“Connor can handle it,” I say.
“Connor shouldn’t have to handle it,” he says.
“So what do you want me to do then?”
“Get over to Sandra’s and collect the takings.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “You know I don’t want to have anything to do with that shit.”
“What, too good for the ladies?”
“There ain’t no ladies at Sandra’s. I just don’t like that place. It stinks of desperation and those girls look fucked up.”
“They like it,” Adam says with a dirty grin.
“You keep telling yourself that,” I say and his eyes narrow.
“You might not like it but that’s your fucking job tonight, okay? Next time, you get here when you’re supposed to and I’ll find someone else to go see Sandra.”
I down my beer knowing that there’s no point in arguing with him. It’s his way of punishing me and I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of resisting him anymore. These are the games we play.
“Okay, I’m out,” I say.
“Before you go, there’s been more trouble with those new boys. They’ve been seen near Joe’s this time. They’re getting more brazen, trying to push out our guys.”
I nod, wondering where all this bullshit is going to end. “You want me to do anything about it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. You just keep your mind on the job, boy.”
It’s only just south of midnight by the time I reach Sandra’s. A blonde in black strappy heels and a negligée answers the door, having checked me out via the video intercom.
“Hey, Brandon,” she purrs. “Haven’t seen you over this way in a while.”
Her eyes are glassy from whatever she’s been given to help her get through the night. There’s something about her that reminds me of Sammie – maybe it’s the shape of her eyes – and it turns my stomach. How do some girls end up sinking like this?
“I’m here for Sandra,” I say, trying to sound friendly.
“She’s in the back.” I walk through the red painted corridor, passing a waiting area that I avoid looking into. Seeing the girls makes me sad. Seeing a bunch of sick fucks languishing around before they head upstairs makes me angry. This is the part of Adam’s business that I hate above anything else.
Sandra’s office door is at the end and I knock.
“Come in,” she drawls. She’s from South Carolina and her accent sounds so melodic and homey, but Sandra is anything but.
When I open the door she grins widely. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. You know you get more handsome every time I see you.” She’s at least forty-five but she’s dressed much younger in a lace up corset and tight leather pants. Her cleavage has that crinkled skin you get on women who’ve spent too much time in the sun or on tanning-beds, her lips are blood red, and her hair bleach-blonde. She’s got the madam look down to a tee.
“Is that so?”
“Yes it is.”
“I’m here for the takings.” I want this done with quickly so I can get out of this place. The smell of cheap perfume and sex is turning my stomach.
Sandra rustles around for an envelope and then opens the safe that’s bolted to the floor in the corner, pulling out a wad of notes. When everything is packed and sealed she hands it over to me, stroking her index finger on the back of my hand as she passes it over. “You’re just like your daddy,” she says, and I snatch my hand away. It’s just about the worst thing anyone could ever say to me.
“I don’t think so,” I growl, unable to hide the disgust in my voice.
“What did I say?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.
“Nothing. Forget it.” I turn, stuffing the envelope into the waistband of my jeans and pulling my t-shirt down over it.
“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” Sandra croons from behind me as I make my way back towards the front door. “I know Angie would be more than happy to get her hands on you…no charge.”
Above us I can hear the rhythmic banging of a headboard on a wall and the high-pitched moans of one of Sandra’s girls. The blonde in the nightwear is leaning in a doorway, watching.
“I’ll see you around,” I say to no one in particular, hoping it won’t be the case.
“You keep safe, Brandon,” Sandra says.
“You too.” I wonder how many times those women have felt the violence of a man. My own hands are still bloody, the bandages removed and left at the police station, and I feel shame for the anger and loss of control they reveal.
Out on the street I take a deep breath and walk quickly away. I don’t want to spend any more time in this part of town than I have to and I’m feeling tired to my bones. I jump back in my car, throwing the envelope on the passenger seat, and drive back to Jackson’s. Adam is still sitting in the booth but now Connor is with him and Jeremiah, who everyone calls Tom in some weird transition from Jeremiah, to Jerry, then to Tom because of the cartoon. They go quiet when I reach the booth.
“Interrupting something?” I say, taking a seat on the stool.
“Nah,” Conner says, looking between me and Adam. He knows our relationship is difficult but stays out of it when he can.
“Okay,” I say. “Sandra sends her regards.”
“I don’t give a shit about her regards. You get the money?”
“Yeah.” I slip the envelope under the table and he shoves it in his bag.
“Anything else, cos I’m finished.” I rub my hands over my face, feeling the deepness of my tired eyes.
“That’s it for tonight,” Adam says. “You make sure you’re here tomorrow when you’re supposed to be. And no more getting busy with your fists. You cost me a fortune today and next time I might not be so generous about bailing you out.”
“I’m no use to you in the pen,” I say.
“You’re no use to me if you cost me more than you earn me,” he says. There he goes, reducing me to nothing more than a fiscal transaction. I get a mind flash of Sammie’s voice telling me she loves me and I stand, needing to get out of there and home as quickly as I can. My nerves feel raw. I’m a mess all round.
“I’m out,” I say to Connor and Tom and they nod.
When I finally get back to my apartment I close the door, toe off my shoes and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. In the shower I wash myself quickly then stand and let the hot water run over my head and down my back. It feels good but it makes me think about that photo again, the one in Sammie’s den. We used to enjoy those sprinklers on a hot day. I try not to think about Sammie and what happened between us, but as soon as I get the image of her in my mind I remember the feel of her breast cupped in my palm, her nipple stiffening under my thumb. I remember her moans and the way her lips felt on my neck, and my cock is hard.
I don’t want to be thinking about her like this but I can’t help it. My mind is full of her and my body is so switched on my dick twitches, craving her soft hands, her mouth. I rest my hands against the tiled wall, willing my erection away but it doesn’t help. I remember her windows and think about getting her to put her hands against the glass while I stroke over her curves. My hand reaches down to my now throbbing cock, squeezing it tightly at the base, but it only makes me want more. I try and think about the last girl I fucked. She was a short brunette, so nothing like Sammie. She took me back to her place and sucked me off like a vacuum cleaner then begged me to do her from behind. I try and keep the image of her ass in the air in my mind but it isn’t working. Instead I recall the softness of Sammie’s skin, and the way her shoulder had been scented with lotion. My hand is slippery with soap and it feels so good. Everything tightens; my abs and glutes clench and my balls draw up tight as I pump my fist. I want to come so badly and all I can think about is Sammie and her smile, her soft hair and her small breast that had rested perfectly in my palm. The soap is making wet noises, my hand against the wall is trembling and my elbow is starting to ache but I’m so close to coming I don’t give a shit. It feels so good, just my hand and
the image of Sammie in my mind, and I know having her in reality would be mind-blowing. I shouldn’t imagine any more than we did. What’s done is done and I can’t change it. But I do. I need more to push me over the edge. I feel disgusting but I imagine slipping my hand in the front of her jeans and the tip of my finger slipping down between her wet pussy lips. That’s all it takes for me to come, moaning as white streams hit the wall and spill over my fingers.
Fuck. I’m such a degenerate. A pervert. I just jacked off to images of my stepsister and it felt so good my knees are weak.
Chapter 7
Samantha
I wake up feeling sad but determined. When I get into work I call our firm’s private investigator and ask him if he could find someone for me, off the company books. We’ve worked together on quite a few cases so he’s happy to help for a small fee. I give him Brandon’s name and date of birth, which is all I have, and he tells me he’ll get back to me with information as soon as he has it.
The day passes in a blur. I have paperwork to catch up on and talk to a few potential new clients but nothing stops me thinking about Brandon. That look he gave me just before the elevator doors closed is burned into my memory. I know he didn’t want to walk away and I know he must have some pretty good reasons for doing so. I’m just choosing not to listen to them. But I can’t say I’m not scared about what I’m going to find out. We were reunited in a police interview room after all. Brandon’s harder now and tougher looking than he once was. If Adam and Connor are his business associates, and if the police’s suspicions are correct, I’m not going to like confirming he’s involved in criminal activities. I want my stepbrother back but if he comes with a whole lot of baggage, can I find the strength to drag him out? Will he even let me? He’s been reluctant so far.
In the late afternoon I get a call from John, the P.I. who confirms Brandon’s address and that his known associates are indeed part of an organization involved in criminal activities. My heart sinks. He also tells me that Brandon hangs out at a bar called Jackson’s, downtown. I don’t know it but use Google to find the address. I thank John for the information and hang up, wondering what to do next.
Turning up on his doorstep feels like a step too far. I’m traditional that way. A person has to invite me into their home before I’ll step foot over the threshold. I think about the bar and I know I can’t go in there either. He’d be mad as hell if he finds me willingly putting myself in danger. But I could drive and park outside. I could wait in the safety of my own car until I see him. I can try my best to find the words that might convince him that he doesn’t have to choose one part of his life over another. We’re family, sort of. There’s no reason for us to not see each other. We could meet somewhere neutral, away from the restrictions in both our lives.
So I get into my car, convinced of the sanity of my plan. I drive downtown and park up across the street from Jackson’s. It’s as shabby as I expected, and the customers look like they’ve all passed through the justice system at one time or another. Tattoos seem to be a uniform for Jackson’s patrons.
The first half hour that I wait, I watch the door like a hawk, but time passes so slowly. I pull out my phone and reply to a few messages, read a little on my book, eyes flicking up regularly so I don’t miss anything. I must be too engrossed in reading because I almost jump out of my skin when there is a thump on my window. I glance up and Brandon’s there, looking down at me with fierce eyes and a jaw that’s so tight I see it tick. Oh god, he’s really mad with me. I press the button for the window and get hit with the delicious scent of him, freshly showered. Even angry he looks so good my heart seems to roll in my chest. He rests a thick forearm on the now open window ledge and leans in.
“What are you doing here, Sammie? How did you find me?”
I feel heat rising up my cheeks and chest at the embarrassment of having stalked him. His eyes follow my blush until they rest on the skin above my breasts, just for a second. Then he shakes his head and looks into my eyes.
“You paid someone to find me?” he asks.
I nod.
“Why would you do that when I told you to stay away? Why would you want to get involved in this?” Brandon gestures towards Jackson’s and I look down at my knees. Maybe he’s right.
Maybe this is a terrible mistake but I feel like I had no choice. I want him back in my life.
“I wanted to see you again,” I say, feeling pathetic until I hear him sigh softly, and I know I wasn’t wrong to try.
“So now you’ve seen me…” He trails off as though he doesn’t know what else to say and I don’t either. What I want doesn’t involve words but physical touch. I want him next to me, throwing his big muscular arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his strong body. I want him to tousle my hair like he used to. I want to share my secrets with him again. I reach out and rest my hand on his forearm and he looks down at where our skin is in contact as if he can’t understand how something so simple can feel so good, so right.
“Tell me you don’t feel that,” I say, so quietly it’s barely a whisper.
“Sammie…”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” I say. “Things would remind me of you, a song or a smell or something on the TV. And every time it happened I’d feel so sad. Did you remember me, Brandon?”
“Yeah,” he says. “All the time. But it doesn’t change anything. We’re on opposite sides now. And you being here could threaten your livelihood and your life. So, as hard as it is for me to say this, you need to go.”
“You’re not tied here,” I say.
“You don’t understand. This is where I belong now, Sammie. There are people in there that won’t let me walk away, and they won’t want me to have something to lose. You understand? I know too much now, I’ve done too much.”
“What have you done?” I ask, not really sure I want to know.
“Things that could get me put away for a long time.”
“Oh, Brandon. What happened to you?” I say and he flinches. My heart sinks, knowing I’ve made a mistake. I’ve hurt his pride. “I just miss you so much and I hoped that I could change your mind.”
He shakes his head but his eyes stay on mine, filled with love and regret. I move my hand from his arm to his cheek and turn to press my forehead against his, my eyes closing as I take the seconds I have to feel him. Two tears slip from the corners and run in cool streams down my cheeks, dripping from my jaw.
“Don’t Sammie,” he murmurs. “Don’t make this harder for me.”
“How can it get any harder?” I ask. My sadness seems to weaken his resolve. He slips his hands into my hair and holds us close. I don’t expect it but his lips graze the corner of my mouth and it’s like a jolt of pure lust. He exhales against my skin and I turn, just a fraction. When his lips touch mine, it’s just a glance but I feel it everywhere. My mind feels like it’s going to explode, and I can’t hold myself back. I want him too much and that desire is like a force of nature, twisting and pulling inside me. I press closer to him, our lips joining with more pressure and I lick out at the inside of his top lip, needing to taste his mouth. As if he has the same idea, the very tip of our tongues touch and it’s just too much to bear without moaning.
I regret it as soon as I do. It seems to jolt him from a dream-state because he pulls back, looking at me like he’s woken up to discover himself doing something terrible.
“Sammie…” he says in a way that sounds part warning, part apology.
I pull back and swipe and my face and then rest against my seat. Brandon stands and turns and I see him cupping one of his fists in his other large hand, the picture of frustration. After a few deep breaths that are obvious from the way his back rises and falls, he turns and pats the car.
“You go on now, it isn’t safe for you here.” His voice is so firm I know there is no arguing. My voice has been lost somewhere in that mind-blowing kiss. “And get rid of my tail. He’s not going to see anything you want to know about.” He wa
its while I raise the window and then turns, striding across the road.
Fuck. That didn’t go as I’d planned at all. I mirror his deep breathing to push down all the terrible feelings I have inside. I wish I’d never taken that phone call from Adam. I wish I’d never walked into that interview room and seen my stepbrother again. But I know my thinking all that is stupid because I’m so damn glad I got to touch him again, even if it was fleeting.
I start the car and just as I’m about to pull away I catch sight of a man on the other side of the street. He’s smoking a cigarette, just out of the shadow of an alleyway on the opposite side from Jackson’s. Rake thin, with dark hair that curls up over the collar of his blue jacket, he’s creepy looking. I glance back at the bar. Brandon has disappeared inside. When I look back at the man he’s still staring and the nerves on the back of my neck prickle in a wave. I’m being stupid, maybe because Bran has been so adamant that us seeing each other is somehow risky for me. I don’t want to think about the things he might be involved in. It seems crazy to me that he’s crossed over into this kind of life. His mom had such big dreams for him. He had big dreams for himself.
All I can think is that it must have been his father’s influence. I can’t believe that Brandon would have allowed himself to be dragged into this just by hanging with the wrong crowd. He had backbone even as a pre-teen and always stuck up for what he believed to be right.
As I pull onto the road, the man watches, and when I check in my mirror his eyes are still on my car. There’s nothing for me to do but head home. I feel dejected.
Once I’m back in my apartment I call my best friend Holly. We grew up together so she knew Brandon when we were kids.
When I tell her what’s been happening since I received the phone call she’s as shocked as I thought she’d be.
“So he was your client?”
“He refused to let me represent him,” I say.
“Wow. He must have felt embarrassed.”
“Maybe. He keeps talking about how dangerous it is for us to be associated.”
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