Disorder by J.L. Weil

Chapter Three

Motherfucker.

At the sound of Carter’s voice, I lost ten years of my life. Jumping, I backed into the wall, spotting the bastard on the center of my bed. Messy, sandy hair fell over his forehead, and he’d changed into a pair of gray sweats with a white T-shirt.

Had he been here all night? Slept here?

The thought caused a shudder in my veins, and I was certain I could never sleep in that bed again. Another thing in my life Carter ruined.

Staring at my stepbrother, fear paralyzed me, and I regretted stepping foot inside this house. How stupid could I be? Of course Carter was waiting for me. This was Carter. My deranged, desperate, and out-of-his-bloody-mind stepbrother.

Fuckkkk!

Now what, Josie?

My mistake. My problem. I had to deal with this—with Carter—on my own.

Steeling my chin, I dug deep inside myself and pulled out a kernel of strength. “Where’s my phone, asshole?”

Carter quirked a brow. “Morning to you too.” His voice grated on my nerves.

“What are you doing in my room?” I demanded. My hands fisted at my sides, nails digging into my palms. The pain held me together, kept me centered, kept me from going back to last night. I’d already been down the road once this morning. I refused to go there again. Not in front of Carter.

He made no indication to move from his spot on the bed, hands propped behind his head. “I was worried when you didn’t come home last night.”

My fists hit the wall behind me. “Bullshit. Cut the crap, Carter. I’m done with your games. I don’t want to be part of this.” Someone had to be home. The day maids? The cook? Edmund! Surely one of them would hear me if I screamed.

Carter rocked upright on the bed, his long legs stretching so half of them hung over the side. He dwarfed the queen-sized mattress. “It’s too late for that. You’re the key component.”

I scrambled over to my desk, whipping out a pair of scissors from the penholder, and clutched them like a weapon I wasn’t afraid to use in front of me. “Get. Out.”

He laughed. “Cute. If you get blood in here, Macy is going to have a shit fit.” Macy was one of the maids who usually cleaned our rooms.

I kept a firm grip on the scissors. “Like you care about the staff. Or anyone but yourself, for that matter.”

He wasn’t fazed. “True. But I do care about my future.”

“Is this going somewhere?” The longer I was alone with him, the higher my anxiety spiked. He was fucking with my get in and out plan. Truthfully, the entire plan had gone to shit. My eyes flashed to the open sliding door and back to Carter.

His expression darkened, turning into something ominous. “You shouldn’t have slept with him.”

“Who I sleep with is no concern of yours.”

“Did you fuck him last night? I bet you did.” His smirk made the act of having sex with Brock dirty when it was anything but.

Well, maybe a little, but not in the creepy-ass way Carter implied.

“And if I did?” I gloated, pointing the tip of the scissors toward Carter’s heart, because that was a smart move, baiting the unstable stepbrother.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, his blue eyes never left mine as he said, “You’re going to help me.”

I blinked. He was delusional. What other explanation was there? “Why the fuck would I do that?”

His lips curved. “I know your little secret.”

My heart jerked in my chest. “You don’t know shit, dickhead,” I replied with a scratchy edge. “Now get out of my room before I scream. And I want my phone.”

Standing up, he tossed something onto the middle of my rumbled sheets and stalked toward me. I backed up until I hit a wall. Swearing under my breath, he halted just an inch short of the scissors and said, “You’ll change your mind, but I’ll give you a few days to think on it.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.”

His dancing gaze moved to the side of my face before flickering back to my eyes. “Purple suits you.”

Rage joined the fear inside me, nearly stifling it. I wanted to carve his eyes out, cut out his tongue, and serve his bloody heart to Angie on a platter. “You’ll never hit me again,” I vowed, my voice choppy from all the pent-up anger building.

He jerked toward me and then chuckled at my instinctual flinch. “The next time you’ll be begging me to save you from them.”

“It will be a cold day in Hell before that happens.”

His hand reached out as if to touch my cheek but I slapped it away, my self-preservation kicking in. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” I hissed between clenched teeth.

Chuckling, he walked toward the door, pausing on the threshold. “Welcome home, sis.”

Speed walking across the room, I slammed the door shut after him, not caring if I hit his heels with the door, and quickly threw the lock in place.

A good full five minutes passed before the shaking stopped and my heart steadied, yet knowing Carter lingered somewhere in the house kept me on edge.

I went straight for my phone, which Carter had tossed onto the bed. After a quick inspection, consisting of me trying to get the damn screen to turn on, I concluded it was dead. “Asshole,” I muttered between my teeth. The creep probably spent all night trying to crack the 4-digit passcode. And if he managed to unlock it, you know the asshole went through my phone, reading my texts and jerking off to my photos, all thoughts that made me want to puke my guts out.

Grabbing my charger, I rushed to pack a bag of clothes, a few makeup items, and other bathroom essentials. I stuffed them all into my pink duffel, including my Elmwood Academy uniform. The clothes I wore went straight into the trash as I changed into something clean.

Hauling my duffel and school bag stuffed with my laptop, I snatched the keys off the dresser and went back out the balcony, leaving my bedroom door locked from the inside. I doubted it would keep Carter out, and the idea of him going through my drawers made me queasy.

I took the stairs and went straight to the garage to deposit my crap inside the Lexus, a gift from Steven. I hated the cherry red color. I hated the blacked-out rims. I hated everything this car stood for. But right now, it was the only thing offering me the escape I sought—far, far from Carter Patterson.

My ass slid behind the wheel, and I plugged my phone into the charger as I started the engine. Putting the car into reverse, I backed out of the garage. My foot pressed down on the brake. I stared at Carter’s SUV. The urge to ram the SOB rose in me.

My stepbrother loved that stupid car.

Unable to help myself, I shifted the car and revved the engine.

The urge to hurt Carter any way I could whipped like a wild wind within me. This need for revenge came on strong. Maybe this devilish side of me had been dormant until now—until Carter.

There would come a time when my stepbrother would get what was coming to him. I needed to be patient. I needed to plan—to plot my revenge.

He wouldn’t get away with what he did to me.

Cranking the wheel, I gunned the Lexus out of the driveway, peeling into the street like I was in the Indy 500. Speed and danger curbed the fire for revenge—temporarily. And now that the match had been lit, I didn’t think the flame would truly ever extinguish, not until I had my justice.

For the first time, I grasped the Elite’s persistent desire for retribution.

My fingers remained firm on the wheel as I glided around the corner. Moments later, my phone chimed a few dozen times from where it charged in the cup holder, messages from last night and this morning finally coming through. I glanced down briefly, a rookie driving mistake, and when my eyes returned to the road, my gaze bulged at the car stopped in the middle of it.

What the f—

I slammed on the brakes, the Lexus fishtailing as it came to a screeching halt in front of a black Range Rover. My heart leaped into my throat, pumping in overtime. The windows were all tinted, and although I couldn’t see Brock’s burning gaze, I felt the heat of it.

I didn’t question how he knew where I’d run off to or that he had been waiting for me. Honestly, I’d been more worried if he hadn’t, but was it necessary to scare the shit out of me in the process? “Fuck,” I cursed, slamming my palms against the steering wheel.

Leaving his car in the middle of the road, he got out and stalked toward me. I opened my door and stepped out as he said, “What the fuck, Firefly! Do you have a death wish?”

Our front bumpers were practically kissing, but it wasn’t like I was trying to kill us. He was the one in the fucking road.

Then I realized he was talking about Carter.

Shit.

I hadn’t thought this far ahead and assumed I’d have a few minutes in the car to come up with a solid explanation for leaving his bed.

I’d left him.

The protection of his house.

None of that sat right with Brock.

Staring into his face, I could see the damage I’d done, which had not been my intention. His jaw clenched. “I told you to stay put.”

Blinking, my eyes swept over the sweatpants that sat low on his hips and the Academy T-shirt stretched over his chest. Even spitting mad and growling at me, I found him utterly attractive.

Someone should send help.

I needed to be saved from myself and my stupid hormones that couldn’t seem to behave themselves around this particular guy. I couldn’t think straight, and I had a mountain of crap churning inside me.

Stepping around the door, I lifted on my toes and kissed him. As expected, he made me forget.

No more Carter.

No more Angie.

No more anger or sadness.

No more pain.

Only Brock and the red-hot lust his lips enticed.

His lips stayed unmoving for a heartbeat and I thought he would pull away. Then his fingers were at my hips, shoving me up against the car as his tongue pressed against my lips. I parted them for him, my hands moving to frame his face. If I could have managed it, I would have wrapped myself around him like a rubber band.

Hot and hungry, I attacked his lips, searching and falling into that swift punch of lust only he brought on. My fingers trailed down the front of his shirt, fisting into the material as I tried to pull him closer still, and when that wasn’t enough, I slipped my fingers underneath the shirt, skimming over his bare skin. The muscles in his lower abs contracted.

“Jesus, Firefly,” he hissed against my lips before diving right back in. Our tongues tangled as my fingers dipped into the waistband of his sweatpants, shoving them lower on his hips.

“You’re not wearing any boxers,” I murmured.

Wickedness glimmered in his eyes. “I didn’t bother putting any on this morning.”

But that would mean he’d gone to bed naked. Dear God, tell me it wasn’t so. I had managed to sleep the entire night next to Brock naked. That had to be a sin of some kind.

“There is no point in stressing about it now,” he said, reading my mind too easily.

“Lots of people sleep naked. I’m not stressing,” I countered, my breath coming out in quick bursts of breathiness.

“Do you?” he whispered along my neck, pressing his lips right at the spot that I loved.

My neck arched into him, silently begging for him to never stop.

A loud horn blared, followed by a voice yelling, “Get a room!” We broke apart in time to see a car zoom around us, clearly annoyed.

Unable to contain myself, I laughed, dropping my forehead to his chest. “That did not just happen.”

Brock tugged at the end of my braid. “Maybe I should get pissed more often. I had no idea being yelled at had such an effect on you. What other weird vices turn you on?”

“Shut up.” I flattened my palm on his chest and pushed, creating a small amount of space that allowed me to draw in a breath. Not that it was all that helpful when the air was tinted with his scent. “That was a momentary lapse in good judgment. It won’t happen again.”

His grin turned wolfish. “Uh-huh.”

He didn’t buy it.

Neither did I.

Already I was thinking about his mouth. Again.

I clamped down on my lower lip.

“You seemed to have quite a few momentary lapses around me,” he said smugly, like a guy who was used to girls fawning over him.

“Get over yourself.”

Brock had an ego that skyrocketed to the heavens. “I’m still waiting for you to confirm if you have a death wish?”

Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Rest assured, I don’t. I had to grab some things at my house, clothes and homework. You can’t buy my math assignment that’s due on Monday.”

A dark brow rose, contradicting me.

I shook my head. “God, is there anything money won’t buy?”

He stepped away from me, the Academy shirt falling to cover his flat-ass stomach. “I haven’t found it yet.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Look, I knew you wouldn’t let me go.” My shoulders were tight, anticipating a fight.

Scowl lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Damn right, Firefly. You need to trust me. I can’t keep Carter from hurting you if you constantly run off on your own.”

“Like you trust me?” I tossed back. “Besides, you can’t always be by my side.”

“There are four of us,” he reminded me.

As if I needed to be reminded. Brock. Grayson. Fynn. And Micah—the infamous Elite of Elmwood Academy. The four most sought-after guys at school, and somehow I ended up on their radar. Well, I had done my fair share of shit to cross paths with them, thanks to the grand scheme Mads, Ainsley, and I concocted. Little did I know, I’d been on their radar long before my first day at Elmwood Academy. Even before that fateful night I hooked up with Brock at my mother’s wedding.

“Fantastic,” I mumbled. “I’m not used to having someone look out for me. It’s weird.”

“Well, get used to it, Firefly.”

I groaned as another car swerved around us, laying on the horn. The sound echoed around us, the driver staring with his nose pressed to the glass. My hand flew up in the air with the middle finger extended before I thought about it. “We can’t keep arguing in the middle of the road,” I complained, concerned some idiot might actually hit us. This wasn’t a busy road in general but we’d lingered too long.

“You want to go back to kissing then?” he asked, his gaze flickering to my mouth.

“Brock,” I groaned again.

Before he made any indication toward his car, the lightness in his eyes flickered, there one second, gone the next. It was kind of scary how fast he could switch his emotions. “Was he home?”

Carter’s name wasn’t necessary. I leaned a hand on the Lexus, stabilizing myself from the quick flash of my stepbrother’s face. “That’s not important.”

Something in my voice must have given me away, or perhaps my face lost shades of color. “What did he say to you?” Brock demanded.

The fight I’d been trying to avoid brewed again in his expression, and telling him that my stepbrother was trying to blackmail me to do his dirty work wouldn’t help his temper. So I said, “Nothing.”

“James,” he growled.

“Taylor,” I spat back.

His arms folded over his chest, that sexy mouth no longer smirking. “I’m still furious with you.”

The rigidness in my shoulders eased. “I know.”

“We’re not done. Follow me.”

“In those sweatpants… anywhere,” I said lightly, adding a grin to ease up some of the tension.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get cheesy on me.”

I got back into the driver seat of the Lexus and replied, “Like you don’t love it, girls fawning over you. Please, it gets you off.”

His lips quipped. “You get me off.”

My cheeks betrayed me by going hot. Before I could open my mouth and embarrass myself more, I shut the car door and put the thing into drive. Brock Taylor always had to have the last word, a trait I found so damn irritating… like the man himself.

* * *

“I can’t live in your room,” I argued as Brock dropped my duffel bag in the middle of his room, after insisting he carry it inside. “There are like a dozen other rooms in this house. Surely one of them is a guest room.” I consented to stay the weekend. Come Monday, I would have to figure my shit out.

“We have four. You’re still staying in my room,” he stated flatly.

“Has anyone told you how insufferable you are?” I huffed, annoyance flaring through me.

Brock peered at me from behind thick lashes, eyes twinkling. “Almost daily.”

Brock and I would drive each other mad after a weekend in the same room. “And what will your parents think about you keeping a girl in your room?”

He moved to the window and opened it, letting in the late October breezes. Traces of burning leaves and pine filtered into the room. “My parents are gone for another week.”

“Why do rich kids always have parents who are never home?” I mumbled, not expecting a response. I sank onto his unmade bed, sheets still rumpled from our sleep.

Brock shrugged. “Luck of the gene pool. Or cursed. Depends on your viewpoint.”

So perhaps he didn’t enjoy the freedom as much as he led on? “Wish Angie would become absent now that she’s living her dream married to a wealthy asshole.”

Brock made a disparaging sound. “You might just get your wish, but then that leaves you with Carter.”

A shiver of revulsion went through me. “True.” I laid my hands over my knees to keep them from bouncing. “What about the staff? Won’t they tell your parents you have a girl staying here?”

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. “That’s the thing about being raised by the help; they care about you more than your own parents. They won’t say anything,” he assured, his fingers tapping on his phone in what I assumed was a text.

I was about to ask who he was messaging when my phone buzzed. Reaching into my back pocket, I stared at the name scrolling across the banner. Angie. Not Mom or Mother. Just Angie, the name she absolutely hated to be called. I declined the call.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again, and I scowled at the screen.

“Who keeps calling you? Carter?” Brock’s expression said he’d like to go through the phone and rip Carter into his room. Brock would love the chance to get my stepbrother alone. And this time Carter might not make it to the hospital but leave in a body bag.

I stared at the flashing screen. “No, worse. My crazy-ass-kidnapping mother. She is due home tomorrow from Steven’s business trip.”

Brock walked over and sat beside me. “You need to tell her you won’t be home.”

I shot him a narrowed glare. “Like ever?”

“Will she go for that?” He was serious.

I shook my head. “Definitely not. But really, what can she do about it? I’ll be eighteen soon.”

“Stall her for as long as possible. And don’t say anything about Grayson.” He pinned me with a hard look meant to intimidate, but it just fell short of the mark for me.

“Easier said than done.” She had called four times in the last hour. Sighing, I hit the accept button on my phone, knowing I was going to regret this. “Angie,” I said dryly after putting the phone on speaker.

“Josephine. Do you know how many times I’ve called you?” Annoyed, her voice shrilled octaves higher than it needed to be as it blared out of the speaker.

“My phone died.”

“It’s irresponsible to not keep your phone properly charged. What if something happened to you? What if you were lost in the woods and the police needed to ping your phone?” she ranted.

I didn’t even want to know how she knew about such things. “Shit happens.”

“I swear, Josephine, you need to be more aware and responsible. Just because we live in a nicer part of town doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen.”

I choked. No shit. I’m living with a fucking monster.

“I called the house and was told you didn’t come home last night. Where are you?” she demanded, miffed that she’d had to track me down.

How many mimosas had she already had this morning? Three? Five? “I’m staying at a friend's.”

“Did you and Carter have another fight?” she asked, and I could picture her pressing a hand to her temples as if a headache brewed.

My gaze met Brock’s. “Why would you ask that?” Had Carter already said something to her or his father?

“I know the two of you don’t exactly get along, but please, Josephine, don’t make trouble.” This time her voice turned pleading, bordering desperate. She was preparing her woe-is-me act.

Yet again, I was at fault. It was somehow me that was the reason Carter and I couldn’t stand each other. I scoffed. “This is me not making trouble.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I expect you home for dinner on Sunday.”

Brock stiffened beside me and shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it,” I said.

Her response came through quickly and sharp. “This is not negotiable.”

“Kind of like you marrying Steven. Got it.” I had no intention of showing up for dinner.

“Josephine, so help me God, I’ll see you—”

Brock reached over and hit the end button, cutting off Angie’s goodbye. “Wow, your mother is a piece of work.”

I stared at the blank phone. “She is one of a fucking kind. And she isn’t my mother, not really.”