Her Wicked Stepbrother: A Nolan Bastards Novella Read online

  A hand touched her shoulder where her sweater’s torn neckline sagged.

  Terror shot through her. She recoiled, but her strength gave out. Dropping hard onto her backside, she blinked through the fog clouding her vision.

  Golden brown eyes burned away the haze.

  Aiden crouched in front of her. “It’s okay. You’re safe now, a rún.”

  The trembling started in her hands but soon spread to the rest of her body. Dark eyes held hers, willing her to wholeness when all she wanted to do was fall apart. Her gaze darted around until she’d found the motionless bodies of both Kyle and C.J.

  A sob escaped her, and she clasped a hand over her mouth.

  Aiden held his hand out to her. “Whaddya say we get you out of here?”

  She loved that idea so much, she clutched his outstretched hand and scrambled to her feet. But the floor shifted under her, and her knees buckled.

  Aiden caught her under the arm.

  The room pitched again, and she leaned heavily against him. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I feel weird.”

  “Weird how?” He wrapped his arm more tightly around her. “How much did you drink?”

  She recalled the fruity punch and glanced over at the red slush splattered across the floor. “I didn’t finish my drink.”

  “That’s all you’ve had?”

  “And a sip of really bad beer.” A wave of nausea hit her. “Am I drunk?”

  “You’re not drunk.”

  They turned toward the door, where suddenly Cian loomed. His gaze swept over Kyle and C.J.’s still-unconscious forms, then landed on her.

  She tugged her sweater’s tattered neckline up over her shoulder.

  Vicious fury vibrated off him.

  She shrank back.

  Behind him, Rory bounded up the stairs. As he approached the, his steps slowed. “What the…?”

  “Clear the bedrooms.”

  At Aiden’s order, Cian slid past Rory and moved into the hall.

  “Get the drinks from the girls.”

  Rory cursed and dragged a hand through his dark hair. “Are they drugged?”

  “I don’t know. Just… get them.” Aiden’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “I’m taking her home.”

  An earsplitting bang erupted, and Brynn flinched. At the howl of outrage, she craned her neck to see what was happening, but Aiden kept them moving.

  Rory hustled down the stairs, but she navigated the steps more slowly on her shaky legs. The second time she stumbled, Aiden tucked her into his side. She sank into his solid strength.

  Down below, Rory moved through the crowd, disarming their female classmates with a charming smile long enough to pluck the red plastic cups from their hands.

  He’d collected several cups before anyone realized what he was about. Then the protests began.

  “Hey.”

  “That’s mine.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Undaunted, Rory continued snatching cups. “Excuse me. Apologies. So sorry, ladies, but we’ll need to be replacing your beverages. It’s come to our attention that some fecker pissed in the punchbowl.”

  “What?”

  “Ewwww.”

  “Who even does that?”

  “Kyle Pierson.” Rory enunciated the name clearly, helpfully lifting his voice above the noise in the room. “And that pissant he hangs out with all the time, C.J. something-or-other?”

  “C.J. Moore?”

  “That’s him. C.J. Moore and Kyle Pierson urinated in your drinks, everyone.”

  “Those bastards.”

  “What. The. Hell?”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Aiden steered Brynn through the crowd, guiding her between and around people and obstacles. Though they moved through the room unnoticed, she felt like a child who’d misbehaved and been caught in the act.

  As they passed, Rory crouched before Whitney and peered deeply into her pretty face. “How you doing tonight? You feeling all right?”

  Pink touched Whitney’s cheeks when she nodded and handed over her cup without an argument.

  Aiden held open the door, and Brynn slipped outside ahead of him.

  The chill night air seeped through her thin sweater and she realized she’d left her coat behind. But the thought of returning to that bedroom caused her stomach to wrench, so she resolved to carry on without it.

  While the fresh air cleared some of the fog from her head, by the time they reached the park, she was shaking so badly her teeth chattered.

  Aiden shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She muttered her thanks as she slid her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the oversized coat, still warm from his body, snug around her.

  When they turned onto their street, her steps slowed. He adjusted his pace, and thankfully, didn’t ask her any questions.

  On the sidewalk outside their home, she stopped.

  The house was dark except for the light from the lamp in the living room that Siobhan often left on if she went to bed before the boys had come home.

  Emotion squeezed her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty. “Would you mind not telling my dad about… what happened?”

  Probing eyes searched her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Then why did she feel so ashamed? “I know.”

  “Those bastards hurt you.” In the strain in his voice, she could hear what it cost him to keep his anger in check. “They’re the ones who should be ashamed.”

  She poked the curb with the toe of her sneaker. If she looked at him, she knew she’d cry.

  “Don’t let them hurt you a second time.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “You think they’ll… do it again?”

  “There’s not a chance in hell of that happening.” The glacial certainty in his voice did much to thaw the cold terror creeping up her spine. “They’ll never get near you again.”

  She expelled a deep, steadying breath.

  “I meant only that, they hurt you once by using their physical strength against you. Don’t let them hurt you again now.” His tone gentled. “You did nothing wrong. Don’t let them steal your faith in yourself.”

  A tear did leak out then, but before she could wipe it away, he reached up and caught the droplet with the pad of his thumb.

  He flicked it away. “Those bastards aren’t worth even one of your tears.”

  The angry redness of his knuckles drew her gaze. In one spot, the skin had cracked open and blood had seeped from the wound.

  “You hurt your hand.”

  “It’s nothing.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

  “It’s not nothing.” She hugged his coat tight to her body. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you kidding?” The shadow of a wicked smile touched his mouth. “I’ve been dying for a reason to kick Kyle Pierson’s ass.”

  Understanding slammed into her. “You knew he was awful, didn’t you? That’s why you ruined my date with him?”

  All traces of humor vanished from his face. “I didn’t know he was capable of something like this. If I had, I never would’ve let him in the same room with you.”

  Her head fuzzy, she gave it a shake. “I don’t understand. Then why did you do it?”

  He studied the ground, then stared off into the distance for a moment. “I overheard him and his buddies talking about you and some other girls.”

  “What did they say?”

  Flecks of agony swirled in his eyes. “It was a game to them. How many girls could they sleep with by the end of the year? Virgins were worth extra points.”

  Cian’s favorite curse word escaped her.

  “I assumed they intended to have your consent.” Hot fury licked each word. “I’m so sorry I misjudged him.”

  She snuggled more deeply into his jacket. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I never should’ve let him near you.”

  She probably should’ve been annoyed at his highhandedness, but at the moment, she found i
t comforting. “And I never would’ve listened to you. Not for long.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “I can be fairly persuasive when I wanna be.”

  His almost-smile touched her heart. Had she ever seen him smile before?

  “I wish you’d told me,” she said softly.

  “I wish I’d told you, too.”

  They entered the house through the back door. All was quiet when he walked with her up the stairs. She stepped into her room and flipped on the light.

  He stayed in the hallway.

  Her chest tightened. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? You’re going back to that party.”

  “I have to.” A grimace pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” she lied.

  She didn’t want him to leave, but she could think of no reason why he should stay. At her sides, she’d clenched her fists tight, and she forced herself to relax them.

  He started to turn away.

  “Wait.”

  He turned back.

  Her courage deserted her. “I, uh… I…. Do you guys have a family whistle?”

  Surprise flickered across his expression. “It’s just something we used to do when we were kids.”

  “Will you teach it to me?”

  His smile dissolved. He obviously didn’t want her to learn the family whistle.

  The reasons why hurt too much to contemplate.

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” She inched the door forward.

  He flattened his palm against the wood. “One day, I’ll teach it to you. I promise.”

  Despite all that had happened that evening, a featherlight brush of pleasure tickled her heart.

  From her bedroom window, she watched him emerge from around the side of the house and set off in the direction they’d just come.

  Even after he’d disappeared into the dark night, she remained at the window, knowing Samantha Whitaker would be waiting for him at the party.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Brynn couldn’t make herself get out of bed. She remained burrowed beneath the covers well past noon, then ventured out only long enough to pee and grab her book before rushing back to the safety of her warm cocoon.

  Monday, she skipped school, complaining of a migraine headache.

  Tuesday, she repeated the lie.

  Wednesday, when her dad threatened to call the doctor, she crawled from bed to shower and dress for school.

  She did get sick then, and twice more before fourth period.

  Bile rose in her throat when she entered Mr. Strickland’s classroom as the final bell rang. Her pulse throbbed in her ears with a nauseating thud.

  Though Kyle wasn’t at his desk when she slid into her seat, Brynn was about to dash to the restroom once more when Samantha Whitaker nudged her arm.

  A grimace contorted the pretty brunette’s fine features when she held out a folded piece of notebook paper.

  Warily, Brynn accepted the note and unfurled the edges.

  Kyle won’t be here. He thought it’d be best if he changed his class schedule around.

  Brynn stared down at the untidy handwriting, slowly absorbing the information. Her head snapped up, but Sam’s attention remained fixed on Mr. Strickland at the front of the classroom.

  Just then, Aiden leaned forward in his seat. Warm brown eyes raked over Brynn .

  Her mind raced, trying to piece it all together. With her pencil, she scribbled a reply below his messy script. You did this?

  She refolded the note and handed it back to Sam, who grudgingly passed it on to Aiden.

  Brynn watched him read, then scrawl a response with his left hand.

  She snatched the paper from Sam and fumbled to open it.

  Yes.

  One word.

  Brynn pressed the note to her chest.

  One word that meant everything.

  Sudden tears brimmed in her eyes, and she scratched her reply. Thank you.

  Sam glared daggers at her when Brynn passed her the note, and again when Aiden returned it.

  You’re welcome.

  A moment later, a grumble of annoyance from Sam announced the arrival of a fresh note.

  How pissed do you think we can make her?

  Unbelievably, Brynn smiled, though she quickly concealed the wide grin behind her hand. She’s pretty pissed now.

  Indeed.

  * * *

  Even after the leaves had disappeared from the trees and the first winter storm of the year had dumped piles of snow on top of them, memories of what had happened at that party terrorized Brynn nightly.

  Cian and Rory didn’t invite her to any more parties, which suited Brynn just fine, as did the fact that the mere handful of times she set eyes on either Kyle or C.J., they immediately retreated in the opposite direction.

  Indeed, the two had become sudden social outcasts as gossip about the party circulated the hallways at school. To Brynn’s utter relief, her involvement in the story had been omitted and all that remained was the disgusting fact that Kyle Pierson and C.J. Moore had peed in the punchbowl.

  Still, shame began to take root deep inside her.

  Needing a distraction from the ugly, accusing voices in her head, when her dad purchased the Mitchells’ rundown old house with a plan to renovate it and resell for a hefty profit, Brynn all but begged him to let her help.

  At first, he only asked her to keep track of his expenses on a spreadsheet, as she’d offered to do the night of the party, but as the renovation got underway, his long days grew even longer.

  Stress took up permanent residence on his face, around his eyes, and shortened his temper. One evening, when his cell phone rang fourteen times in the span of two hours, he flung the device into the sofa cushions and stalked out of the house.

  The next time the phone rang, Brynn answered it, and soon she had taken over answering all of his calls. She organized his messages by order of importance and passed on only the most critical communications right away. Everything else she typed up on a prioritized list that she gave him at the end of each day. A few calls, she even handled herself.

  Soon, her dad set her up with a desk and a computer at his office, and Brynn spent a couple of hours there every day after school logging receipts, answering the phone, and keeping her dad’s calendar of appointments.

  When an emergency at the Mitchell house delayed him from showing a house, Brynn looked up the address and headed over to meet the potential buyers. Her dad had given her the security code, and she was able to let the young couple and their two children inside the house to begin viewing the three-bedroom Cape Cod while they waited for Brynn’s dad to arrive.

  Brynn talked with them as they moved through the house, discussing what they liked and didn’t like about the home and how they’d arrange their furniture if they were to buy it.

  On the back deck, she pointed out the massive oak tree at the far end of the property and admitted how much she’d enjoyed climbing trees when she was a kid. They’d laughed, and tossed around the possibility of building their kids a treehouse before returning indoors.

  The next day, the couple called to make an offer on the home.

  While she helped her dad in the office, Aiden and his brothers worked with her uncle and his crew over at the Mitchell house.

  One snowy Saturday in December, she holed up in the mobile trailer her uncle used for an onsite office logging the mound of receipts she’d gathered from the crew. When her shoulders started to ache from hunching over her laptop, she took a short break to refill her water cup and use the restroom.

  But when she returned to her desk, a candy bar had appeared on the keyboard.

  She glanced around, but she was alone inside the small trailer. Had one of the guys come looking for her and forgotten it? Would they come back for the chocolate bar later?

  Her stomach let loose with any angry growl. She couldn’t eat it, could she?

  For the next hour, the candy bar tormented h
er. Just when she’d reached the limits of her willpower and made her move for the treat, the door to the trailer burst open and Aiden swept inside on a blast of frigid winter air.

  Dark eyes swept over her. As he crossed to her desk, a short stack of receipts in his hand, he studied her face with a heavy, intense focus, as though assessing whether she was about to have a mental breakdown or dissolve into hysterics.

  Though she very much wanted to do both, pretty much all the time, she smiled.

  He handed her the receipts.

  “Hey, is this yours?”

  He glanced at the candy bar. “It’s for you.”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “I bought it for you.”

  Surprise rippled through her like a mini earthquake. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  Then he plunged out into the cold.

  Chocolate had never tasted so good.

  After that, every time she visited the worksite, she discovered another sweet treat. Usually he chose something chocolate, but every now and then, she’d find an enormous cookie or a glazed doughnut waiting for her.

  Once, she considered it was all part of some evil plot he’d hatched to destroy her life by making her fat on top of being unpopular and unloved, but then she eyed the oversized blueberry muffin on the desk and decided she didn’t care what his ploy might be.

  She sank her teeth into the buttery warmth. Flavor exploded in her mouth, and a throaty moan escaped her, just as he appeared at the door.

  A slow smile tilted up the corners of his soft mouth. “That good?”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. Muffin stuck in her throat, and unable to speak, she nodded.

  His smile, devoid of conceit or callousness, transformed his handsome face into one of heartbreaking beauty. Without a doubt, his genuine smile was far more delicious than all the sweet treats in the world.

  He handed her a pile of receipts.

  She swallowed the bite of muffin. “You know, you don’t have to be so nice to me. I’m fine.”

  “I know ye are.”

  She squirmed beneath his assessing gaze. “How did you get him to transfer classes?”

  “I told him the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Dat I don’t know if he drugged your drink, but if I ever find out dat he did, he’s goin’ to regret it. If I find out he’s tried to talk to ye, he’s goin’ to regret it.” His voice dropped, low and lethal. “And if I find him in the same room wit ye ever again, I’m goin’ to kill him.”