Page 44 of The Stepbrother 2: Noah

Shocked, I watched Jason jog off towards the street as I sat there, thinking about how fucking toxic and dysfunctional my family was. How in the hell were me and Noah the most stable ones?

Noah-

I was going to kick Jason's ass. He had made my wife cry. I couldn't believe he had stooped so low as to lie about cancer. I thought, of all our family, he was the most well-balanced. I knew he did all types of kinky shit, but he usually kept that private. How in the hell had his lifestyle gotten so out of hand that he was bribing women to go away? I wanted answers. Unfortunately, despite my persistent calls, he wouldn’t answer, and I suspected we wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. Jason was known for his disappearing acts, even more so than my wife.

My heart kicked up at the wordwife.

I wanted to smile, thinking about how I had managed to marry the love of my life, but I kept my expression neutral, not wanting Creed to direct her anger towards me. She’d been crying for a while, mumbling under her breath.

"Are you alright? Are you sure you'd rather not go home?" I asked, adjusting in my seat to get a better view of her.

We were parked outside the Pinellas County Jail in visitor parking. I thought it would have been a better idea to stay away from the family, but she wanted to see her daddy, and I wouldn’t deprive her of that. Troy was about to be bailed out and would be exiting the jail any moment.

"Yes, I'm fucking alright," she snapped, then frowned. "I feel like I want to cry and scream all at the same time. Is this what pregnancy will be like for the full nine months?" She sniffed, looking so sad that I wished I could carry the baby for her.

"I don’t know, Creed, but we’ll find the best doctors and get your questions answered," I reassured her. She turned to stare at me, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. I could stare at her forever, mesmerized by her beauty.

Finally, she moved, taking my hand in hers, which I allowed. I yelped when her teeth pressed into my ring finger, right above the knuckle. I quickly snatched my hand back. There were teeth marks. Creed’s little chipmunk teeth hurt. If she kept biting me, I would start returning the favor.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, my eyebrows raised in surprise.

She frowned. "Because everything feels surreal, like a dream. I needed to know it was real."

"Most people just pinch themselves in these situations, not take a chunk out of their husband’s fucking finger, Creed."

She rolled her eyes. "It’s always 'husband this' or 'wife that.' You’re really enjoying our fake marriage, aren't you,fake husband?"

Frowning, I reached out and gently caressed her soft cheek with the back of my hand, traced her lips with my fingertip, and gripped her throat just enough to get her attention. "Do I feel fake to you?" I squeezed.

She chewed her bottom lip, her eyes lowered as I massaged her right breast. "Answer me, Creed," I insisted, squeezing her neck harder.

She shook her head no. My hand traveled down the curve of her hip. But our moment was interrupted by the shouts of "Troy, Troy, Troy." About thirty feet away, the paparazzi were suddenly going wild.

The lawyers I’d hired, one of Tampa's best firms, escorted Troy beyond the jail gates. He could have been picked up inside, but they wanted to sway public opinion and pressure Devon and the county prosecutors into dropping further charges. Absent were his usual jeans and graphic t-shirt that made him look youthful. Instead, he wore orange sweats and a white t-shirt, resembling the clothing they gave inmates. He looked haggard, a stark contrast to his usual appearance. Scarlett stood at his side, her sultry curves hidden behind a maxi dress.

A car cranked nearby, drawing my attention. I watched as Maine and our mother backed out of a parking space a few spaces down. I could see trouble written all over their faces.

"Why is your mother here?" Creed asked, panic in her voice, amplifying my disdain for my mother.

"You stay in the car. I'm going to see what’s happening," I said.

"I'm not staying in the car," she barked, stepping out before I could stop her.

I dropped my head to the steering wheel. "Fuck!"

Barefoot, in her wedding dress, and pregnant, she half-walked, half-jogged away from the car. I hurried after her.

We reached the crowd just in time to hear Tiffany accuse Troy of child trafficking. "He paid me to relinquish my parental rights, then launched a campaign to paint me as a deadbeat mother. He and his wife are no better than the people who buy and sell kids on the black market," she alleged. She was crying and even dressed the part of grieving mother in a demure black dress. The fact that Maine was at her side pissed me off more. After all Scarlett had done for us...

The crowd was in a frenzy and too thick for us to approach our parents. Nobody noticed us as we watched Scarlett lunge at Tiffany, grabbing her hair and swinging her like a ragdoll. It was like Scarlett was blinded by her rage and couldn't see the police officers, jail security, and paparazzi. This was going to be an entire other mess to clean up. I ran my hands over my head. Then I felt Creed's nails dig into my arm. Turning to her, I saw her double over, the smell of vomit filling the air. I bent down to hold her hair as she violently dry heaved.

Tears streaked her face, and her eyes were bloodshot. It was all too much. Lifting her up bridal style, I carried her back to the car and laid her in the backseat. I knew what I had to do. I drove directly to the airport, bought her clothes from an airport store, helped her clean up, and then booked a flight to Atlanta. Creed remained silent throughout it all. She said she wanted to go home. I was taking her home. I was determined to protect my wife and unborn child from our family's fuckery. Even if that meant we would have nothing to do with them until they became an asset rather than a burden.

Noah-

I turned to stare at my beautiful wife. She was dressed in all black, wearing a black ruffled button-up shirt and a pencil skirt that was so tight it molded to her like a second skin. Her hair was in a slicked-back bun, her pretty face absent of makeup, but there was determination painting her features, giving her a glow. She looked ready to command some shit.

She tilted her head to stare at me, then shook it. “You wanted to come here today. Don’t make me regret allowing you.”

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