Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  Stepdad, Jay mentally corrected, looking down at the stupid charm bracelet. And she didn't really care what he wanted.

  She'd been expecting a table full of white kids, since the rest of the school seemed to be as white as the buildings, but apart from Michael, who was Latino, two of them appeared to be mixed race and another one was Asian. Michael quickly reeled off the names, so quickly that she barely had time to catch them all. Angela Diamante, Clary Claybourne, Jordan Cahalan, and Quentin Ho. “This is Jay,” he finished breathlessly, sweeping a hand at her.

  Looking them over, while they looked her over right back, Jay began to understand what Damon had crudely intimated at dinner. You could tell these kids were all rich. It was in their posture, which was deliberately careless, almost lackadaisical, like it was their right to take up space. All of the girls were wearing prominently displayed jewelry.

  “I love your bracelet, Jay.” Angela strummed her own necklace, a gold pendant that had what looked like Roman numerals written around the black circular stone inside. BVLGARI, Jay realized the name said, familiar because of Nick. I thought a Bulgari was a car.

  “Thank you,” she said absently.

  “Is it Tiffany?”

  “I don't know.” Jay felt the sharp charms gouge her palm as she clutched her wrist. “My stepdad gave it to me. It came in a blue box,” she added lamely.

  “Jay here fell off a truck on her way from Frisco. She's Beaucroft's little stepdaughter.”

  Frisco? Jay glared at him and he smiled back at her in a way that made her stomach feel strange.

  “You're welcome to hang with us as long as you don't embarrass us,” said Jordan, flipping her blonde hair. “It's been so boring. We could use a little bit of fresh blood around here.”

  “Blood?” Jay repeated uneasily, glancing at them.

  “Relax, baby cakes,” said Quentin. “We only drink it on Fridays.”

  All of them had burst into laughter as bright and sharp as broken glass.

  Jay thought about Jordan's words while in Social Studies, tapping her pencil while the teacher, Mr. Harbin, droned on about prehistoric communication and cave drawings.

  What did she mean embarrass them?

  When school ended, Yelena was waiting out in front in the old Gremlin. Looking around at some of the fancier cars, Jay wondered if this could count as “embarrassing.” Nick was lying in the backseat of the car without his seatbelt, arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Jay asked. “You look like you've got the vapors.”

  “I'm comfortable,” said Nick. “And I don't want to be seen in this car.”

  “If we get into an accident and you splatter on the windshield, no one will see you in this car,” Jay said forbiddingly. “Nobody will see you ever, ever again. Because you'll be dead.”

  Nick reached beneath him and buckled one thigh in the seat before flipping her off.

  “Right back at you, little dude,” said Jay, turning back around in her seat.

  “Siempre así,” said Yelena, glancing at Jay. “Sinverguenza.”

  “Silver geisha to you, too.” Nick made his hand into a gun and poked the seat. “Now drive.”

  Yelena gave Jay a long-suffering look and rolled her eyes as she started the car.

  Jay leaned back in the seat as Yelena drove over the rocky, hilly roads. She was glad when the house popped up in sight, even if it still didn't feel quite like home. She dumped her backpack in her room and went downstairs, still wearing her uniform. On the floor of the front hall, she found Nick's discarded jacket and tie. With an angry sigh, she picked both up and walked around until she found him in the kitchen, eating a piece of toast that had been slathered in butter and topped with sprinkles. “Want some?” he asked, mouth full. “It's called fairy bread.”

  Wordlessly, she held up the clothes.

  “You don't need to do that,” he said, surprised. “Yelena will take care of—hey.”

  “Go put those in your room like a civilized person, you toad.”

  “This place was better without you,” Nick muttered darkly, setting his plate down on the counter with such violence that Jay was afraid it would crack. “I miss being here all alone.”

  Before she could respond, he was off, tie and jacket clenched in one fist as he stormed into his bedroom. Jay followed him. “Wait, what do you mean alone? Where is everyone?”

  Nick appeared in the doorway. “I don't know where your dumb mom is, but my dad is busy. At work.”

  “And he just leaves you at home alone all day?”

  “Genius.” He folded his skinny arms. “Want to see my room, Brainiac? Since you're here.”

  Brat. She walked through the doorway, without bothering to hide her annoyance. To her surprise, it was actually fairly tidy—although that was probably Yelena's doing, not his. His bed was pushed against the far wall and there was a desk next to it, mostly bare. He had a bookshelf, but it was packed with magazines and CDs instead of books. She eyed the TV and the sofa and the speakers and thought, Wow, spoiled, much?

  “Pretty cool, huh?” he said, watching her. “Better than yours.”

  Still annoyed, Jay hiked her chin up at the posters. “Do you play sports?”

  “I swim on Saturdays. I have meets and I have to practice for an hour in the pool every day. I like to watch basketball. Dad has season tickets to the Lakers. He'd probably let you go if you want.”

  “I don't like sports,” said Jay.

  “Right. I almost forgot you were a nerd for a minute.”

  Ignoring him, Jay circled the rest of the room. Pausing at the low table in front of the sofa, she said, “That camera looks expensive.”

  “I guess. I'm still figuring it out. The pictures all come out blurry.” He shrugged. “You want to see the rest of the house? I don't have anything better to do.”

  “You showed me the house yesterday.”

  “I mean the parts we aren't supposed to go.”

  Jay didn't like the sound of that—but she could imagine what would happen if the little shit got into trouble and she wasn't there to put a stop to it.

  This is your life now, Jay. Babysitting this little demon prince.

  “Okay,” said Jay, putting the camera back down. “Show me.”

  She thought he'd be more gleeful, but just like the way he'd been with his friends, his affect didn't really change. With a jerk of his chin, he headed out the door and started for the long hall that led to the kitchen. This time, he kept walking until they came to a room with navy walls that had sharp white accents and heavy wood furniture. “This is the bar,” he said. “For the adults.”

  “You mentioned that before,” said Jay.

  Nick pointed at the liquor cabinet. “I tried a little of that,” he bragged casually. “It tasted like Windex.”

  “You shouldn't be drinking that stuff, dude. It'll rot your brain.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked scornfully. “Tell on me?”

  Jay sighed. “No.”

  “Good. You better not. You wouldn't want me as your enemy. I know things.” With that mystifying statement, he spun on his heel and pointed out some of the paintings on the wall, reeling off how much his father had paid for them to the dollar. Gesturing at a plush sofa draped in a fur throw, he added, “My dad got that couch from Gump's.”

  “I don't know what that is.”

  Nick squinted at her. “Aren't you from San Francisco?”

  “I really doubt your dad and I shop at the same stores.”

  “Yeah.” Nick made a dismissive sound. “My dad said you were poor.”

  “Your dad is a jerk,” said Jay.

  “Whatever, blue jay. I don't care if you're poor or not. Let's go look at my dad's office.”

  “How much longer is this tour going to be? I have homework I need to do.”

  “Come on.” Nick seemed eager to go to the office, for some reason. Jay wasn't sure why. It was a cold, gray room and there was a computer on t
he desk. It was the bulkiest thing in the room. Everything else was sleek and streamlined. “You ever seen one of these before?”

  “Yes, doofus,” said Jay. “This morning. When I printed out the map.”

  “Well, I wasn't sure. My friend Aaron thinks you were raised in a box. You were so weird when you saw your room, like you'd never seen a room before. He keeps his magazines in here,” Nick added, kicking at a drawer with his shoe. “And his scotch. I don't touch that one, though. It's fifty years old.”

  “You shouldn't touch any of them,” said Jay. “What are you even doing in here? Do you just go through everyone's things?”

  “Sometimes,” said Nick. “When I'm bored. There's not a lot to do in this house.”

  A horrible thought occurred to her. “Have you been through my stuff?”

  “You just got here,” he said, not reassuringly. “I saw you dancing in your room last night, though. That was weird. Your music's weird, too. Only a girl would listen to a song about riding ponies.”

  Jay flushed. “Stay the hell out of my room, you little creep.”

  “Get a lock. That's what my dad does when he wants me to stay out of things.” His little smirk faded. “My dad will be home soon. We should go hang out in the den. I'm pretty sure he knows I come in here, but he'd still be mad if he caught me.”

  Jay was torn between going to her room and doing her homework and seeing how this played out. What a weird kid. She decided to follow him, watching silently as he turned on the game system and handed her a controller with surprising courtesy.

  “Does your dad have—rules I should know about?”

  “Yeah.” Nick dug through the box of games. “Be home before the streetlights come on, don't break anything that can't be replaced, don't talk back, and don't embarrass him.”

  As long as you don't embarrass us. Jordan's words floated back to her. Shaking her head, Jay said, “What kinds of rules are those?”

  “They're his rules. You'd be stupid not to follow them—although, if he doesn't catch you doing it, then it's like it doesn't count. You'll never get ahead by being noble.”

  “Is that something your dad says?”

  “Yeah, sometimes.” Nick plucked something white off the sleeve of her jacket. It was a piece of the fur throw from the bar. “Hurry up and pick a character. I want to play.”

  Chapter Eleven

  2017

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  “I want to play.”

  Jay's eyes flew open. She found herself wrapped in a man's arms and for a moment—fear, panic, confusion—bubbled through her, until she remembered who she was with and what she had done. Oh God, she thought, drawing in an unsteady breath. What have I done?

  She could feel him pressing against her back, hard and warm. He was running his fingers up and down her arm—I want to play—and she could feel herself tensing against the touch.

  “I know you're awake.” She felt him kiss her cheek. “I can hear you breathing.”

  Jay stared at the bright square of the window as his knuckles dusted over her breast, catching her hardened nipple between two fingers. She couldn't seem to get her arms to unbend and remained stiff when he began kissing down from the nape of her neck. The muscles in her back bowed out when she felt a light bite between her shoulder blades that had her arching into his hand. No, she thought, as he stroked her teasingly before letting his fingers drift down her belly.

  “Got you,” he whispered.

  It had been different in the darkness. Knowing he couldn't see her had been strangely liberating. She didn't have to hide. Now, with the sunlight pouring in, she was completely exposed. There was no hiding. Everything was out in the open. It made her feel raw.

  He made her feel raw.

  God, she was sore. There was a stiffness low in her belly that was blossoming into a dull ache and everything between her thighs felt tender. She definitely felt ill-used—and that was his fault, too. He didn't have to take her from behind or use her so callously; he'd chosen to do that, just like he'd chosen to threaten her and her mother and force her to leverage her body.

  “Blue jay,” he said, a little louder, a little less playful. It sounded like a rebuke.

  She pushed away from him, groping for her discarded hoodie. It was bright pink, which made it easy to find where it dangled from the edge of the bed. She slung it on, zipping it up to her throat, and only then could she bear to roll over and face Nicholas in the light.

  “What?” she said, at length.

  He was sitting up in a half crouch with one arm draped over his bent knee—the one he'd been touching her with, she realized, with a rush of shameful heat. He must have gotten up in the night because he was wearing a Stanford shirt and flannel pajama pants. The stubble around his lips and chin had graduated into a morning beard, which made him look feral and untamed.

  One of his eyebrows shot up. “Good morning.”

  Swallowing, Jay averted her eyes. “Where are my pants?”

  Nicholas regarded her for a long moment before leaning over her body in a way that had her freezing stiffly as he grabbed them from where they had either fallen or been tossed to the floor. He dropped them on her stomach before pulling away.

  Jay dragged her pants beneath the sheet, working herself into them by arching her body and lifting her back, not caring how provocative it looked, or that she didn't even have her underwear to put on beneath them. An amused smile played at Nicholas's mouth as he watched her dress.

  “You woke me last night with all your tossing and turning. Bad dreams?”

  So many minefields. Even though Jay knew she was being manipulated, she couldn't quell her sudden unease as she wondered how long he'd been watching her sleep.

  “I dreamed that we were children again.”

  His face smoothed out, becoming unreadable. “That upset you?”

  “It made me realize how much I hated this house. This city. Growing up feeling so alone.” She stared down at her hands. “It's still cold. Exactly like I remembered. I just wanted—”

  “What?” His voice was quiet, intense.

  But she couldn't bring herself to finish or even think the rest of that sentence. Not with him. She picked at the fraying sleeves of the hoodie as she rolled them back down, glancing at him before turning her attention pack to the pilling terrycloth.

  “How long is this going to go on?”

  “That depends,” he said, just when she'd given up on him answering. “Do you know how much your mother was pressing me for?”

  Jay sat up and felt a protesting ache in her belly. “No.”

  “Fifteen million.”

  Jay choked.

  “Yeah, it's a lot. A hell of a lot.”

  “Is she insane?” Jay whispered to herself. What was her mother thinking, asking Nicholas for that much? The two of them had never gotten along, not even at the beginning.

  “Well, I've always thought so,” said Nicholas. “Craziest bitch this side of the Sierras.”

  “Nobody asked you.” Shock rendered her defensive, vicious, which she regretted when she saw the dark flicker of interest in his eyes.

  “You did, actually. Did you know the estate was that big? I was surprised you didn't ask before bravely offering to pay for it. You were never all that involved with the finances, though.”

  “No,” said Jay, speaking through numb lips. “I didn't know it was that big.”

  “A whore from a good brothel might charge five thousand dollars an hour.” Nicholas sat up and stretched, straining the sleeves of his shirt a little as the muscles in his arms flexed. “Do you know how long it would take to pay off fifteen million at that price? Three thousand hours.”

  Dread gripped her in a cold, iron fist. Was he calling her a whore? She didn't trust herself to speak at first and when she did, her voice cracked on the first syllable. “That seems excessive.”

  “I told you it was a fuck or get-fucked world out there.” He lowered his arms and leaned towards her, his mou
th twitching a little cruelly when she immediately edged back. “That's three thousand solid hours of you fucking me. One hundred and twenty-five solid days, if you don't work, or eat, or sleep.”

  Jay had run out of bed to back away to. Only air was at her back now. “No,” she said.

  “I did try to warn you. But you were so quick to bargain yourself to me. Before I'd even asked.”

  “I—I didn't know.” She hated herself for stammering. “You tricked me.”

  “No. Whatever I want, were your exact words, I believe. You have no business acumen. You never did. Of course, I could be nice,” he said, on his hands and knees now as he cornered her, like a wolf about to pounce, “and say that you're worth twice or even three times the market price of a typical call girl. But that's still a lot of sex, Jay. Even if I decided you were worth fifteen grand an hour, you'd still have to be on your back for just over a month to work it off.”

  She didn't realize she'd slapped him until the sound echoed in her near-empty room like a gunshot. Her hand had jumped, seemingly of its own accord, before she could have the presence of mind to stop herself. With a startled sound, she grabbed her own wrist, staring at him in alarm.

  Nicholas pressed his hand to his reddened cheek.

  Oh shit. Jay felt her heart creep out of her chest and into her throat, where it began to freeze. “I—”

  He held up a hand and she flinched, which made him curl and lower it. Shockingly, he didn't look angry. She wasn't sure what that look on his face was, but the intensity of it frightened her almost as much as fury would have. His eyes, she thought, wilting. They're so cold.

  “I told you I don't play nice,” he said at last, in the same even tone as before, which was more terrifying still. “Fair market value seems more than reasonable. So with everything else you'll be doing for me, I figure you'll be here for a couple years, maybe two or three. There's only so many hours a day I can fuck you, after all, and you wouldn't want me to get bored.”

  Jay sucked in a breath. “No.”