Page 62 of Jealous Stepbrother
My gut drops, rage boiling hot on its heels. “The Tides Club.”
I hear footsteps behind me but my fingers are flying over my screen, punching the video doorbell history which I still have access to even after all these years.
I hear my Dad’s resigned breath as I play the video that shows Annette’s car pulling away down the drive, Scarlett in the passenger seat.
I spin to face my dad. “You son of a bitch.” My voice is low, lethal. “You planned this, to get me out of the way.”
He only exhales, calm as ever, setting the bags down. “It’s just brunch. Annette thought it would be…appropriate for her to hang out with people her own age.”
The edges of my vision go red. He’d kept me out. Distracted me with nostalgia and errands so Annette could spirit Scarlett off to sit pretty for family friends and their slobbering sons.
Acid fire ravages through me, searing only one thought in my brain.
I just about manage to talk myself out of throat-punching my own father before I storm back out the door, car keys in hand, chest a furnace of fury and possession.
Because they might think they can maneuver around me.
But I’ll be damned if anyone else lays a claim on my girl.
I takethe corners too fast andthetires screech in protest.
My death grip nearly snaps the steering wheel in two as the AstonMartinflies down Montauk Highway like it’s the goddamn Le Mans.
My father has no idea what he’s unleashed. He wanted to keep this under wrapsinthe hope it was a summer fling.
Too bad I’m about to blow it wide the fuck open.
I keep one eye on her location to make sure she’s not moving until I slam on the brakes at the entrance to The Tides Club.
By the time I stalk into the restaurant, I’m levitating with fury.
Heads swivel, whispers ripple, but I don’t give a fuck. My girl is sitting at a long table by the windows, sunlight painting her bare shoulders gold.
Four college kids surround her—two girls, two guys. The guys are laughing too loud, leaning too close, their eyes glued toher bodylike she’s theirs.
Not for long.
“Scarlett,” I bite out long before I reach her.
Her head jerks up, eyes widening. A flush of guilt.
Oh yeah, she knows she’s fucking caught.
I stride to the table, planting my palms down hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “Girls—” I nod at them without sparing a smile, “stay in touch if you want. Exchange numbers. Send her postcards. I don’t give a shit.” Then my gaze slices to the boys. “But you two? If you so much as text her, I’ll break your legs in a dozen different places. Nod if you understand.”
One idiot with tall, floppy hair, who thinks he’s got a spine, pushes back his chair. “What the hell?You can’t talk to us like?—”
I grab him by the shirtfront and shove him so hard he crashes to the polished floor, gasping. The whole restaurant goes silent. “Don’t get back up,” I warn, voice low, lethal. “Or else.”
Scarlett’s half-rising, face crimson. “Asher, stop?—”
“Where’s your mom?” I snap, eyes still on the boy until he slinks back, humiliated.
“She’s not here,” Scarlett blurts. “She dropped me off before she went shopping with her friends. And how did you find me? Are you—are you tracking me?”
I don’t bother lying. “Of course I am.”
Her chair screeches back. “You’re insane,” she hisses, glancing around and growing redder.
