“That’s right, beg for it like a good little whore.” His lips curl into a crooked smile, yellow and slimy. He’s out for blood, and I’m out of my depth without Mark or Greg.
I look at the front doors of Buck Wild. They seem so far away. I could try to make a break for them, but I know I won’t get far in these boots. Dread covers me like a cold sheet, and I scream. He shoves a hand over my mouth. It’s salty and grimy and I feel like gagging.
“You’ll shut that pretty little mouth of yours if you know what’s good for you.” I try to struggle, wriggle away from him, but Gabe’s too strong, even for me. “Got it?”
He pins my right arm down against the car while my left swings wildly at him, blows glancing off him, his senses dulled by alcohol.
The more I struggle, the more he seems to enjoy himself.
“I like em’ feisty.” His eyes light up as his hand slides across my scar.
“So it’s true. You goddamn crazy bitch.” Flecks of his spit hit my face. His finger, blackened with grease and grime, traces the raised edge of the scar tissue as my heart hammers in my chest. He licks his lips.
“I bet you like it rough.” He growls.
I try to beg him to stop, to leave me alone, but it all comes out muffled, unintelligible as his hand still covers my mouth.
He throws me to the ground, my hands and knees scrape hard against the asphalt, and I feel my skin burn. I can hear him unbuckling his belt, but I can’t move; my body’s stiff, frozen with fear.
“I’m gonna enjoy—“
He’s cut off. I hear another pair of feet across the ground along with garbled, throaty noises. I turn my head and see the silhouette of another figure, one arm around Gabe’s throat while the other holds it in place, tightening in a choke hold.
“You fucking done here?” The man’s tone is confident, commanding, and it pulls on something inside me. It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.
Gabe struggles, trying to pry the man’s arm away from his throat, his beady eyes bulging.
“You have five seconds to calm down.” Gabe brings his boot hard against the man’s shin, but it doesn’t phase him.
“Alright then, sweet dreams.” Seconds later Gabe goes limp, and the man sits him against a car.
It can’t be.
My skin throbs and a sick feeling spreads outwards from my core.
“You okay, L?” The man says. He kneels down, and light strikes his face.
It’s Luke.
The scar on my forearm burns and I reach for the rubber band, but he grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.
I’m unsteady. My knees shake, the world spins around me, and I feel like a breeze could carry me away.
Why here? Why now?
I had imagined this moment for years, prepared for it even, but I never thought it would come. Not like this.
Of course it would happen like this. It was Luke. Swoop in and be the hero. Maybe I’ll forget about the pain he caused me when he left.
I shake off his grip. “What the hell are you doing here, Luke?”
“What? No, ‘thank you’?” He tries to joke, but anger floods through me. “No hug, no kiss, nothing for saving you from captain creepy over there?” He nods to Gabe, groaning on the ground, his head swaying in circles as he’s slowly coming to.
I push past him, my arm brushing against him as I try to open my car again.
“Oh come on Leah, you’re not still mad are you?”
I turn around, jam my finger into his chest. I can feel the heat rise from my neck and chest, flood through my cheeks.
“Mad? Mad doesn’t even skim the surface of what I’m feeling right now.” He smiles. The same smile that made me melt when we were younger. It hasn’t lost any of its power.
Flustered, I turn around and continue fiddling with the door. I feel Luke hovering behind me. His hand reaches around me, rests on my own. A chill runs through me and I close my eyes. I imagine the weight of his hand on my body, along my breasts and back, along my ass.
“Gentle.” He whispers into the back of my ear, the warmth of his breath tickling the back of my neck. His voice is raspy, deeper and more sultry than I remember.
I feel him lean into me. Is that…?
The lock clicks and I snap out of my daydream. I scoot sideways as I open the door, sliding in without another glance at him. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, looming.
I’m scared. Nervous. I’m not ready to face him. The mix of emotions running through me tells me as much.
I snap my rubber band against my wrist but it’s not working. Again. And again. I want to scream. I’ve been numb for so long; it’s difficult to deal with this overwhelming flood of emotions.
I put the key in the ignition and twist—nothing. The battery is dead.
There’s a light tapping on my window. I don’t even have to look. I can feel the smirk from here.
I crank the window down, and Luke leans in, a half smile creeping on his face.
“Need a ride?”
“No.”
“Are you going to wish yourself home?” My cheeks flush. I hate how he mocks me.
“No. I’m walking.”
He steps backward as I roll the window up, his arms folded under his chest. I can’t help but notice his muscles bulging out of his t-shirt, veins snaking along his bicep, the way his pants cling to his muscular legs.
Even in plain clothes he’s gorgeous.
Focus.
I try push by him but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into him.
“Come on. Don’t walk away.”
I’m dazed by his heady musk of cologne and bourbon and something else I can’t place, but I recover.
“What, like you did?” I snap at him.
“Leah… That’s not fair. I had to leave.”
“No, you didn’t!” Tears slide down my cheeks in tiny, meandering rivulets, warm and salty. All the emotions I thought I had under control flood through me. “You could’ve stayed!” Painful memories I’ve tried to bury flash in front of me: the empty bed; the kiss; the knife.
I shut my eyes and hope that when I open them again, it will be all a dream—a nightmare, I guess—something other than this. His warm hand gently smoothes my hair as he tries to soothe me. Every breath smells of him. My heart feels as though it’s beating out of my chest.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I can explain everything. I promise.” I can feel myself softening as his deep, rich voice soothes me. I want to believe him. No matter how far he pushes me, he can always reel me back.
I hate him for it.
“Come on. Let me clean those cuts for you. I have a first aid kit in my car.” He grabs my hand and drags me away before I have the chance to resist. I like how his large hand fits perfectly in mine, envelopes it completely, how he takes control when I can’t.
He opens the door to his car, a white Mercedes-Benz G-Class. I wouldn’t be able to identify any other Mercedes, or most cars for that matter, but this is the car that Luke always dreamed of buying one day. He had a picture of it in his room. I thought it was a silly dream, something all boys dream about but have no chance of achieving. But not Luke. Luke always had an incredible ability to make things happen.
Some people call it luck, but not Luke. Luke never believed in luck. He told me it cheapens all the hours of hard work he put in.
“Sit.” He instructs me.
I sit down in the front seat, and run my hand along the cool, black leather while Luke is busy unwrapping bandages and alcohol swabs.
He did it. He actually did it.
So much time has passed since I’ve last seen Luke. I know so little about him now, his life, what he does. He’s basically a stranger.
“So how’d you afford this?” I ask.
He ignores me, and I feel the sting of alcohol on my knee. So much for being friendly.
He places a band-aid on my knee, smoothes the adhesive with his hand. His touch lingers on my leg longer than it should, my skin
tingling from his touch. I can feel his gaze on my legs, move slowly up towards my stomach, my chest, and eyes, then back down.
“Hand.” He demands.
The scrape on my hand isn’t very deep; it doesn’t need a bandage, but I want him to touch me, as wrong as that sounds.
I extend my hand, palm up, my scar out in the open. I can see him glance at it for a moment. I want to tell him: See what you did. See what happened when you left? But I can’t.
As much as I want to blame him for it, deep down I know it was me who held the knife that day, not him.
His hair is inches from my face, and I can’t help but breathe in his heady scent. I miss it. I miss him.
My heart hammers in my chest as he holds my hand gently in his, the other delicately tending to my scrape. His touch is tender, caring, and it’s almost too much to bear as my feelings for him resurface.
Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I letting these feelings resurface? He left you once, and he’ll do it again.
I rip my hand away as he finishes bandaging me.
“Are we done here?” I snap.
He looks up at me and smiles. I can feel myself flush, become anxious and nervous as his pale eyes dissect me. He can see through my act; he always could.
“Yes.” He says simply, half amused. “Now buckle up. We’re getting out of here.” His eyes linger on mine, drift to my chest before flicking up to mine. I blush; he smiles. He turns around, walks to the other side of the car, and hops into the driver’s seat. I’m still wearing my uniform, my breasts, my legs, my stomach—so much skin on display.
I should’ve grabbed my clothes, but I was in such a hurry to leave I forgot them.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do… “Getting out of here? What do you mean?”
He takes a right out of the parking lot, the opposite direction from my house. He remains silent, eyes focused on the road.
“Luke!” I shove his arm, which is firmer, more solid than I remember, trying to get him to answer. He doesn’t budge.
“You’re not safe here.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Okay…” I can see the muscles in his jaw clench and his right eyelid twitch, a nervous tic of his he has had forever. He’s serious.
“Seriously, what’s going on and where are you taking me?”
“To my apartment in Austin.” He slows down for the stop light.
“You’ve been living in Austin this whole time? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I’m livid. He’s living less than an hour away yet he never visited, never wrote, never tried to contact me once.
“Only recently. I have places all over the country.” Well good for you.
He seems to be doing just fine without me. Fancy cars, slick clothes, and accessories. But why come back? Why now?
“And…?” I prompt. He ignored the first part of my question.
“And that’s all you need to know.”
I snort with laughter. Typical Luke—show up unannounced and expect everyone to drop everything on a whim and do exactly what he wants.
The. Fucking. Gall.
As I watch him drive, study his handsome features and muscled body, I realize why it always works, why everyone always bent over backward for him.
He’s beautiful—absolutely gorgeous. I’ve watched girl after girl fall under his spell, listened to him fucking them as they screamed his name through our shared wall when we were younger. He always had a girl on his arm and a group of girls trailing not far behind, waiting for their chance with him.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish that I was one of them.
It was torture watching him burn through beautiful girl after beautiful girl. I became a loner because I learned early on that the only reason other girls hung out with me was to get closer to Luke. The first thing out of their mouths when they’d come over would be “So where’s Luke?”
I hated him. I hated that I wanted him. But most of all, I hated that he still held this power over me years later.
Not anymore. I was putting an end to it.
“You know what? Fuck you, Luke! This is bullshit. You think you can just drop in after all these years without so much as a letter, a fucking phone call, and expect me to leave everything behind and follow you? And for what? You haven’t told me shit except that I’m apparently in trouble. What the fuck sort of bullshit is this?”
Holy shit, did I just say that? I had never snapped like that before.
“What exactly are you leaving behind, Leah? A job at a strip club?” He nods to my uniform.
I finger the elastic band around my wrist, snap it against my skin without even thinking. The delicious sting spreads from my wrist, and I’m able to think clearly for a moment. I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. There was little left for me in this town; that’s why I was working at a strip club.
He didn’t have to be so harsh though.
“So you won’t tell me why you’re here?”
He nods. We’re both silent for a moment, then: “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.” He shakes his head and continues driving.
He was toying with me, playing another one of his silly little games. But I can’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind: There was something to this. He wouldn’t show up after all these years to just play with me.
Even so, if he wasn’t going to play fair, neither was I.
“Fine. If you’re not going to tell me,” I say, folding my arms over my chest, “I’m not going.”
“You act like you have a choice.”
“I’ll call the police. Tell them you kidnapped me.”
He sighs. “No, you won’t.” He’s right, I wouldn’t.
“I’ll call Miles.” I can see his eyelid twitch and his grip tighten on the steering wheel. I think about his powerful hands around my wrists, pinning them above my head as he takes me.
Miles was a sore spot for Luke (for me as well but I don’t want to get into that now). They were best friends when we were growing up, identical in nearly every way: star athletes, great students, heartthrobs—beloved by the community. They had a falling out when I started to see Miles; it was the first time I had ever seen Luke lose his temper. He was always in control, capable of bending any situation or anyone to fit his will.
But not Miles. Miles was different. At least, that’s what I thought.
“Fine.” Luke shrugs his shoulders, his knuckles still white as he grips the wheel. “If you don’t want my help, that’s your problem.”
At the next red light, he leans over and reaches for my leg. I shift in my seat to move away from him, but his hand changes direction and opens the glove compartment instead.
“Something on your mind?” He asks with a smirk.
I ignore him.
He takes a pill from a bottle and swallows it, then puts the bottle back in the glove compartment. The light turns green and he makes a U-turn, heading toward our old house. It’s not what I really want, but I can’t stand him trying to control my life. He can’t have everything he wants.
I smile as I consider telling him that. That would go over well.
We stay silent for a while. I have nothing to say and neither does he.
But then, just as we’re nearing the house, I look at him again, at his strong, stubbled jaw and notice a few strange marks on his cheek. They run diagonally, three of them, and look like claw marks, like someone slashed him.
“What happened to your cheek?” I say, pointing to the marks. My question seems to catch him off guard, although I might be imagining it.
“I went and saw mom earlier today.” He began.
“Wait what? Why?”
He hesitates for a moment but remains silent.
“She was in a mood. We both had some strong words for each other and she ended up slapping me. Her nails were pretty long and she scratched me as she pulled her hand away.”
I wanted to press him,
it seemed strange, but I didn’t have the chance. We were pulling onto our street and it was lit with flashing lights—cop cars everywhere. There’s a crowd on one side of the street, familiar and not-so-familiar faces.
CHAPTER FOUR
LEAH
“WHAT THE FUCK…” I mouth as Luke parks the car.
“Stay here.” He says, as though I’d listen.
I open the door and follow him up the cement path to our house. The stairway to our porch is blocked off with police tape and a female officer intercepts Luke. Her black hair is pulled back in a pony tail revealing fine, vulpine features and hard green eyes.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to ask you—Luke? Is that you?” Her stern expression fades and her eyes soften. Ugh… who hasn’t Luke fucked?
Neither of them notice me brush by them, duck under the tape, and head up the steps to the house. What is going on? There’s sick feeling growing inside me, gnawing at me.
A well-built officer is standing in the doorway with his back partly turned to me, writing something down on a clipboard. I try to sneak by him but he grabs me, but not before I see the body on the floor.
My stepmother. Dead.
Everything around me seems to fade, like I’m stuck in a vacuum, sucked into a black hole, a colorless void.
I’m sitting on the porch swing, the officer is telling me something but I can’t understand him. He’s kneeling down, has his hand on my shoulder. His lips are moving but I don’t hear him. We’re in two separate worlds.
There are so many questions buzzing around my head. I can’t think. I close my eyes and let myself fall back into the swing; I let myself rock back and forth, back and forth. It’s comforting, the rhythmic swinging, the cold air on my skin as my body moves back and forth.
When the initial shock wears of I realize that I’m not even crying. I’m not even sad. The pain I feel now is a fraction of a fraction of what I felt when my father passed away from a heart attack. There isn’t any pain. In fact, I feel relieved. Relieved that she’s dead. It may seem wrong but it’s the truth.
After my real mom left and my dad married Judith, I thought that this would be my chance to have a real mother, someone who cared for me, who loved me. But it wasn’t that way at all. Judith had this idea of a perfect daughter, how she looked, how she acted—everything. I could never live up to her expectations; I was never good enough for her. Her biting comments and passive aggressive actions made me even more insecure about my body and my self worth.
Stepbrother: Scar Tissue - the Complete Serial (An Alpha Stepbrother Romance) Page 2