Page 5 of Claimed By my Stepbrother
I see Rowan using women like a rag, so easily disposing of them when he's gotten what he's after. I want a relationship, but it has to mean something to me, otherwise, I'm no better than Rowan. I want someone I can invest my whole being in, not just a mindless fuck. But, Vegas is full of greedy tourists or jaded locals. Neither is the type I want to pursue.
Cheap flings aren't my style. I'd rather use my hand when the mood strikes. There's less drama. Not to mention fewer chances of pregnancy or catching an STD. The last thing I need is to be tied to a gold digger for the next eighteen years.
It's sad, but I can't even remember the last time I had sex. It was about a year ago, and I was wasted, but I can't recall her face—just an overwhelming sense of nothingness. The whole experience was a waste of time, and I've avoided repeating it ever since. I’m nineteen, I shouldn’t be this jaded about relationships already. I don’t want to chance getting close to someone and hurting them. The fear of becoming my father is daunting.
Making our way to the office, I make a final attempt to talk Rowan out of this sham of a wedding.
“I still can’t believe you’re getting married again. What’s the point?” My question is blunt, but he can’t really believe that the fourth time’s the charm. “You’ll be sick of her in no time, just like the others.”
He scoffs at my assessment, dismissing my concerns with the wave of a hand. “This one’s different. Hell, I’m different because of her. She’s kind and sweet. Impossible to be annoyed with. That’s how I know she’s the one.”
I remember hearing him say something similar about the last three wives in the beginning. Hearing him swear he’s changed for Emilia, knowing he actually believes the lies he’s telling himself, is perplexing. A tiger can’t change its stripes. And, neither can Rowan. One day, he’ll snap and blame Emilia for his inability to control himself. Just as he’s done with the others.
“The one?” I scoff, hoping he’ll hear how unhinged he sounds. “That’s the same thing you said about Ana.”
He rolls his eyes at the mention of his last ex-wife. “Ana was a good-for-nothing slut.” His anger is tangible, and an angry vein begins to protrude from his neck. “That bitch tried to make a fool of me.” Spittle collects on his lip as he shouts with disdain. He tries to use her infidelity to justify his actions, when in reality, his cruel abuse pushed her into the arms of another man. His retaliation was swift, leaving Ana comatose and waking to divorce papers a few days later.
I often worry that I inherited my anger and depravity from Rowan. But, where he embraces his evil impulses, I attempt to restrain mine, using them to benefit the family. Impulsivity to act on emotion rather than rationality is my main struggle. Uncle Arman assures me that control will come with age.
“And Beverly?” I ask, painting him a picture of his abusive patterns.
“She had a real fucking way of pushing my temper. And, she never fucking learned,” he huffs, clearly thinking it’s normal behavior. Beverly was smart—she recognized the signs quickly and escaped with an annulment as soon as she could find a judge who would grant one. For the brief time they were married, she was always nice to me. Last I heard, she was remarried and living in Singapore.
His anger is palpable, resentment shining bright in his eyes. Rowan doesn’t tolerate being questioned or made to feel foolish. His ego is overinflated, and he believes himself much more intelligent than he is, so both are commonly made mistakes by the women in his life. I hope Emilia escapes before their wedding, but women are easily ensnared in his facade until it’s too late.
My anger rises as I recall his treatment of his previous wives. Beverly and Ana were the fortunate ones—at least they escaped with their lives. My mother wasn’t so lucky. Whenever I close my eyes, memories surface of my mother, standing there haunted and depressed, falling to her death.
For years, I secretly blamed her for leaving me alone with Rowan. But as I got older and saw his treatment of his new wives, I realized that there was more to his history with my mother than I originally believed. And, I know he’s hiding a sinister secret about my mother’s death.
We stop right before we reach the door, and Rowan turns to me, meeting my eyes. “I want you to meet Emilia tonight. Her daughter is having some kind of dance performance. It’d mean a lot if you were there.” It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to laugh in his face, but I know better than to let him know my true feelings about him.
“Where’s it at?” I ask, sighing. All I really wanted to do tonight was drink a few beers and watch something mindless to unwind. But, I know I’m going to have to meet them eventually. And since Arman assigned me as their personal security, I should see what I’m dealing with.
“Crestshaw High School. Seven o’clock.” I nod, instantly regretting the change of plans. “I’ll see you there?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say, walking through the door to my seat on Uncle Arman’s left side at the big table.
Rowan pats my shoulder several times on his way to his own chair, making me cringe internally. “Good man.”Hardly, but I’m sure as fuck a better man than you.While waiting for the others to arrive, I pull out my phone and order a new pair of Barker Black Wolfe Loafers to replace the pair I had to toss when a pedophile bled out on them last week.
The door opening draws my attention, and Uncle Arman walks in, trailed closely by G Child and Nutso. As they settle into their seats, Uncle Calyx and my best friend, Preppy, come in carrying three pizza boxes and two bottles of expensive Cabernet.
We all descend on the pizza like a swarm of locusts and settle back into our seats before Arman clears his throat and begins the meeting.
“For those of you who are not yet aware, we’ve lost the Lombardis. While tragic, their death was a clear warning. Someone is coming for us, and I want to know who it is by tomorrow. This is not a time for mistakes. Am I clear?” It’s rhetorical. Arman knows no one is willing to risk disappointing him.
I take a bite, enjoying the sting of crushed red pepper flakes on my lips. Chewing, I glance beside me at my best friend. Preppy hasn’t moved since Arman’s edict, and he’s staring at the single slice of pizza on his plate.
Preppy has been in the organization for a couple of years as the resident hacker and go-to tech guru. No doubt he’s mentally running through what he needs to do tonight to catch the bastards who took out our best launderers in a pathetic attempt to cripple our organization.
I try to engage him in conversation, but he stays focused on a point on the table, offering only grunts and shrugs. When Arman dismisses us, Preppy leaves immediately, heading for his office, affectionately dubbed the “geek cave.”
My uncle’s voice grabs my attention right before I head out the door. “Knox, can I get a moment of your time?” He’s always so formal in his requests, but we both know it’s not necessary. He’s been more of a father-figure than Rowan ever has been, and I’d gladly do anything he asks.
“Yes, Uncle?” I ask, sitting beside him once again.
“Preppy,” he sighs. “He’s feeling some guilt over the Lombardi situation. Keep an eye on him?” I nod. Well, that misplaced guilt explains his earlier behavior.
“Of course, Uncle,” I agree, rising when he waves a hand toward the door, dismissing me.
