Pucking Stepbrother (Devils of Sable Lakes #1.5)

Chapter Two

Nate

My 1970 black-on-black Dodge Challenger idles in front of the whitewashed fairy tale Woodsburgh mansion. It has taken me three days of driving to get here and three days of wondering why the fuck I’ve decided to see her now after all these years. My mom, the carefree hippie, left my dad and me for a life of gypsy living. Well, this fucking Woodsburgh mansion doesn’t really fit with my memories of her and her carefree nature.

I eye the man in his penguin suit as he makes his way toward me and my out-of-place muscle car with its rumbling exhaust. He's probably going to tell me to move along as my vehicle is polluting the pristine air and doesn't match the aesthetic of the pretty fountain in the circular drive. Neither I nor my car fit in here, and it’s so fucking obvious. This place is too clean and pure for a delinquent like me. I wind my window down and peer up at him, surprised to see the admiration in his eyes as he looks at my car.

“She’s a beauty. They don’t make them like this anymore,” he whistles.

I like this guy. “No, they don’t.” I smile appreciatively.

“Young man, let me park this for you with the rest of the guest’s cars. I promise I will take good care of her.” He opens my door, and I sit there dumbfounded. Usually, I get asked to leave and not in a nice way.

“Aren’t you going to ask who I am and why I’m here?” I look up at him in confusion.

“No, I know who you are, and I’m pleased to finally meet you, Nate.” He nods as I climb out of the car.

His short stature only comes up to my shoulders even with his top hat on. He holds his hand out for me to shake and I take it hesitantly. His grip is firm but not in a threatening way and his genuine grin is reassuring that he’s not going to call the police on me. Watching him climb into my car and admire the aged leather, a sense of familiarity burns through me, a feeling I haven’t had the pleasure of feeling since I was a kid.

“I’ll take care of her.” He interrupts my thoughts, nodding once, before he eases the car down the long driveway and heads around the back of the house leaving me standing at the bottom of the stairs questioning why I’m here.

Climbing the stairs up to the grand front porch, I hesitate at the double doors, staring down at my boots and the vast contrast between them and the loafers by the mat. Swanky jazz music seeps through every crack it can find, and it grates on my ears. The assault of the moody music almost has me turn around and leave when the door opens, and a small child rushes straight into my legs.

“Careful, buddy.” I bend down and catch him before he lands on his ass. His mother, I presume, appears in the doorway and looks down at me over her perfectly shaped, enhanced nose.

“Who are you?” Her voice rises above the music as she grips her kid by the arm and drags him away from me as though I’m going to give him some sort of fucking disease.

“My mom owns this motherfucker, sweetheart.” I wink at her, stepping through the door, making sure my tattooed arm brushes hers as I enter.

Her gasp of shock is quickly drowned out by the noise from the chatter inside. There are people everywhere, all dressed in their finest, drinking and dancing. It looks like a scene straight out of a fucking Hallmark movie. Is this what my mom ran away for? Is this what she really wanted instead of me?

I feel the eyes of the strangers size me up as I make my way through the grand living area. My jaw aches from the clenching of my teeth as I glare back at them. I stalk straight through the middle of the crowded room to look for her, and the guests move willingly out of my way, scared that I’ll accidently touch them. Typical stuck-up assholes, always afraid of anything different.

I make my way into the next room and then through some closed double doors into an empty library. The dark furniture and drapes here don't match the rest of the house from what I’ve seen so far. I sit on the cold leather sofa for a minute to collect my emotions and thoughts. I shouldn’t have come here. What the fuck was I thinking when I drove out of my hometown? The sad fucking part is I have no other place to go. My friend’s parents won’t let me crash at their place anymore because I’m the troublemaker they wished their kids weren’t friends with.

“Fuck,” I shout into the cold dark room. Cupping my face in my battered hands as rage pools in my gut when the reality of my fucking life crashes into me. My knuckles are still raw and hurt like a bitch from pummelling that fuckers face in the other night. He deserved it and everything else that’s coming to him.

The need to flee overwhelms me, but I have to see her, even just one glance. I need to see with my own two eyes that she is happy without me in her life. I climb off the sofa once my rage has simmered and head back through the closed doors to glances of disapproval. As I stalk through the guests, the urge to flip them off is strong, but I ignore them all and their judgemental glares and head up a set of stairs, through a set of open doors that leads to a room with a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner. A fucking Christmas tree set up in August when Christmas isn’t for another four months.

I have no fucking idea what I’m even doing at this point, mindlessly searching for a person I haven’t seen in years. A person who left me behind and will probably tell me to leave once she takes one look at me.

Spotting all the wrapped presents underneath the tree, a pang of jealousy splinters through my soul. All the Christmas’s I have missed out on with her all because she wanted something different. All because she didn’t want me. Closing the distance to the tree, and without thinking, I viciously kick the pile of carefully placed presents and smile as they go flying in all directions. It’s immature and won’t make anything better but it fucking feels good right now.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A deep voice echoes in my ears.

Spinning around I come face to face with a preppy-looking dick. His menacing gaze and puffed out, muscled chest makes my dick stir in my pants. He looks every part of the spoiled rich boy aesthetic with his perfect golden hair, designer polo shirt, and loafers to match. He is the total opposite of my type and yet here I am getting turned on by him.

“What the fuck is it to you?” I mimic his tone, place my hands in my pockets and stare back at him.

“Are you lost, trailer trash?” His words cut through the air between us as he slams the doors shut behind him and charges forward like a bull to get all up in my business. He’s as tall as me but looks as though he’s never missed a session at the gym. His muscles bulge against the sleeves of his shirt and his dark gaze rakes over me as he steps even closer. I noticed the deep blue of his eyes and the hatred his gaze emanates as his mouth forms into a hard line.

Pricks like this douche don’t phase me, they’re all muscles and zero brains. I take the last step left between us and crowd his space; my chest brushing his, sending a shiver down my spine. Our eyes are level as we size each other up and I watch his nostrils flare as desire flashes behind his darkened glare. I know that look, even if he only let it slip for a split second. I deliberately lick my lip ring and follow his gaze as it zeroes in on my tongue. I can’t help but smirk at his attempt to hide his true feelings.

His hand flies up, fisting my vintage t-shirt. “Get the fuck out of my house.” His voice rumbles through him, his lips inches from mine, and I control the urge to lick them to really piss him off. Something about him calls to me. I want to watch him come undone. I want to be the one to push him over the edge.

“Boys!” A deep voice breaks the tension between us.

Muscles straightens and let’s go of me instantly, like he has been caught with my dick in his hands. I shoot him a puzzled look before he spins on the spot to reveal an older version of himself in the doorway. It’s like looking into the future and the past simultaneously. They’re obviously father and son from their identical physique and the way they try to dominate the space around them.

“Nate.” The older guy in the doorway stares at me knowingly.

“The one and only.” I nod. Realization hits me that this guy must be my mom’s new husband, and that makes this muscled wanker my new stepbrother. Interesting.

“How about we go find your mom,” the older guy announces as he steps aside to let his son and I through the door.

My new stepbrother turns his head to the side and gives me a death glare as he storms out of the room and down the hall, disappearing down the stairs. I start to follow when my mom’s husband stops me on the landing.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for me to shake.

Staring at it for a beat of a pause, I know I should take his hand and shake it; to show him I have had a good upbringing even though my mom abandoned me, but I don’t want this guy making any new presumptions about me. I’m happy if he thinks I’m a dick.

“Your mom will be happy to see you.” Retracting his gesture, his grin is forced as he places his hand back in his pocket and proceeds to descend the stairs.

My gut coils with anxiety and anger. Hurt and blame fill my veins, and the urge to punch through walls makes my fists clench. I don’t know how I’ll react to seeing her again after she abandoned me and left me to fend for myself. As I take each step toward the one person I never wanted to see again, my heart thuds heavily in my chest and causes an ache so deep I think my chest will tear apart. But here I am because I have no other place to fucking go. Judgy eyes scrutinize my every move as I follow my mom’s husband through the party filled to the brim with fancy guests.

I meet each stare with a gaze I’m sure borders on the fine line of fuck off and bite me. I stride through the guests, give each MILF a little wink, and am rewarded with either a blush or a look of horror. Little do they know I prefer their sons and husbands.

As we enter through the kitchen, I spot her straight away. I look just like her, with our raven hair, green eyes and tanned skin. I’d be able to pick her out of a crowd in an instant.

I freeze and fail to breathe. My legs stop moving when she turns to see who has entered the kitchen. Our eyes collide and I watch her features morph into guilt and surprise. Yes, mother dearest, your worst nightmare has returned to haunt you.

“Nate?” She whispers as she holds onto the edge of the island bench for support. Her gaze is a myriad of emotions as she stares at the man before her. Long gone is the little innocent boy she abandoned and left behind.

“I had nowhere else to go.” I sound like a fucking wounded cat. Figured I’d answer her question before she has the chance to ask why I’m here. I don’t need to give her the details of what transpired and how I ended up here. The less she knows the better.

The kitchen area clears out as quickly as I said those fucking depressing words. I don’t want to be here either, fuckers.

Her eyes dart around the room in a panic and finally land on her husband. “Can you give us a minute?” She chokes on her words.

He leaves the kitchen area without a judgmental look and without uttering a single word. It’s just the two of us left here standing in the silence, staring at each other not knowing what to say, me in the entry and her at the island bench. She doesn’t look how I remember her; my childhood mind had created an evil woman with warts on her nose and scraggly hair. But here in front of me stands a beautiful, mature woman with eyes now full of love and a face that resembles mine. It cuts fucking deep that she’s so happy here.

“Can I get you something to eat?” She glances at me before she busies herself, grabbing me a plate, and starting to fill it with random food from the platters on the large white marble counter.

“I’m not hungry.” I run my hands through my hair, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Come take a seat so we can talk.” She pats the counter and places the filled plate in front of a bar stool.

I stride over carefully, my steps cautious, and I sit down where she points. Even when I’m sitting, I’m still taller than her small frame. I look down at the plate of food and notice all my favorites piled into a neat display. She remembers.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, but I cut her off with a look.

“Don’t. I don’t need your apology or your pity. I just need a place to crash for a while.” Folding my arms across my chest, I bounce my knee in anxious anticipation of what she’s about to say.

She watches me, and I see the anguish paint her soft and delicate features. “As long as you need.” She clears her throat and begins to move food around from one platter to another to hide her discomfort.

“Don’t you need to ask your husband first?” I narrow my eyes at her.

She looks over at me again in confusion. “No. Eddie won’t mind at all. You can have the guest room upstairs for the night.” She smiles, the warmth touching her eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” My new stepbrother storms into the kitchen and towers over her. “I begged to move in there my whole of senior year. Why the hell does this fucker get to use it?” He points at me, and the instant hatred in his voice echoes through the room.

“It’s temporary, Asher. And you live on campus now.” Her commanding tone shocks us both.

Asher. What a fucking pussy name. I almost laugh out loud, but I keep my shit together.

“You’re fucking dead.” He flips one of the plates over and sends the food flying before storming out.

“You should stop taking steroids. It shrinks your dick,” I call after him.

“I’m sorry he did that.” My mom looks at me and then at the food that has been spread over the counter and floor. “I’ll show you to the guest room. I’m sure you have a million questions, and I’ll answer them when the house isn’t full of guests. If you need anything, call Harold. He’s our butler.” She dips her head to the side for me to follow her.

We head in the opposite direction of the party and up a grand staircase to the second floor. Walking in complete silence down the hallway is awkward and uncomfortable. Here is the woman who gave birth to me, someone I should feel at total ease around, but I’m anything but at ease. My anxiety ebbs and flows as we make our way toward the guest room. Neither of us knowing what to say or how to act, so we both just stay quiet.

She turns to face me as we arrive at the door to what I presume is the guest room. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her smile is broken, and she looks as though she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Specks of regret cloud her gaze as she looks up at me, I’m unsure if it’s because I’ve shown up on her doorstep or because she left me behind all those years ago.