Page 30 of Claimed By my Stepbrother
I rush back to the penthouse, calling Dr. Couglin, our family physician, on the way asking for him to come check on Emilia to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.
He lives in a suite at the casino, often seeing patients in an adjoining room, because, in our line of work, you never know when you’ll need a doctor in a pinch.
Sirena meets me at the door, and I can tell she’s been crying, but that she’s trying to put on a brave face. She leads me to the guest room she initially stayed in, and I see that Emilia is resting in the darkened space.
Dr. Coughlin updates Sirena and me, giving us instructions on how to care for Emilia. She has a mild concussion and needs to stay awake throughout the night. Fluids and ibuprofen are essential, and Sirena has promised not to leave her side.
While Sirena is getting her mother an ice pack, I send my Uncle Arman a text requesting a sit-down, so we can talk in person. He has time to meet tonight, so once I’m confident that they both feel secure in the apartment, I get ready to head out. Before I leave to take care of business, I kiss Sirena deeply, grateful that she’s okay.
I arrive at Arman’s office quickly, but I linger in his doorway not wanting to disturb him when he’s clearly in the middle of something. Clearing my throat to announce my arrival, he flaps his hand around, gesturing for me to enter without looking up.
“This better be good. I’m a busy man, Knox,” he warns, before he spreads his hand over his dark, closely cut beard, trailing along it until it closes at his chin. He rests his clenched hand there as he waits for my response.
“It's far from good, Uncle,” I answer solemnly. “Rowan attacked Emilia tonight in their home. He slammed her head against the refrigerator so hard it’s a miracle she remained conscious. I had the doctor examine her, and she has a concussion.”
“That fucking snake!” he hisses as he strikes his fist on the desk. “This really puts me in a predicament,” he adds, stroking his beard as he gathers his thoughts.
“You said—” he lifts a pointed finger in the air, cautioning me to not continue.
“My word is stronger than concrete,” he reminds me sharply. “These things just need to be handled properly.”
“Of course, Uncle. I apologize—I lost my temper. It won’t happen again,” I promise.
He lets out a low chuckle. “And, now you’re going to lie to me?” he stares at me intently. “You’re a Valenti. Volatile tempers are genetically ingrained in us.”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” I concede with a sigh.
“That it is. Knox, I’m going to trust you to undertake the extermination. Out of respect for my parents’ honor and memory, I refuse to be involved with the particulars. This is your score to settle now, so don’t fuck it up.”
“I can’t afford to,” I assert, nodding as I leave his office without another word. I head over to Preppy’s, determined to put an end to Rowan’s existence tonight.
Preppy and I spend an hour brainstorming before we begin collecting the necessary supplies. Stealth isn’t necessary for this job, but neither do we want to announce our presence to a multitude of witnesses.
Fluothane, a vapor that works as a fast-acting anesthetic, is contained in a small, disc-shaped bomb that we’ll slide under his door. Once he’s immobilized, it will allow us to easily move his body to a better, more isolated—and easy to clean—location with the help of a sheet-covered luggage cart from the casino.
Our plan went off without a hitch, and I have Rowan locked in his office, relishing in the irony of beginning his torture in his all-time favorite place.
He’s bound securely in chains with no hope of escape. I’m going to use this situation to my advantage and finally press him for answers about my mothers death. Unfortunately for him, there isn’t any form of torture I wouldn’t use to get the truth.
This is going to be the longest night of his life. I’m going to break him by fucking with his senses, one by one. Vaporized insecticide is pumping through the air vents to strip away his sense of smell while a mist of concentrated ghost pepper sprays from the sprinklers on the ceiling. An hour of scorching misery without any fresh air should have him singing like a canary.
Before entering, pure air pumps through, and the contamination is filtered out. To be safe, I don a hazmat suit. The moment Rowan sees me walk through the door his face goes red-hot. and his nostrils flare in anger. “What do you want from me?” he shouts.
“I want the truth. Tell me what really happened to my mother,” I demand.
He takes a long pause before responding. His head falls back and bows down as he sighs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He bluffs poorly, his eyes darting back and forth, his face clenching with tension.After almost twenty years, he doesn’t think I know when he’s lying?
I hiss in frustration. I’ve waited long enough to get the truth, and I’m going to get it. Tonight. “Bullshit! You disgust me. You aren’t even man enough to try to right your wrongs before you die.” I knew from the start that this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s stubborn, and he isn't going to give me the information I want willingly.
A thin veil of perspiration lines his forehead and upper lip. “Can’t you see we are one and the same?” he spits out in a vain attempt to gain some sympathy.
“No! I amnothinglike you,” I bark, my teeth grinding from the tension in my jaw.
“Ahh, but you are,” he says smoothly, a fake smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “And, you won’t hurt me. You need me.” His smug laughter will be short-lived. I’m about to take this shit to phase two.
“You shouldn’t underestimate the lengths to which I am willing to go!” I warn him, as I slam my fist into his nose. His head swings sideways, and he lets out a pained grunt. “Now, stop wasting my time, and tell me what really happened,” I demand.
“Y-you already know everything,” he stammers nervously, struggling against the chains holding him tight.
