Disorder by J.L. Weil

Chapter Two

According to the birth records, Grayson was born first, and then Kenna. I was born last, twelve minutes after Kenna, making me the baby. “It’s true,” I whispered, slamming my… I lost count of the number of shots I’d taken, but the bourbon helped with the shock of it all. My heart squeezed in my chest; the pain of being deceived and lied to hurt more than any injury I’d sustained.

What would my life have been like if Angie’s baby had lived?

It was a question that would haunt me forever.

“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you.” Brock’s voice drifted across the table to me.

What started as a flutter of anger morphed into something bigger. “No, you just withheld information. You should have told me. I had a right to know.”

“This isn’t just about you. Grayson’s parents think you’re dead. We didn’t know if we could trust you.”

“And when you do shit like this, it makes me wonder if I can trust you,” I snapped. My anger wasn’t entirely for Brock, but he got the brunt of it, seeing as my mother was not around. She and I would have words. How dare she keep something like this from me for seventeen years!

If she hadn’t gotten involved with Steven and the Elite hadn’t investigated Angie’s past, Grayson and I might never have known the truth.

Fuck that.

The first time I’d learned about the Elite digging into my family, I’d been livid. But now… a part of me was grateful. “Does Kenna know?”

Brock shook his head. “Not yet. And Grayson wants to keep it that way for now. She is finally in a good place. Kenna isn’t as strong as you. He doesn’t want to risk sending her spiraling again,” he explained as my eyes continued to scan the documents, reading the words but not comprehending.

I remembered what Mads had told me about Grayson’s sister. She’d suffered from depression long before Carter came into the mix. The way Brock spoke about her made Kenna seem like a fragile doll about to break. But this was my sister too. He couldn’t keep me away from her. I realized how much I wanted to meet her. My cheek frozen from the ice pack, I pushed the folder toward the center of the table. I’d read enough. “I don’t know what to say. Or how I’m supposed to feel. I need to talk to my mom.”

“No,” Brock snapped, surprising me. His hand closed over mine where it lay on the table. “Not yet.”

“Why? Because of Carter?” I guessed. With all this talk of triplet stuff and the shots I’d taken, the incident with Carter seemed as if it happened months ago instead of just an hour.

Brock screwed the top back onto the bourbon bottle, indicating we were done drinking. “Partially, but mostly because of the Edwardses. And you,” he added. “This has to be overwhelming for you, and I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but we need to be careful with this information. If we expose what Angie did, she will go to jail.” He didn’t bother to hide the disdain he felt for Angie, or that he thought she belonged behind bars.

My feelings were a fucking mess. On one hand, anger festered inside me, aimed at Angie. She had taken me from my family, pretended to be my mother, and yet, she never really loved me. Not like a mother should. I could see that now, and it finally made sense.

All this time I just thought I was a disappointment to her. I couldn’t understand how we could be so different.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

“You need to be sure you’re ready for the consequences,” Brock reasoned.

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“Business as usual,” he stated, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

I had gone seventeen years without knowing about Kenna and Grayson. How much longer would I have to wait? “What about Grayson? Are things going to be weird with us now?” Did I want to pursue a relationship with Grayson as my brother? Did he want to? Before tonight, I would have said hell no. Grayson had shown no real interest in me other than annoyance. Had that changed?

Would he continue to look at me and see his sister? Could he get past it? Before tonight, I would have said hell no.

Something flashed in his eyes. Regret? Pain? “I don’t know. Give him some time to cool down,” he replied. “Grayson is all messed up in the head right now after what happened tonight. He’s had it rough the last few years and I think seeing you with Carter snapped part of the grudge he’s been holding on to. He has a sister he adores and would do anything to protect. He is all mixed up about you.”

“He isn’t the only one.” Perhaps Grayson and I had more in common than just DNA.

Brock snorted, shaking his head. “The two of you are so much alike.”

Wasn’t that the definition of triplets? It finally made sense why Kenna and I looked freakily alike. The worse part for me was the chance to grow up with my sister had been stripped away from me.

I dropped my head, refusing to admit how much it hurt having the Elite keep secrets from me, knowing they still didn’t trust me, not completely. I’d been willing to put myself on the line to take Carter down, not just for my safety but for the Elite as well. “It’s been a long night. I think I’d like to lie down.” And be alone with my thoughts. Brock had a way of scrambling my brain; add in the shots, and I might forget that I was just here to sleep.

“Do you need to let anyone know where you are?” he asked.

I shook my head. How pathetic. But then I remembered.

Mads!

Dropping the ice pack, I reached around to my back pocket. I had to text her, let her know I didn’t get murdered. I leaned slightly to the side, my fingers sliding into the pocket as I fished for my phone. Shit! My fucking phone. Memories I wanted to suppress came flooding to the surface. I had dropped my phone on the floor in the back of Carter’s car. “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled.

My forehead thumped against my palm as I groaned. I had no hope of ever seeing it again, meaning I had to ask Angie for a new cell phone and come up with a lie for how I lost it. Though, I hadn’t yet made up my mind on whether or not I’d try to plead with Angie to take my side for once—to believe me. Most sane people would tell their mother that their stepbrother had kidnapped them, held a knife to their throat, and assaulted them.

I wasn’t most people.

And neither was Angie.

She wouldn’t believe me, and if she did, she’d be more concerned about her newly acquired status, protecting the Patterson family name, keeping her closet filled with designer clothes, and hiding her own secrets. I was far down on Angie’s list of important shit.

I turned my head to the side and found Brock watching me with an odd yet amused expression. He probably assumed I was on the brink of a mental breakdown… and he wouldn’t have been that far off.

“My phone is in Carter’s SUV,” I explained my sudden verbal despair.

“Oh,” he said, then shrugged. “Not a big deal. We’ll get you a new one,” he added as if we were talking about replacing a tube of lip gloss.

“You can’t just buy me a new phone, Brock,” I argued.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, they cost money, I might add, and I don’t want your money. It’s not your problem. I’ll handle it.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. We’ll go to the store tomorrow. I’ll put you on my plan.”

That sounded like a horrible idea, but also ridiculously appealing to not rely on Steven to pay for my cell phone bill or have Angie use it as a punishment. On the flip side, there was something too intimate about sharing a phone plan with Brock. That was what couples did.

And Brock Taylor and I were not a couple.

“I’ll get it back. Don’t worry about it.” I brushed off his offer.

“Like hell. You’re not going anywhere near Carter’s SUV,” he said, roughly and firmly.

Anger rose in me. Brock should have known better than to boss me around. I despised being told what to do and like all my emotions tonight, my temper came on swift and strong. “I appreciate the concern, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His eyes became chips of ice. “I think I earned that right for saving your ass tonight.”

A short snort loosed through my nostrils as I dropped the ice pack onto the table. “You’re unbelievable. Thanks for the first aid and the shots, but I’m leaving.” I stood too fast, but ignored the spinning room and sloppily stormed across the kitchen.

He grabbed my elbow before I made it three steps toward the archway and whirled me around to face him. My palms hit his chest, and my gaze slammed into his chin as I tried to steady myself. “Like hell, Firefly. I said you’re not going home.”

Lifting my eyes, I jerked my arm out of his hold. Or tried to. He wasn’t letting me go far. Releasing my arm, his fingers moved to my waist, keeping me from putting the distance I sought between us. I leaned into him, needing the support as my eyes cleared. “I have friends, you know. Or I’ll just go to my dad’s,” I countered. “Your house is not my only option.”

Brock stepped closer, our chests brushing. “Not tonight.”

“I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what you think this is.” The words flew from my mouth.

His fingers tightened at my hips, a look of annoyance flashing in his eyes. “For fuck sake, Josie. What kind of guy do you take me for? I’m not interested in seducing you tonight. Not when you’re still shaken up over what happened. Give me a little credit. I’m not always an asshole.”

“Just ninety-nine percent of the time.”

His lips grew into a slow grin. “Exactly. Come on. I’m putting you to bed, where you’ll stay.” His hand slid to the small of my back, guiding me out of the kitchen and into a dimly lit hallway.

And I let him, too fucking tired to put up much of a fight. “What about Mads?” I asked, glancing sidelong at him.

Dark brows drew together in confusion. “What about her?”

My eyes rolled. “I need to let her know I’m okay.”

He blinked. “I’ll have one of the guys get in touch with her. Satisfied?”

I nodded and asked, “Any chance I could take a shower first?”

He gave me a long stare, one that brimmed with too much heat at the mention of me naked in his shower, which had not been my intention. He blinked, and understanding crossed his features. “Take as long as you need.”

I didn’t say anything as he led me upstairs to his bedroom, but I wanted to. From what I’d heard about Brock, he didn’t let girls sleep in his room, yet he broke that rule with me and looked to do so again. I wanted to know why. Was it because he still had use for me? Because I was a pawn for him to maneuver in this game of chess he was playing with Carter?

Again, too damn tired to dissect his reasons for letting me stay in his room, I just walked inside with him. Leaving me in the center of the room, he opened a drawer and pulled out a plain black shirt. “You can sleep in this.”

“Thanks,” I replied, grateful. Dying to get out of my clothes, I wanted no reminder of Carter when I went to bed. My favorite pair of jeans was forever ruined now—tainted. Another thing to curse Carter for.

As I took the shirt he offered, our fingers touched for a brief moment, and I lifted my gaze. The startling aqua color of his eyes trapped mine. I should move. I really should. And yet, my feet stood there, doing nothing.

With a grin that made me want to kiss him and hit him at the same time, Brock released the shirt and his tingling touch along with it. I’d be a liar if I said a ribbon of disappointment hadn’t woven through me, that I didn’t crave his touch. A part of me, a big part of me, wanted to grab him by the arm and pull him into the shower with me just to hold me.

That was my irrational, reckless side that always ended up getting me in trouble.

Turning around, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door, loosing a long breath as I stared at the shirt. “Fuck,” I whispered, running a hand over my face, and winced, having momentarily forgotten about my cheek. The pain was a reminder, and alone in the bathroom with just my thoughts, it all came crashing down on me.

Carter.

Grayson.

Kenna.

Panic rose swift inside me, and I reached for the doorknob, Brock’s name on my lips.

But as my fingers touched the cool metal handle, I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a steady breath. I could do this. I would get through this.

Forcing myself to turn the water on to warm up, I stripped out of my clothes, refusing to look at them as I kicked them into a corner. Poised on a perilous mental edge, it would only take a tiny nudge to send me careening over the edge.

As I stepped into the shower, silent tears flowed with the steady stream of water, the two mixing in such a way that I convinced myself there weren’t tears at all.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of a foggy mirror, wrapped in a white towel. My hair smelled like Brock, woodsy and with a hint of citrus. Braiding my wet pink hair, I braced myself and glanced into the mirror, half afraid of what I would see. My skin was shades pinker than usual due to the hot shower, but the cheek Carter hit was redder yet. Turning to the side for a closer inspection, I concluded I would have one hell of a bruise in the morning.

“Bastard,” I hissed, cursing my stepbrother.

Borrowing a bit of toothpaste from the drawer, I squeezed a glob onto my finger and scrubbed it over my teeth, swirling the paste around in my mouth. Better than nothing. I absolutely could not go to bed without brushing my teeth. It didn’t matter how late, tired, or drunk I was.

When I left the bathroom, my gaze immediately went to Brock on the bed. His grin widened at the sight of me in his T-shirt that hit just at the tops of my thighs. “It looks good on you.”

And he looked good on the bed… way too good, but I kept that to myself and berated myself for downing those shots. Rolling my eyes, I tugged at the hem, wishing the tee was longer so it didn’t look like I was naked underneath.

Did he expect us to sleep together in the bed?

The lush side of me said if I got into the bed with him, all kinds of delicious things would happen.

No, Josie! Sex with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen is not what you need tonight. What you need is comfort and safety.

And Brock could give me both.

Hell, what I need is a tranquilizer.

I wasn’t keen about being alone, but then again, a night in bed with Brock seemed riskier.

“Does that mean I get to keep the shirt?” I asked in a sad attempt to be light and playful when I felt anything but.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Only if you promise I’m the only one who gets to take it off you.”

I swallowed. Flirty Brock made my head fuzzy. “I’m too tired to make deals with you.”

He patted the bed with his hand. “Get in.”

Without argument, I padded over to the bed and peeled back a corner of the blanket, slipping underneath. I kept my legs curled as Brock watched me from the other side, still on top of the covers.

When I was settled, he asked, “Do you want me to stay or go? Your choice. And though I don’t think it needs to be said, I promise to keep my hands to myself. For tonight,” he added.

I tucked my hand under the pillow, lying on my side—the opposite one of my hurt cheek—and watched Brock. “It’s your bed.”

“Firefly,” he replied firmly, leaning a hand on the other side of my legs.

“Stay,” I whispered.

His gaze held mine as he nodded and got up to turn off the lights. The room was suffused in darkness, followed by the rustling sounds of clothes being shed. I clutched the edge of the blanket, forcing my mind to go blank, refusing to let my thoughts go to Brock nearly naked. The bed dipped with his weight on the other side.

He wasn’t naked, was he?

I wasn’t about to find out.

“Before you harp at me, Fynn called Mads,” he said, settling into the bed.

A tiny ache in my chest eased. Tons of pressure still clamped down on me, but it was one less thing to worry about. “I never harp at you for information.”

“Uh-huh.” I felt him shift, tucking an arm behind his head on the pillow. “And because I know how your brain works, you can stay with me for as long as you need.”

His body brought warmth to the bed. “I don’t have any clothes.” Gah. Why did I mention clothes? It was as if my brain couldn’t stop dwelling on the fact that neither Brock nor I was wearing much. On the plus side, I wasn’t thinking about Carter.

His head turned to the side, and I could feel his stare at me through the darkness. “That’s what you’re worried about? What you’re going to wear? It’s not a big deal. I’ll buy you new clothes.”

“Not the point. And I’m not taking your money.” No matter how much the Taylors might have. “I’m not a charity case, Brock.” First a phone, now clothes.

“Who said you were?” he murmured, his voice closer than it had been a minute ago.

I sighed, exhaustion slamming into me now that I lay in bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what Grayson, Mads, and I planned. It wasn’t to cause drama.”

“The drama started long before you showed up. As pissed as I am at your choices tonight, Grayson too, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

Yawning, I muttered, “Did I just hear you own up to your shit?” The sheets were cool against my skin, and his scent clung to them. I told myself not to sniff them, that I hated the way he smelled.

Big. Fat. Lies.

I did the unthinkable. I pressed my nose into the pillow and inhaled.

Dear fucking God. Why did he smell so damn good? A ribbon of lust bolted between my legs, and I groaned silently in frustration into the pillow.

His fingers tucked a loose, damp strand of pink hair behind my ear. “I’ll deny it. No one will believe you,” he replied softly with a touch of seriousness, because honestly, it was the truth. No one would question Brock.

“I’m still mad at you too,” I mumbled into the pillow.

Sometime during my incessant babble, I fell asleep. Brock kept the nightmares at bay, banishing the noise, and maybe the bourbon helped a teensy bit. The point was, I made it through the night, but the night was the easy part. It was facing the day that scared the shit out of me. All my problems waited for me when the sun came.

But was I ready for them?

* * *

Brock was gone when I woke. A stream of sunlight beamed through the tall windows, blinding me. Groaning, I rolled over, and my hand landed on a piece of paper.

A note lay on Brock’s pillow.

I flipped over my hand and lifted it, squinting to read. Two simple words.

I snorted and crumpled the note into a ball. Staring at the ceiling, I chewed on my lip, knowing I should do as the note said: stay here. Not specifically in Brock’s bed but in his house. Except… I had shit to sort out, including clean clothes for school on Monday.

Not to mention my mother—correction, my kidnapper. Until I turned eighteen, I technically was still a minor and had to live by Angie’s rules, which meant I stayed in the Pattersons’ house, despite it being like living in Hell. I had promised Brock to not say anything, to give Grayson a bit of time, and truthfully, I needed that time as well.

Which meant Angie could still reign over me as my legal guardian.

Not even Brock could go up against the courts.

Could he?

I couldn’t take the chance. Angie might not notice my absence for a night or two, but eventually, she’d miss her verbal punching bag. Like her wine, Angie was addicted to unloading her shit onto me. If she had a bad day, I paid the price.

And I needed my phone. Despite Brock offering to buy me a new one, everything I needed was in that phone. I didn’t want a new one. I liked my phone.

So I made the quick decision to go home, grab a few things, including my car, and get the hell out, all without seeing Carter. It shouldn’t be hard, considering the hour. Carter’s late and overindulgent lifestyle meant he slept in on the weekends. No way would he be up before noon, leaving me a few hours to sneak in and out.

Easy peasy.

Brock would be pissed.

But when wasn’t he annoyed with me?

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, telling myself I could do this. That I wasn’t scared shitless of going anywhere near that house with Carter in it. But it was all lies. I was scared of my asshole stepbrother and for good reason.

In theory, I shouldn’t stop living my life because of Carter. I didn’t want to let my stepbrother have that kind of power over me. I didn’t want to crawl under a rock or hide behind the Elite.

But talking about being brave and actually being brave were two separate entities.

It was all too soon. And I didn’t want to go to that house alone, but I also couldn’t bring Brock for fear he might actually go postal and kill my stepbrother.

Fuck!

Before I overthought everything, I made a rash decision. Taking advantage of Brock’s absence, I quickly tossed on the clothes I’d left on the bathroom floor, the ones I never wanted to wear again, and dialed the main line at Pattersons’ from the house phone in Brock’s room. One of the maids answered and quickly transferred me to Edmund, who agreed to come get me at once.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and asking Steven’s driver/bodyguard to pick me up was reserved for only extreme circumstances. In light of last night’s events, this classified as desperate.

The entire time I waited for Edmund, I thought for sure I’d see Brock’s Land Rover speeding up the hill and bust me. He didn’t.

Edmund picked me up outside the gated community five minutes later. He didn’t ask questions, but at the same time, the thin lips and silent treatment proved disapproving enough. Edmund would undoubtedly report to Steven my whereabouts and with whom I’d chosen to spend my Friday night. It was no secret what Steven thought of Brock.

I didn’t give a flying fuck. Steven could suck it. He was no better than his son, just older and wiser in his games.

Edmund swung the town car into the Pattersons’ driveway, smoothly easing to a stop. Steven enjoyed luxury, and the sleek black car with its butter leather seats and blacked-out windows oozed importance and money. Two things my mother always aspired to have.

What a damn match made in heaven the two of them were—the attractive gold digger and the hotshot who wanted a beautiful to warm his bed, grace his arm, and keep his secrets. Not difficult when she had some pretty big secrets of her own she’d like to keep buried.

“Thanks, Edmund,” I said and opened the door before Edmund could. The sight of Carter’s SUV parked outside on the wide driveway caused a whirlwind of anxiety to spin around in my chest. These were emotions I needed to learn to deal with—sooner than later.

Before I lost my gumption, I swung to Edmund. “I left something in Carter’s car last night. Can you wait here while I go retrieve it?” I asked, wanting someone to watch over me even if they had no idea they were.

He gave a curt nod. “Of course.”

I make quick haste to Carter’s Escalade and whipped open the back door. In that single instant, it all came rushing at me. The tight bonds cutting into my wrists. The utter darkness from the blindfold. The smell of Carter’s cologne gagging me, burning my nostrils as stark fear dugs its claws in me.

I closed my eyes, only making it worse.

Snap out of it.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Now again.

A tad steadier, I opened my eyes and glanced over the back seat, over the floor mats, searching for my phone. Nothing. But I knew damn well I had left it in here. With frantic fingers, I peeled back the rubber mats. “God damn it,” I muttered, slamming the door shut.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Edmund asked as I stalked past him.

“Not yet,” I replied and strutted to the side of the house, avoiding the main house and taking the stairs the led up to the balcony that connected to my room.

In and out, I reminded. The less attention I drew to my being here, the better.

I slid the glass doors open and stepped inside my tomb. At least it felt that way, as quiet as a grave. The analogy freaked me out.

“Hey, sis.”