The Other Brother_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “Sorry, hun,” Mysti May says, winding up her handbag for a follow-up strike, “I’m gay.”

  I’m about to clap her on the back—like, good on her for finally admitting it, right?

  But the moment is spoiled when Dude #2 intercepts Mysti May’s handbag with his big, meaty fist.

  By now, Sammi and Percy have rolled up, but let’s be real. Four drunk girls versus two giant meatheads? If the casino staff don’t get involved soon, we’re going to end up getting sent home in body bags.

  Which isn’t, y’know, exactly what I was thinking of when I planned my honeymoon look—not that it matters anymore.

  Part of me expects someone to come, like, save us or something. Aren’t these places supposed to have security or something?

  But no one does. In fact, it looks like everyone on the casino floor has either high-tailed it to the buffet or become deeply interested in their slot machines all of a sudden.

  Now I know how the sheriff feels in a Western movie when the gang of bad guys rides into town.

  “Okay,” I say, cracking my knuckles. “You know what? I’ve just had seventeen mimosas and the worst day of my life. The man I’m supposed to marry in two days may or may not have either cheated on me or murdered someone. I married my fiancé’s evil British step-brother last night, after which I got so wasted, I literally erased the previous sixteen hours of my memory. You wanna fucking fight with me? Let’s go, bitches.”

  My bridesmaids form up on either side of me, and our two opponents look at each other like they’ve just realized that this might not be the best idea.

  But before they can either piss their own $500 pre-ripped blue jeans or run away like the chodes they are, someone else hits the blonde one first. A handsome, bare-knuckled fist connects with the blonde dude’s jaw so hard he’s going to be drinking through a straw after this—if he’s lucky.

  “Sorry, love,” Liam says, rolling up his other shirt sleeve while Dude #2 assumes a fighting stance. “Damsel in distress, you know. Just can’t help myself.”

  “Nice hit,” I say, raising an eyebrow in disbelief while my panties get so wet they’re pretty much fireproof.

  God, Liam Black does know how to pick his moments.

  “Next one’s yours if you want it, love,” Liam offers.

  I grin at him as Dude #2 approaches. “You’re on.”

  Chapter 34

  Liam

  8:01 PM THURSDAY

  I do the rounds and decide to call in on security. For staff to respect you and be on their guard, you need to make sure you are keeping an eye on things. The main way to do this is by surprise visits to different areas of the operation.

  Admittedly, part of me also hopes that I might see Becky on one of their security screens. The little box in my pocket feels impossibly heavy—and I’d like nothing more than to be able to track her down and give it to her.

  I’ve learned to never announce you’re about to inspect a specific part of the business. If you do, you will won’t see what’ is truly really going on. Staff will only let their guard down when they think no one is watching.

  Overall, my staff is pretty fucking amazing, but I like to keep an eye on things just to be sure we run like a well-oiled machine. Machines need a keen eye kept on them, and so does the staff.

  When I walk into the security room, I don’t knock. The men don’t take any notice of me.

  There are over a dozen monitors along one wall of the room.

  Since it’s not too busy yet, there are only three guards on duty. Later, when the crowds start to arrive the number will double.

  For a moment, I hesitate. What is that scent? It’s familiar but I can’t quite place it.

  A mixture of butter and something else is what my nose picks up.

  My trained eye scans the room, and I see remains of what is being eaten on the floor. No wonder I was confused—it’s popcorn. Normally you only smell popcorn when you go the cinema.

  It takes me a little while to register that the guys in front of the monitors are eating popcorn. I furrow my brow. They’re treating this like some kind of private entertainment.

  Dammit, I’m the only one allowed to have fun on the job.

  “Look at them,” Buster points to the screen on his left.

  “Those guys are after a quick fuck,” replies Steve. “That much is sure.”

  “I bet the chick in red will be the first to cave in,” Buster points at the monitor again.

  That’s about all I can take.

  I’ve fucked my fair share of women in my day, but every single one of them has been in wanting of it.

  This is the entire fucking reason the Royale has security in the first place.

  “What the fuck do you think this is?” I growl from the doorway. “Some kind of show, where you’re entertained and eat popcorn? You’re fucking security, for fuck’s sake. You’re fucking job is meant to be making sure this sort of behavior doesn’t happen.”

  As I point at the screen on which two young men are obviously harassing some young women, I freeze.

  My tirade is interrupted. I can’t fucking believe my eyes. I blink but the scene doesn’t change.

  Fuck.

  I know those women.

  No fucking way.

  My blood freezes, then boils. I see red.

  By the time I fucking get down there, those bastards had best hope they’re long gone from the casino floor.

  That’s my fucking wife they’re making passes at.

  Bruce and Steve are still shoving popcorn in their mouths by the time I’m halfway down the stairs. They better be hot on my heels and ready to help when I get down to those fucking bastards. I don’t fucking need them.

  I’ll deal with this myself.

  The tall blond bloke with the torn jeans was the one who had the hide to rest his hand on my Becky’s ass, and he’s going to feel my fist right between his fucking eyes, slamming into his dirty mouth.

  Along the way, I replay the scene I just saw in the security room while I roll up my sleeve.

  Fucking security guards really ought to know better. I’ll have to have serious words with them when I’ve finished rescuing Becky and her girlfriends.

  It looks like she might have had too much fucking alcohol. They’re fired. Fucking finished.

  And Becky—after the day she’s had and the shit she’s had to deal with—my heart aches for her. When I’m done beating the snot out of any man who so much as looks at her, I’m either going to go down on her until she can’t see straight or marry her all over again. Whichever she prefers, really.

  It seems like my wife can’t be left alone for any length of time before she gets herself into fucking trouble. More trouble always seems to come her way.

  Perfect woman, really.

  It all happens fucking fast. When I get to the scene, the other men don’t even have time to react.

  I swing first.

  My right hand curls into a fist and takes a wide swing. Before the blond bloke can do or say anything, it connects with his nose.

  I hear a crack, and the wanker crumples at the knees. He’s on the ground before his mates realize what’s going on. Blood is dripping onto his white shirt.

  “Sorry, love,” I say to Becky, rolling up my other shirt sleeve. She’s looking at me like she’s ready to get rid of her panties here and now—not that I’d be opposed, but I have business to take care of first. “Damsels in distress, you know. Just can’t help myself.”

  “Nice hit,” she says back at me, raising one of her perfectly arched eyebrows.

  “Next one’s yours, if you want it, love.”

  She flashes a million-dollar smile at me. “You’re on.”

  But before either of us can do anything about the blond bloke’s mate, Percy wraps up the situation for us. Releasing a valiant drunken battle cry, she launches herself at the second wanker.

  Her head connects with his genitals, an
d he too goes down as if he’d been felled with a fucking axe.

  I watch him writhe in pain, curled up in a fetal position on the floor.

  The remaining two take a step backward, considerably paler than a few seconds ago and with much less bravado about them.

  “Next time, remember no means no,” hisses Sammi, and I grab Becky around the waist.

  “Security will be here shortly to show you the way out,” I say to our crumpled opponents and promptly lead my wife away from the fucking chaos.

  Her body shivers in my arms, and I feel the overwhelming urge to wrap her up and never let her near the bad outside world again.

  Back in my executive suite, I sit Becky on the massive white leather couch and go get her a drink. Something strong and warm.

  When I return, she’s sobbing.

  “Here.” I hand her the cup of coffee. “This will make you feel better.”

  She sniffs and tries to smile at me.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles, and I sit next to her. She’s got that lost puppy dog look about her, and I have to exercise great restraint not to rip her clothes off and fuck her right here and now.

  “Are you alright, love?” The words escape me before I can stop them.

  Becky hasn’t done anything wrong here—even though the guilt is painted all over her face.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Becky sobs, and I grab some tissues for her. “I’m such an idiot. I seem to have learned nothing from the other night.”

  I pat her on the back and try to calm her down.

  “I just don’t seem to be able to make those good choices when I’ve drunk too much. And so I what do I do? I go and do it all again.”

  She’s crying now.

  “I mean, look what happened last time I drank too much: I got myself married. And this time, I went and got myself…sexually harassed or whatever.”

  “You’re still sober. So the choice you made, call it good bad or indifferent, cannot be blamed on too much alcohol. You were sober when you married me, too, love,” I say soothingly. “And this latest incident isn’t your fault in the least. Men should know better than to treat women like that. Your sobriety—or lack thereof—has nothing to do with it.”

  Becky is silent for a while and then her huge puppy eyes look at me.

  “Why did you marry me, Liam?”

  My left hand finds her face, and I caress her cheeks. I wipe the tears away from under her eyes. I lean forward and give her a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “The answer is simple, darling. I fell in love with you.”

  At my words, her eyes grow even bigger.

  It seems to take a while for the words to sink in. She sits and stares at me.

  I want to ask her what she’s thinking, but I’m too afraid of what’s going to happen next.

  It’s the most bizarre feeling I’ve ever fucking felt in my life. I’m rarely worried about anything, and yet here I am with my heart galloping in my chest and the palms of my hands all sweaty and shit.

  I can feel it in my bones. This is going to be a critical moment in our relationship.

  “If you love me…” Becky starts, and I have to lean forward a little to hear her. “Why won’t you tell me what happened with Dan the other night?”

  A stone plummets from my heart right into my little toe and lands with an almighty thud. I think it’s fucking broken.

  She’s like a dog with a bone and won’t give up on the ‘what happened to Dan’ question.

  I sigh and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  My eyes meet hers.

  “The question isn’t what happened with Dan the other night. No. On the contrary.”

  Becky looks at me, and I can see confusion written all over her face.

  Gently, I continue. “The real question is: are you sure you want to hear it?”

  The tiniest of hesitations flashes across her face. It’s fast and hardly detectable, but I see it. Hope flickers up inside me. If I don’t have to tell the fucking sorry saga, it would be fucking awesome.

  But to my horror, she nods.

  “Yes. I have to know.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I need to know what happened for my own peace of mind.”

  “The truth can be painful,” I start, trying one last tactic to avoid telling the tale to this exquisite creature.

  “I can take it.”

  I sigh.

  I can’t deny this beautiful woman anything, it seems.

  But I won’t pretend that this won’t hurt.

  “It all started while I was in a…business meeting,” I begin. “When the phone rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized, but I still answered it. Could be business-related, I thought…”

  Chapter 35

  Liam

  7:45 PM WEDNESDAY

  My eyes are glued to the black and red squares, going round and round with the little white ball rolling on the top edge before bouncing through different number squares and coming to land in one of the squares with a soft clunk.

  I don’t really fucking care if I win or not. It’s just a bit of afternoon entertainment while nothing else is happening.

  Of course, the dark-haired beauty with her lips wrapped around my throbbing fucking cock is an added bonus. It’s not every day this happens to me at the roulette table. But what the fuck could I do when she came up to me and dropped to her knees right in fucking front of me?

  Introduced herself as a fucking princess from some quaint little country in Europe looking for a husband, too.

  Not that I’m in the market for a bride—on the contrary, I love the single life. But she was very convincing with her mouth, and I’m not the type to keep a woman in wanting.

  Her dark chocolate eyes are on mine the whole time as she unzips my pants and helps herself to my fucking cock. Once she wraps her lips around it, I go back to watching the little white fucking ball. Nothing more I need to do but enjoy the ride.

  When my phone rings, I pull it out of the pocket and glance at the number. It’s not one I recognize.

  “Liam Black,” I try and sound business-like and ignore the woman now sucking harder on that cock of mine. I play with her hair.

  Maybe I’ll take her to my executive suite a little later for a good fuck. If her pussy was anything like her mouth, I’d be reasonably satisfied.

  At first I only hear sobbing and can’t make out a single word the caller is saying. I’m not sure if it’s a prank call, a wrong number, or someone actually wanting to fucking speak to me. Half-tempted to hang up, I try to give them one last chance.

  “Hello?” I say and thrust my pelvis toward the princess. My fucking cock is getting ready to explode. I want to see if she can swallow every last drop.

  “Liam? Liam, it’s…uh. It’s Dan’s fiancée,” a pretty female voice sobs through the phone. “It’s Becky here. Um…Dan, your step-brother, right? Dan gave me your number. He said to call if it was an emergency…and, uh. It’s an emergency!” Her words are interrupted by continuous crying.

  “Sorry?” It could be that my princess and her blowjob are befuddling my mind, but this Becky may as well have been speaking a different language. I can’t understand what the fuck she wants. “Becky, is it? Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

  The princess looks up at me, obviously offended. I make a point of pushing her head back down—I want to see if I can’t finish before I have to go put out Dan’s latest fire.

  “Please, Liam. Everything’s gone to shit, and I don’t know how to make it right. You’re the only one who can help—please? We’re in the Royale, up in my suite.”

  “And it has to be now, love?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. If you don’t come now…Liam, I’m gonna kill him.”

  With a sigh and some swearing, I pull my complaining member out of the dark beauty. Trust my fucking stepbrother to be the root of all this. I should have never given him those rooms in my fucking casino, and I
should have never agreed to host his silly little wedding here.

  But even though I don’t know this Becky woman from a bar of soap, I feel sorry for her for agreeing to marry my asshole stepbrother. I better go and see what help, if any, I can be to this poor fucking girl.

  “I’ll be right there, love. Don’t fret. I’m on my way.”

  My left hand pushes my member back into my pants while my right hangs up the phone.

  “Sorry, princess,” I smile at the pouting woman still kneeling on the floor. “Maybe later.”

  I turn and walk toward the elevator, leaving her on her knees at the roulette table.

  As soon I step out of the elevator, I can see a group of girls along the corridor. A leggy blonde, a curvy woman exchanging numbers with a masseuse from the Royale’s spa, and a bespectacled brunette nursing a bottle of tequila are all are wearing the Royale bathrobes. Obviously they’ve just come back from the spa downstairs.

  “Are any of you Becky?” I ask.

  They shake their heads no and point to the bridal suite instead.

  I take a step inside, and unless my ears are fucking with me, I hear one of them shout the strangest thing as I go:

  “Watch out! She’s armed!”

  Unfortunately, the warning comes half a second too late.

  It’s then that I see her: Becky Brooks, my brother’s bride-to-be, snarling like a lioness and wielding a fire poker longer than her arm.

  It’s like the world drifts into slow motion. Every second, every breath, every heartbeat is slowed down into gorgeous lingering clarity.

  A trio of lingerie-clad prostitutes pause mid-pillow fight and scatter just as one of the pillows rips, sending feathers flying every which way.

  Dan’s groomsmen are trying to shove their respective cocks back into their pants while smoke from fat, reeking joints billows up around them, setting off the fire alarm and alerting the sprinkler system.

  Dan, bare-ass naked and covered in cocaine, kneels at the feet of a gorgeous redhead, hands clasped in pleading agony.

  And then, there’s her. The redhead.

  Becky Brooks.