he gain from having me taken out? I’m his son and I’ve never done anything to make him doubt my loyalty. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

  I can’t go back to Jackson’s now with so much uncertainty. I don’t want anyone there seeing the shaking mess that I am. I can’t risk going home either, and I don’t have any other place to go. There’s a hotel about a mile from where I am. It’s a dive that I’ve only ever used as a place to fuck but it’ll do for a few hours until I can pull myself together.

  I pay in cash, something I find myself with a lot of, and head straight to the room, locking and chaining the door. My shirt is soaked through with sweat and clings to me like a cold rag in the air-conditioning. I unbutton it and throw it over a chair and pace the room, unable to think clearly. My hands throb with my racing blood.

  My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. It’s Adam and I don’t know what to do. Do I answer and tell him what’s happened? Do I ignore it? What would be my excuse for that later down the line?

  “Hello,” I say deciding to face things now, and my voice sounds hoarse from all the shouting.

  “Where are you?” Adam asks.

  “It was a set up,” I say.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Leon wasn’t there. It was Tom. He turned.”

  Adam is quiet and I can hear the seething anger he’s feeling in the roughness of his breathing.

  “Where’s Tom?” he barks.

  “He’s gone.”

  “For good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m laying low for a bit.”

  “You’ve got the money?” I snort in exasperation. With Adam it’s all about the money.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “Good. You stay wherever you are. I’ll talk to Leon and set something up for tomorrow. And I’ll get Connor to start digging around about tonight. I have a feeling the sons of bitches are the same that have been giving us trouble, and if they are we’ll make them sorry they ever tried anything with us.”

  “Okay.”

  “We need to take a closer look at the crew,” he says as an afterthought. “Maybe Tom’s not the only traitorous cunt in the group.”

  “Who the fuck knows,” I say, finally feeling relaxed enough that I can sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Tomorrow,” Adam says, and that’s his way of saying goodbye.

  “Tomorrow.”

  I lay down on the bed, the soft comforter cool against my bare skin. The ceiling is a maze of cracks and stains. It’s a fucking horrible hotel but right now it feels as safe as anywhere.

  I could have died tonight. It’s like a flash of clarity through the fog.

  I could have died and what would I have done in my life that was anything worth remembering? Sammie has a little box of my achievements in her closet. Nothing else I’ve done since then is worth shit.

  Sammie.

  I think about what it would have been like for her to see my picture in the newspapers, another statistic of the criminal underground. Would she have cried? I know she would. She’d probably be the only person in the whole world that would mourn the loss of me. And what does that say about my life, that I could have spent so many years and gathered so little that’s important or meaningful?

  I know I shouldn’t contact her again but there’s a burning desperation inside me, a crystal clear realization that I can’t go on like this anymore. Her card is tucked deep inside my wallet, and I pull it out, holding my phone above me so I can dial her number. It’s late. She might be sleeping. Her phone might be turned off.

  The tone sounds against my ear, one ring, and two. On the third she picks up.

  “Hello,” she
says, sounding sleepy and a little dazed.

  “Sammie.” I can hear the moment she realizes it’s me in the way her breath hitches.

  “Bran?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “I didn’t think I was gonna hear from you again.”

  “I didn’t think I was going to call.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Are you okay?” she asks, worry changing her voice.

  “Yeah,” I lie. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Oh.”

  “Were you sleeping?” I ask, getting a mental picture of her tucked up in her big white bed, blonde hair spread over the crisp white pillows, wearing a soft pink satin nightdress. Everything sweet and warm and as far from my reality as I can imagine.

  “Yeah but it doesn’t matter. I’m glad you called.”

  “Sammie…” I start, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why the fuck I called except that I wanted to hear her voice and feel the connection again that tugs at the empty hole in my chest and makes it feel less like a big black cave.

  “Yeah, baby,” she says softly and my throat burns like I might cry. Fuck. I haven’t cried since I was thirteen and some eighteen-year-old kids kicked the shit out of me at school.

  “What do you dream about?” I ask. We used to talk about our dreams. The real ones and our hopes for the future. She knew all my secrets and I think I knew hers.

  “Last night I dreamed about you,” she says quietly. “It’s been a long time since you came to me in my sleep.”

  “And what did I do?” I ask, resting my empty hand against my stomach.

  “I kept seeing you across the street, and I’d try and cross but there was a constant stream of traffic, and you wouldn’t look at me. You kept walking and I was shouting and waving but you kept walking.” She sounds genuinely disturbed by the dream and I am too. I don’t want her to feel like I don’t care about her.