Billionaire Stepbrother - Secret Lives

by Du Bois, Madeline

  He seemed startled for a moment as he looked at her funny, studying her. She felt her cheeks redden as she wondered whether her comment had gone too far. Finally he just shook his head slightly and smiled.

  “So, Cynthia, what brings you to the bar tonight? You don’t really look like the usual crowd.” She sipped on the drink he paid for and tried not to look too desperate. She could tell right away he was a take charge kind of guy, and judging by the people that kept coming by and saying hi to him he didn’t hang with a good crowd. He was the typical bad boy, alpha male that she constantly tied herself to, and she knew she needed to be more careful going forward.

  “Is it that obvious?” She looked herself up and down trying to pick out what looked like she didn’t belong there, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  “No, I mean because I’m a regular here, and I’ve never seen you.” He gave a little chuckle which sent a shiver down her spine. Confidence was just dripping off of him, and she was loving it. It was ridiculous how fast a guy could make her melt.

  “Well, I used to come here when it was called something else. I haven’t been out in a while, so I just thought it was time to blow off some steam.” She was sure not to mention being newly single or the pitiful fact that she couldn’t get any of her friends to come with her.

  “This is the perfect place to do just that. I do it at least once a week. Be sure to try your hand at karaoke, or if it’s more your style there’s usually a poker game that starts up around midnight.”

  “I’m more of a sit and watch kind of girl unless it involves roller coasters or dancing. Now those I’ll go for any day.”

  “A woman after my own heart. I see you like a thrill. My own vice is my motorcycle. I get to feel that rush every day. Have you ever been on one? Maybe I can take you for a ride some time?”

  Cynthia felt herself blushing at the thought, but as she was about to respond a small group of people came up to Diesel. A blonde woman practically climbed on his lap and started giggling, and a red headed man stood next to the old man and woman from karaoke. They all smelled like beer.

  “Hey, Diesel, how about we get out of here?” the blonde asked, making Cynthia feel like she was intruding on a private moment. But she was surprised to see Diesel gently push the woman away.

  “Excuse me, but I was having a fucking conversation here, Liz. I’ll leave when I’m ready. If you don’t like it here, then you know where the exit is.” Cynthia watched the girl turn her lips out in a pout before running off, probably in shame. Heaven knows Cynthia would be running away if he’d talked to her like that, though she couldn’t deny the fire burning in her blood for him. He was exactly the type of guy that got her going. He was a man in charge, and she had a feeling he was in charge in more ways than one.

  “Sorry, Diesel, I think she had a little too much,” the old man apologized like it was his fault. She was amazed at how everyone treated this man like he was the head of the mob or something. Maybe he was? But he certainly didn't look Italian.

  “Isn’t that always the story with her. Anyway, party at her place since she was the first to leave. Go out to the bikes I’ll be there in a moment.” He stared them down until they were through the door and outside like it was his very gaze forcing them out with their tails tucked between their legs. Cynthia bit her lip to hold back the drool and the urge to lick this guy from head to toe.

  “Sorry about that, but a man’s gotta keep his own in line, right?” Cynthia could only guess at what he meant as he turned around and winked at her. She swore she was melting; right into her panties.

  “I suppose so,” she replied, unable to think of anything else.

  “Well, I’m about to head out with those assholes, but it was nice to meet you Cynthia. You can come to the party if you want. The club member that leaves first always sacrifices their house up for an after party. It’s tradition. It’s at 4500 Kyser Lane if you’re interested. Hope to see you there.”

  Diesel waved and went to stand up as she contemplated what he meant by club. Then she saw the flash of a patch on his shoulder with a skull and crossbones, the skull sporting small devil horns and an eye patch. Red lettering read Devil’s Pirates MC.

  “A motorcycle club, huh? Let me guess, you’re their leader?” she inquired, daring to touch his shoulder before he walked out the door.

  “Excellent guess.” He shot her another wink before he disappeared with the rest of them, leaving Cynthia standing at the door with a pounding heart as she listened to the sound of motorcycle engines revving as they took off.

  Chapter 3

  Cynthia wasn’t sure what she was doing as the cab pulled up to the address Diesel had given her. She couldn’t even bring herself to get out of it, and she knew the cabbie was getting annoyed with her. She could see pictures of a woman and three children on his dash. He must have been a father and wishing he was home with his family instead of driving some crazy girl around.

  She could hear the music blaring and saw motorcycles parked up and down the back and in front of the garage which was hanging open. There were people everywhere; in the garage, on the lawn, and in the house which was lit up like it was Christmas in July. But she didn’t see Diesel, though she recognized the redheaded man holding the hair of the girl who had made Diesel mad as she puked her guts out. It reminded her of some wild college party instead of a bunch of grown bikers. It was an intriguing concept to live life partying like a teenager well into your old age.

  “Okay, I think I should go home now. Sorry for wasting your time.” She sighed out her words and sat back in her seat as the cabbie whispered something under his breath. It was probably something bad about her. Still, it just meant a bigger fare for him so he shouldn't be too pissed.

  As they drove off she glanced back at the house and couldn’t help but feel a small inkling of disappointment well up inside her. She knew that it was best for her to go home and forget about The Blue Pig and the familiar looking bad boy she just met. She had made herself a promise not to get involved with someone like that again. But she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had attended the party.

  Would he have introduced her to everyone and continue to flirt with her? Would he have shared all his secrets? Would he have asked her out on a date or taken her home with him?

  She shook her head to get rid of the thoughts running through it. It was pointless to sit there and think about what-ifs. They were things that would never come to be and were best left alone. She needed to stop making the same mistakes in her life.

  But as the cabbie pulled up to her apartment complex, she couldn't help but feel disappointed well up at the sight of it. There were no lights, no friends, no parties; just a small box with some necessary furniture and soon to be filled bath.

  “Thanks,” Cynthia told the driver, handing him a wad of cash. She was starting to run out of money, and it was almost painful to let it go. She was going to have to find a job pretty soon. The only reason she had any money left at all was because Winslow had paid her rent for the next two months like it was going to impress her and make her come back. It annoyed her to know that if he hadn't, she'd probably be getting kicked out right about now as her money ran out. She refused to feel like she owed him, though. That was exactly what he wanted. As soon as she got a job she'd mail him a check.

  A bouquet of pink roses sat on her welcome mat, and she rolled her eyes at them as she unlocked her door. Reluctantly she grabbed them on the way in, slamming the door with all her strength. The shifting foundation made it almost impossible to get the door shut and locked.

  Exhausted from a combination of alcohol and disappointment, she threw the flowers onto the card table that sat in the corner of her dining room. It didn't even embarrass her anymore that it was her poor excuse for a dining room table. She was used to the feeling that her apartment had to be the smallest in all of Detroit. It was home, and despite its size it always felt that way. Detroit was where she’d grown up and gone to school u
ntil the age of sixteen when her stepfather moved them all to Boston for a job. She had always known in her heart that she would come back, and on her nineteenth birthday she did. And she hadn’t looked back since, other than to miss her family and the few friends she made in the three years she was there.

  She dragged her feet to the bathroom and maneuvered herself between the toilet and tub so she could turn on the water. She turned the knobs, ignoring the awful squeak they made in protest, until they reached the desired temperature. Then she poured in a little bubble bath and bath salt, hoping it would help her to relax and think of a plan to get a job and get Winslow off her back.

  As she pealed her clothes off, letting them fall to the ground, she caught her image in the mirror. For some reason she still saw herself through Winslow’s eyes, the way he looked at her and touched her. All the things he told her and promises he made her. The moment she realized he’d been doing all those things with someone else as well, she’d felt disgusted and dirty, like she needed to scrub herself raw. His hands had been on two bodies, traced the curves of two women. It made her feel sick and sad to think he was sharing those strong, dark hands with another woman.

  She hated to admit that as much as she despised him, her body still ached for him sometimes. It was a comfort she had at night for many years, spending time in his king size bed in his huge house far away from the downtown noise and lights. It made her wonder if she had really loved him or just the way he made her feel.

  But something else was there on the surface as she stepped into the warm bubble filled bath. A face the total opposite of Winslow’s came into her mind. It was Diesel. She wondered what those calluses would feel like all over her skin. How different they would feel compared to the soft and manicured hands of Winslow.

  It was silly because she knew she’d never see him again, but that’s what made her feel safe thinking about him. She could fantasize about something that would never come to fruition. It couldn’t hurt her that way.

  She hadn’t been touched in a few months. The last of her relationship with Winslow had been devoid of any sexual attention, or romance for that matter. They had both been so busy with work, and she had felt sorry for him; her hard working man. But, of course, now she knew the real reason he was always busy.

  She let her fingers drop down between the warm cleft between her legs, imagining that they were the rough fingers of Diesel. Rough enough to stimulate her, but still gentle and tender as he explored her innermost places. A smile curled her lips up as her breathing quickened. She wondered what his chest looked like beneath his motorcycle club top, or what hid beneath those baggy jeans. She wondered whether he was as well built below the waist as he was above.

  It only took a few minutes for her thoughts to bring her to the shuddering release that she craved, finally calming the thoughts in her head, but at the same time ensuring that her dreams would be filled with images of flesh and chrome.

  * * *

  Diesel took a hit off the joint he’d been passed, letting a calm wash over him. He’d had a long day, and sometimes it was the best way to relax. Although, every day was pretty long one for him. He had never needed much sleep, which is why he could lead the life he was living, but the stress got to him sometimes just like everyone else. But he couldn’t let his club family see that. They looked to him for leadership, and leaders didn’t slow down or quit.

  He smiled to himself, watching all the fun around him. Some of them were grinding on each other, some were smoking and drinking, and others were out in the garage playing pool or puking in the lawn. It was going to be a mess to clean up the next day, and he almost felt bad for Liz. But he could never express that. It felt harsh, the way he had to treat them sometimes, but there were rules. He was a pirate king in every sense of the word, and he couldn’t ruin his rep, especially while he was trying to turn the whole thing around.

  He’d been a member of the MC for half his life, but he’d just taken over two years earlier which wasn’t a long time for an MC president. It was hard winning loyalty while trying to change the way things were done.

  He found himself looking around for the familiar girl from the bar, curious to see if she would show. He felt like he had been rude to her, taking off like he did and with the display with Liz.

  He rolled his eyes just thinking about Liz again and took another hit as the joint came back his way. She had been trying to get with him for years, and it always got worse when she was drunk. Maybe he really shouldn’t have felt so bad for treating her harshly.

  “Hey Diesel, what’s going on?” Bryant, his VP, fell down into the seat next to him. He was a pretty large guy and took up the rest of the couch, knocking a couple that had been sitting on the edge making out to the ground. Bryant was mostly a harmless goof, a fairly gentle giant that usually only hurt others unintentionally. He was good in a bind, though, even when he disagreed with Diesel's way of running the club.

  “Not much Bryant, just trying to relax over here. How about you?”

  “Me and Barbie were getting shitfaced. She’s waiting upstairs for me right now. I told her I’d be up in a minute as soon as I had a smoke, but I just wanted to tell ya.” Bryant had been lovesick for Barbie ever since she started to hang with the club a year ago. It was sort of nice to see her finally taking an interest, even if he’d had to get her drunk to do so.

  “Well, you go on buddy. Break a leg.” Diesel shook his head at what he said. He had never been good at communicating or giving encouragement. It was just awkward for him. He was much better with his hands than his mouth.

  He had spent most of his time as a member fixing the bikes as their club mechanic. It got him in good with the president though and moving up the ranks without him having to say much, and that’s how he liked it. Which is why even though he’d enjoyed Cynthia’s company, he was sort of glad she hadn’t shown her face yet. He had no clue what he would say to her anyway, and hated looking like a fool. Especially in front of the rest of the club. That was something he had to avoid at all costs. Especially these days.

  Chapter 4

  Cynthia stared at the computer screen in front of her and tried to think of websites she had yet to check for available jobs. She felt afraid that pretty soon she’d have to start applying for waitressing jobs or retail. Those jobs wouldn’t even pay the rent when it came time, much less allow her to eat.

  She took a deep breath and dived in looking through pages and pages of job offers and applying to everything that paid enough for her to survive. Some of the application's had questionnaires that were going to take hours and others simply asked for her resume. She decided to send out her resume first to as many places as she could find. She tried doctors’ offices, law firms, major corporations, and even marketing companies.

  The number of applications with questionnaires seemed overwhelming, though, and she felt like she needed a break. She grabbed a scrunchi off her desk and pulled her hair back into its usual ponytail as she made her way to the kitchen. The fridge was practically empty other than a half-gallon of milk that she picked up and took a few sips from. One of the benefits of living alone was no one yelling at you for drinking straight out of the jug.

  As things were, though, she may not be able to live alone for long. If the money situation didn't improve, she would at least get a roommate. That wasn't a prospect she really enjoyed thinking about, though. None of her friends were in any situation to need a roommate, and she would hate to have to room with a stranger. Not at her age. That was something you did in college or shortly after, not in your thirties.

  Of course, the other alternative was moving back home, to Boston. Of course her mother and Grant would take her back with open arms, but it was an even more distasteful idea than finding a roommate. She really needed to get back to her job hunt.

  She was just in the middle of filling out a very long and tedious questionnaire for a job she didn't even really want when her phone rang, providing a very welcome diversion to the extreme bore
dom of her job hunt.

  It was a number she didn’t recognize at all, which made her instantly wary that it might be Winslow again, trying to catch her off guard enough to talk to him again.

  “Hello?” she answered, cautiously. She decided before she even picked it up that at the first sound of his voice she would hang it up. She didn't even want to give him the chance to try and sweet talk her into changing her mind about him. Not that she thought she ever would, but given her current state of loneliness she was worried she might have a moment of weakness. She was tempted not to answer it at all, but she knew she was at the mercy of her job hunt and couldn't afford to miss a call from a potential prospect. Although she was beginning to worry that was simply wishful thinking.

  “Is this Cynthia Millard I’m speaking to?” A harsh woman came on the line, making her even more curious.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Good, I am a secretary at Essential Steel. Do you recall sending us your resume about two weeks ago? It was for a personal assistant position.”