Stepbrother Romance: The Complete Box Set

by Diamond Durango

  “Where’s that drink?” Wyatt yelled from the living room.

  Hollis smiled at her. “What are you having? I’ll make yours first.”

  They sat around the card table for hours in the living room, glasses sweating beside them as music played from the speakers. She picked up the game quickly, but the more she drank, the worse she played. Strangely, alcohol only improved Wyatt’s game. The night grew deeper out the back windows as she lost in round after round. “Does Wyatt ever lose more than once in a blue moon?” she asked.

  “If you distract him enough, he gets a little careless,” Hollis said over his glass. “Last time, I had a great winning streak when I listed his failures, foibles, and oddities.”

  “I don’t have oddities,” Wyatt groused.

  “Here’s one: you keep a book of paper maps in your car. Why? You have a cell phone. It’s like you’re worried the zombie apocalypse might begin and wipe out all of our tech, leaving us to flee the ravenous hordes with only a map book to guide us.” Hollis laughed and set down his glass. “Okay, no more booze for me. Wyatt?”

  “Why would zombies wipe out the tech? And how?” Aviana asked as Wyatt declined the offer for another drink. “That sounds more like an alien attack.”

  “Keep it up and I’ll start winning,” Hollis said. But the alcohol had Aviana running hot, and she stumbled on her way to the back door. Opening it up, a cool breeze passed over her cheeks. She wasn’t drunk, but she was extremely buzzed.

  “Don’t go swimming, Avvie,” Wyatt warned.

  All she wanted was the cool air, which dispelled a little of the haze in her mind. Tomorrow it was back to work, and buckling down to finish the summary that she had spent the morning on. She also had to track down her loan paperwork and give it to Wyatt. Rolling the door shut, she turned back to the table and wobbled in place. “I don’t know why I’m so tired, but I should go to bed. Luxure needs its mail tomorrow.”

  “It’s past eleven, that’s why,” Hollis said, checking his cell phone. “Go to bed.”

  “Which one? I can’t remember.”

  “You had her all weekend,” Hollis said to Wyatt.

  “You had her through most of last week,” Wyatt said.

  “We could arm wrestle, but I’d win.”

  “That’s debatable. We could have a battle of wits.”

  “Then you would win,” Hollis said. “You’re the smart one. I’m the handsome one.”

  Aviana snorted and said, “We could flip a coin.”

  Wyatt produced a quarter and said, “Heads.”

  “Of course,” Hollis said. “Tails.”

  The quarter flipped up into the air and vanished. All three of them searched the floor with no success, and then Aviana spotted it caught in the sofa cushions. It had fallen in on its edge and gotten trapped that way. “The edge? Is that neither or both?” she asked.

  “Ladies’ choice, I assume,” Hollis said.

  She went up the stairs, keeping a grip on the railing for balance. “I’m not picking. You two work it out. I’ll be in my room.”

  “You could go,” Wyatt said as she made it to the landing. “I should look over some paperwork.”

  “Fuck the paperwork,” Hollis said companionably. “You’re drunk, or close enough. How about you go, and the week is mostly mine again. Gentlemen’s handshake?”

  Aviana changed into her pajamas and flopped into bed, where she fell asleep almost at once. Rousing slightly when a solid form slipped into bed beside her, she pushed back into the warm body and faded away as an arm came over her waist. Hollis? Wyatt? She couldn’t tell, and then she was unconscious.

  She dreamed of a room full of ticking clocks, a sense of unease pervading the dim space. There were no doors or windows, just wall after wall of clocks from ceiling to floor, and a skylight high above that showed a small square of featureless gray. She wanted to leave. Something was wrong about this room, about the ticking, and when the cuckoo clocks struck the hour, what emerged from the little wooden doors were not tiny birds but staring eyes. The walls multiplied from four to eight with no exit anywhere and the ticking grew louder from all the additional clocks. Then she saw the door, there like it always had been there. When she put her hand on the knob, fear overcame her of what she would find on the other side.

  The knob turned all on its own as she backed away in fright, and the door opened to a yawning darkness. She jerked awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat. All was quiet in the bedroom save the steady breathing of Hollis or Wyatt beside her.

  There was a faint ticking sound from the ground floor. In an instant, she recognized it for its difference from the regular sounds in the house. Sitting up, her hand went out to the body beside her. A horrified thought crossed her mind that it was Milan sleeping there, but when she shook the bare shoulder, it was Wyatt who mumbled, “Avvie?”

  “He’s here,” she whispered, her blood running cold. “Wyatt, he’s here.”

  Wyatt sat up, both of them listening hard and Aviana holding her breath. There was nothing, no tick or squeak or scrape, not a breeze outside rustling the leaves on the windows. After a minute, Wyatt swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Did you hear something?” Aviana asked in mounting terror.

  “No, but I didn’t enable the alarm before I came up to bed, and I doubt Hollis did either. I must have left my cell phone downstairs, too.” He rustled around in the dark to pull on his sweatpants. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  As he went to the door, which was cracked open, Aviana got out of bed and followed him. She was going to need to hear nothing from downstairs for a lot longer before she could return to sleep. Wyatt whispered, “Avvie, stay in bed.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be back in two minutes. If you’re that frightened someone is here, then lock yourself into the bathroom. I’ll knock for you.” He pulled open the door further and went out. The moonlight coming in through the hallway window bathed everything in a cool white light.

  He walked softly to the stairs. As he descended, the shadows swallowed him up. Instead of going back to bed or to the bathroom, Aviana tiptoed down the hallway. At the railing, she looked over. Wyatt had made it to the landing. Passing under a shaft of moonlight from another window, his expression was cautious yet not overly full of concern. The sound had just been a carryover from Aviana’s strange dream and she’d woken him up for nothing.

  Or it was Hollis. It was quiet in his wing, and his bedroom door was closed. Usually he kept it open when he wasn’t within. Not always, though, and he could have just gone downstairs for something or another, or crashed on the sofa and never come up to bed at all.

  Her cell phone had also been forgotten downstairs on the coffee table. It needed to be plugged in to charge or she wouldn’t have it for work. Leaning over the railing, she opened her mouth to call to Wyatt, who had gotten to the last step. He vanished into the darkness without her saying anything. For some reason, she was hesitant to announce her presence so boldly. She would retrieve the phone herself. Creeping to the stairs, she went down without making a sound.

  Wyatt wasn’t bothering to flip on the lights, and she didn’t either. The house had become a second skin in her short time living there. She knew where everything was, and the moonlight lent enough light to assist with navigation. Once she made it to the ground floor, she pivoted to the living room. There was no sign of Wyatt, who had gone to the front of the house to deal with the alarm.

  Aviana weaved around the furniture to the coffee table, where she ran her hand over the dark surface and within moments struck her cell phone. She sank her thumb into the power button and the screen lit up. It was three in the morning and the battery was deep in the red. Then the screen went black. She pressed the button again, but the phone did not revive. Her eyes readjusted to the darkness. Slipping the phone into the pocket of her pajamas, she retraced her steps slowly through the living room.

  Sleep was pulling at her, and her sense of dread had faded. As
soon as her cell was plugged in and Wyatt was in bed with her, she was going back to sleep.

  The load of laundry in the washing machine crossed her mind. A couple of drinks had made her forget all about transferring it to the dryer. Passing the foot of the stairs, she stepped into the hallway that led to the laundry room. She could start it now and have everything be done by morning. The beep that the machine made when it completed a cycle wasn’t loud enough to carry to the upstairs bedrooms.

  Just as she got to the entryway, she paused with one hand raised for the light switch. The way the darkness was yawning at her . . . it was too much like the dream. She didn’t want to go in, to see what was there.

  Nothing in that load absolutely had to be done by morning, and the brightness of the light would wake her up further. Her index finger touched the smooth plastic surface of the switch, and she let her hand fall without flicking it.

  She began to turn away from the laundry room. Then a dark shape rushed forward and seized her.

  The smell. It was of unwashed skin and alcohol, almost lost beneath the cheerful odors of the detergent and dryer sheets. That was what she’d been sensing, a subconscious trigger that had stopped her from going in.

  A hand clapped over her mouth before she could scream, and an arm wrapped around her chest to pin her arms to her sides. None of the moves in her slim store of martial arts knowledge presented themselves; what burst from her was instantaneous and animal, wild and without thought. She bit at a finger over her mouth viciously and thrashed, her captor making a muffled sound as he hit the frame of the doorway while trying to hold on to her. It was Milan’s voice, Milan’s smell, Milan’s blood on her lips.

  She let herself fall like a deadweight. He dropped the hand from her mouth to get a firmer grip on her, and she screamed like a banshee into the dark house. Milan attempted to propel her into the living room, hissing, “Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up or I’ll fucking gut you!”

  “Avvie!” Wyatt shouted from the other side of the house.

  She didn’t shut up. She screamed and wrenched left and right within Milan’s arms. She stomped her foot on his and was gratified when he grunted in pain. Still he refused to let go, and she threw her head back into his face.

  The arms were gone and she was falling, falling into the shadows and her knees cracking on the floor when she landed. Kicking out at his leg, she scrabbled away into the living room. Light flooded her eyes, temporarily blinding her, but she kept moving anyway in terror that he was about to regain his hold.

  Wyatt roared and charged past her as she got to the armchair. Hauling herself up, she looked behind her. Milan had taken a switchblade out of his pocket. He was just lifting it when Wyatt threw a punch to his face. Staggering back to the laundry room, Milan clutched his nose. His hand came down covered in blood, and he brandished the blade at Wyatt.

  She needed to call 911, but her phone was dead. “Hollis!” she screamed. There was no reply from upstairs. Looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, she snatched up a heavy iron candlestick from the mantel. Milan lashed out with the knife, Wyatt jumping back and striking the little table in the hallway. He fell to the floor, wood smashing underneath him and the feet of the table flying out.

  Milan stormed into the living room. His eyes were livid upon Aviana. “I told you to shut up!”

  She darted around the armchair and shouted, “Leave me alone!”

  “You’re coming home with me now, you fucking slut!” he bellowed. Blood leaked out of his nostrils and streamed over his lips. His eyes were crazier than ever, a ring of white around two dark sinkholes of madness. His sweatshirt had giant holes in it, revealing a tattered undershirt, and his jeans were coated in grime and trailing threads from the hems.

  “What home?” she shouted as Wyatt got up. Milan feinted going left around the chair and dove right, Aviana anticipating it and dodging out of his reach. “I’m not your wife; I’m not your girlfriend! Get the hell out of my house!”

  He didn’t feint again, or run around the chair. He came over it, Aviana striking out with the candlestick. Her first blow hit the knife itself, knocking it away, and her second landed in his matted brown hair.

  It didn’t knock him out. The chair tipped over and he landed in a crouch as Wyatt burst into the room. He ran for Milan, Aviana darting to the side as Wyatt threw himself over the chair. They went down in a flurry of punches and shouts.

  Milan had to be high on something, as well as intoxicated. It was unreal how he kept fighting despite the blow of the candlestick and Wyatt’s heavy slugs to his chest and head. The two of them rolled over the floor, Wyatt winning one moment only to be overturned, and Milan’s victory short-lived when Wyatt threw him down. Turning onto his stomach, Milan spotted Aviana. He escaped Wyatt and scuttled over the floor to swing for her legs.

  She jumped back as Wyatt caught Milan’s legs to stop him. Milan kicked and hit Wyatt in the chin. It was a cruel blow that snapped Wyatt’s head back. He dropped with a stunned expression to the stairs, and Milan forgot Aviana to fall on him like a rabid animal. Aviana pulled back the candlestick to swing and rushed forward, and then Hollis dropped over the side of the railing.

  “Get off him!” Hollis shouted. Getting Milan by the shoulders, he heaved him away. Wyatt recovered, going from almost flat on his back to a crouch in a second. He got up to his feet as Milan broke free of Hollis and tumbled down beside the armchair. Aviana saw the discarded knife on the floor in the same moment that Milan did. They threw themselves at it, Aviana ditching the candlestick and Hollis exclaiming, “Avvie, don’t!”

  Sirens. They were far in the distance. Hollis had called for help before jumping over the staircase.

  The carpet rasped against her palms as she scrambled for the knife. She got to it first, Milan screaming in frustration and knocking her onto her back.

  He would get the knife away. All she could do was throw it behind her, where it clattered into the hallway. Milan straddled her, his fist pulling back and descending. She brought down her arms, not fast enough to block him, but the blow never landed. The twins hauled him off her and shoved him into the wall. His head struck it forcefully.

  Blood was running down Wyatt’s mid-back from a gash. He threw a blow that Milan dodged, but only to run into Hollis. The three of them battled, every punch reverberating through the house. The fight only fueled the wildness in Milan. Spittle flew from his lips as he hurled obscenities along with his fists. “She’s mine, goddammit!”

  “No, I’m not!” Aviana shouted, aware of how pointless it was to argue the point with him. He didn’t see her, and never had.

  Eyes widening as he heard the sirens, he screamed in betrayal and outrage, “Aviana!” He shoved Hollis away, ducked under Wyatt’s fist, and bolted for her. The twins shouted and lunged for him, but missed.

  If he caught her, he would kill her. It was in his eyes. She fled with Death coming up fast. The table was in pieces up and down the hallway, as were the ornamental plates that had been mounted atop it. Jumping over the mess, a shard sliced into her foot. The pain was registered and promptly discounted, the stinging papered over by adrenaline. Milan staggered in the breakage, slowing him, as she sprinted for the kitchen.

  “Wyatt!” she screamed. Wyatt was in pursuit, lashing out for Milan’s shoulder and missing when Milan jumped nimbly to avoid slipping on more broken glass and wood.

  She ran by the refrigerator and stove, between the sink and island, and past the pantry to the almost impenetrable darkness of the dining room. There was nowhere to hide, no time to find a hiding place . . .

  No, she couldn’t hide in the dining room, but she would do what Wyatt had suggested upstairs. Lock herself in a bathroom. All she had to do was get to one. The nearest bathroom was next to the door leading out to the garage. It wasn’t that far away.

  But Milan was only steps behind her, striking the chairs around the table as she fled for the sitting room. “You whore! You whore!” he spat.

/>   She burst from the dark dining room into the sitting room, where the only light came from the moon shining through filmy curtains. As she threw a frightened look behind her, her shin hit the table. It sent her into a spin and she crashed down on the sofa.

  The sirens were so close as to be deafening down on the road. She pushed up and screamed as Milan exploded into the room with a cry of rage. He had gotten a knife again, this one a steak knife from the block in the kitchen. The moonlight glinted off the sharp blade.

  Instead of falling on her, Milan whirled around to confront Wyatt first. Hollis raced into the room through the second door that led out to the entryway. It happened as fast as a bolt of lightning, the stab of the knife that Wyatt blocked, the deadly crunch of Wyatt’s fist to Milan’s head, and Milan falling back into Hollis. Hollis propelled him out the window in an incredibly loud shatter of glass.

  In his desperate flail to catch on to the wall, Milan caught Hollis’ arm instead. Hollis went with him, over the sill and out.

  Then the only sound was the sirens. Aviana picked herself up off the sofa. Breathing heavily, Wyatt went to the window a step ahead of Aviana to protect her.

  They were lying near one another past the crushed shrubberies. Milan was on his stomach, one arm crumpled beneath him, the other stretched out in the grass and his head turned to the side. He didn’t move. Aviana’s horrified gaze went to Hollis, who was on his back. Down the driveway, red and blue lights were flashing at the gate.

  Shards of glass jutted up out of the pane. She ran to the entryway and threw open the door. Rushing to the grass, she found Wyatt already there from risking the shortcut out the window. She dropped to her knees at Hollis’ side. His eyes were closed, but his chest was moving.