Submitted To My Step-Brother

Chapter9

Flashback...

Ara fought against his hold, her hands pushing at Brando's chest, yet he remained unyielding, his actions causing her pain.

"Come on, darling. I've showered you with wonderful gifts for your birthday, the least you can do is show some appreciation," he pressed.

With less than two hours to her eighteenth birthday, Ara had been eager to spend the occasion with her new boyfriend, even though her heart remained with someone else.

Brando was a trainee, under the tutelage of Douglas, preparing to join his ranks. Initially designated as her bodyguard, he had managed to cross the professional line and become her boyfriend, persuading her to keep their relationship a secret. Ara was surprised by Brando's audacity to defy Douglas, not to mention John. The thrill of their secret liaison was a major part of what attracted her to him, although Brando was not the man she truly desired.

Brando, just twenty-one and slightly older than her, was always trying to seduce her, ignoring the potential repercussions. Ara was not inexperienced, but she found Brando's constant attempts to sleep with her peculiar. Until that night, she had been successful in warding off his advances.

Now, there she was, her blouse torn, her skirt's zipper broken, a red handprint marring her face, and an aggressive, lustful man bruising her wrists as she attempted to fend him off.

"Brando, stop! Someone, help!" she screamed, her voice echoing around the desolate mansion. Where were the house staff? Anyone?

"Go ahead and scream, darling. The staff have been dismissed, and your parents are out for dinner and a show," he mocked. She was convinced that John would most likely be indulging in his own amorous escapades, she thought bitterly. "Isn't it time you paid up? The way you've been teasing me, challenging me. I deserve a reward."

"Brando, release me!"

He roughly tossed her onto the floor, her hip colliding painfully with the hard surface. She gasped in pain, barely registering the sound of a door opening and slamming shut downstairs.

Brando cursed under his breath, hastily reaching for his trousers on the ground, drawing out a gun. He aimed it at the door, ready for the person charging up the stairs.

"He has a gun!" Her alarm was smothered by the thunderous sound of Brando's firearm discharging.

END OF FLASHBACK...

........

John's gaze followed Ara as she excused herself from the table and gracefully exited the room. The sway of her hips as she walked away was subtle but enticing. The dress she had chosen for the evening was almost his undoing. It clung to her curvaceous figure perfectly, providing a tantalizing glimpse of her shapely thighs, slender waist, and full bust. The color of the dress accentuated her features perfectly, but in his opinion, she looked enticing in anything and even more so in nothing at all.

His eyes were glued to her as he watched her round posterior move slightly with each step. He was enraptured by the sight of her red hair cascading down her back, her fair skin adorned with a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was a vision, her blue eyes almost as deep and mysterious as his own inner turmoil.

It was only when she had disappeared from view that he returned his attention to his surroundings. Catherine was making a fuss next to him, attempting to salvage the evening's atmosphere, oblivious to his absolute disinterest in marrying the unpleasant woman seated to his left. He briefly considered handing her over to Floyd, the deviant, and letting him have his way with her.

He derived a certain amusement from stirring the pot, so he permitted the women to continue their chatter as he finished his meal.

"Hosting a ball would be a brilliant idea, inviting Boston's elite right to our doorstep. Organizing such an event would provide an excellent opportunity for you both to familiarize yourselves with each other," Catherine suggested, indicating both him and Jenny.

He raised an eyebrow in response. "Assigning me to party planning? I have a business to oversee," he countered, hinting at his other obligations.

"Now, John. Of course, you're a busy man. I've already informed Ara that she's to assist Jenny with other matters. I'm sure she won't mind adding the organization of a grand event to her list. It will also help the girls bond," she added.

He gritted his teeth at Catherine's dismissive treatment of her own daughter, as if Ara were simply a puppet to carry out her mother's commands.

He exchanged a glance with his father, Douglas, who nodded in understanding. He was well aware that John had grown weary of the evening's theatrics. He had far more crucial matters to handle.

"Perhaps we can postpone this discussion for another day, Catherine."

"Oh, come now. Surely we can just-"

John rose, finishing the last of his whiskey before exiting the room without a word.

He was weary of the charade his stepmother maintained, parading him around like a prize. If he felt any concern for his father, he might even suggest that his dad divorce her and find a more suitable partner. But, much like Catherine, his father was a conniving individual. They were perfectly suited for each other.

John retreated to his own wing of the mansion, a few of his men following until he reached his secondary office.

The room was thoroughly checked for surveillance devices before he entered, the door securely closing behind him. Floyd took a seat on the other side of the desk, absentmindedly playing with his phone, while Sean stood rigidly to one side, a tablet in his hand. Both men had been patrolling the property while he dined, ensuring that no one, especially his father, was planning anything potentially disastrous.

"That one's quite a looker," Floyd commented, showing him a picture of Ara's best friend, Lucielle.

"Floyd, is your mind always in the gutter?"

"Of course, how else would I get things done?"

"Good man. Any updates on O'Neal?"

O'Neal was an informant for the syndicate, one of John's less conspicuous men. He had a knack for infiltrating any place and gathering any information. He was a valuable asset to the organization and had been missing for several days. He had been dispatched to gather intelligence on a new significant player who had shown interest in their territory. O'Neal was supposed to have reported back on the Ukrainian two days ago, but they hadn't heard from him.

This was disconcerting.

Floyd responded with a shake of his head, nonchalantly slipping his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket, giving it a reassuring pat against his chest. "We'll introduce a few more men into the equation, expanding the search parameters with the hope of unearthing something fruitful," he suggested.

John casually scattered a few nondescript papers across his desk, temporarily forgetting his habitual caution of leaving nothing of importance within this space. Nothing that could potentially be read, utilized by an enemy, or sold to the media for profit. He held no trust for anyone residing within the confines of this mansion.

"Have you been keeping surveillance on my lady?" he inquired.

In response, Sean handed him a tablet, its screen displaying several live feeds from the array of hidden cameras installed throughout the house. One of the feeds showed Ara engaged in what appeared to be a rather strained conversation with Lucielle. He wondered if Ara was feeling any resentment towards Lucielle's sister, the woman chosen for him.

John felt a chuckle bubble up when he remembered the scornful glare Ara had directed towards Jenny earlier that evening, her inherent warrior spirit revealing itself before she managed to regain her composure. He always found Ara at her most captivating when she was bristling with defiance, be it in response to perceived competition or during their intimate moments.

Feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers, he surreptitiously adjusted himself while his gaze remained fixed on her image on the screen. "Where's the audio?" He was keen to hear his angel's thoughts about the unfolding events of the evening. Had she confessed to Lucielle that just hours before, she had been passionately entwined with her stepbrother?

He doubted it, though. Ara, burdened by her mother's caustic influence, was overly concerned about societal perceptions to view their relationship as anything other than taboo. Ironically, she didn't seem troubled by the fact that he had killed for her; her only concern was their physical relationship.

Women.

Sean clicked a button on the side of the tablet, setting the audio into motion.

"I need to get out of here, Luce. Can you help me?"

"Leave the party? That's not too difficult."

"No. Not the party. I mean the state. Maybe even the country. I'm not sure."

"The country? Ara, you're starting to scare me. What's going on?"

"I feel so ashamed. He's going to ruin my life if I stay, Lucielle. I just know it. Please."

"Okay, okay. Will you tell me what's happening, at least?"

"No, there isn't time for explanations. I need to leave."

"When?"

"Tonight. Please help me."

"Okay, I will. Let's get out of here. We'll take Dad's SUV, and my family can find their own way back."

John reclined in his chair, his face hardening. Perhaps he had been too lenient with Ara, allowing her too much latitude. He had believed it best to let her gradually adjust to her new life. But now, he realized his mistake.

Ara was not the type to do anything by halves. Escape the country? That would happen over his cold, lifeless body.

"So, what's our next move?" Floyd queried, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"It appears we have a little cat-and-mouse game to engage in," John replied, a steely edge to his voice.