Page 18 of The Bad Brother

S LOANE STOPPED SHOWERING.

At least she stopped showering at the loft.

Every morning since the morning she stormed into the basement, half-naked and accused me of fucking with her hot water, she’s left with a small duffle and doesn’t come back until well after midnight.

If River’s on shift, she’ll drop her duffle next to an empty stool at the bar and order a club soda, nursing it while she chats with River about anything and everything for about a half hour or so before she gives Riv a tired smile and a see you tomorrow before heading upstairs.

If it’s just me and Cade, she bypasses the bar completely without even bothering to look in its direction.

Either way, she completely ignores me.

Hasn’t so much as looked at me since Tuesday morning.

It’s Saturday night.

Four days of treating me like I’m invisible .

So, I did what any sane, rational asshole would do—I upped the ante.

When I left my apartment on Wednesday morning and I heard her television across the hall, I cut her power.

Nothing.

She didn’t even flip me the bird on her way out the door when I said have a good day, Peach .

Thursday morning, I woke up for my early morning run and let the air out of her tires on my way through the parking lot.

When I got back, all four were completely flat.

Watching her leave for work, I was sure she’d come back in to ask someone for a ride to wherever she goes, or at the very least storm back in to tell me what a miserable prick I am.

All she did was eat a piece of candy before calling an Uber and AAA.

By Friday, I’d officially lost my mind because all I can think about is the way she looked, staring up at me with her wide, dark eyes, cheeks flushed with temper.

Damp silk clinging to her full breasts. The way her nipples stiffened against it when I asked her what she’d been doing in the shower which was the wrong fucking move because as soon as I asked, I knew .

Suddenly, all I could think about was her, fingers buried in her own pussy, making herself come in a shower I’ve jerked off in a thousand times and just like that, all I wanted to do was drop to my knees and bury my face in the shadowy cleft I could see plainly through the thin fabric of her robe.

Rip it off her before yanking my pants down around my hips so I could nail her to the wall with my cock.

And like most invasive thoughts, once it took root, it’s been nearly impossible to dig out.

I want to fuck Sloane Merrick almost as much as I want to get rid of her.

Which is why, instead of working the bar on a very busy Saturday night, I’m driving around Clearwater in my shitty hatchback, looking for her car.

Because I want to catch her in the act. Prove, once and for all, that she’s been sent across the river by my brother to make my life a living hell so I can out her to River and send her packing.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I have a feeling the real reason is a bit more complicated because when I spotted a shiny red compact last night, in the parking lot of the upscale strip joint disguised as a gentleman’s club , my stomach dropped to my boots and my vision got a little blurry.

I sat in the parking lot for nearly three hours, ignoring Cade’s where the fuck are you texts, while watching the car like a fucking psycho before it’s owner finally came out—a tall blonde with a decent, after-market rack.

Not Sloane.

I started my shitty hatchback and left before the bouncer who walked her to her car spotted me and called the sheriff. The last thing I need is to have to explain to Colt why I’m creeping around a strip club parking lot, stalking women who drive red cars.

Jesus, I’m fucking losing it.

I’ve spent the last four days driving from one end of Clearwater to the other, looking for her but it’s like she walks out the door and just disappears.

About ready to give up, my cell phone rattles in the seat next to me. Knowing it’s Cade, asking me where the fuck I went, I don’t even bother to look at it. It’s not even nine o’clock and the bar is probably already at capacity.

Go home.

Leave this woman alone.

Stay away from her for the next few months and when her lease is up, send her back across the bridge to your brother.

Plan formed, I start my car and pull into traffic, intent on driving back to the bar and staying there, when a flash of red zips through a yellow in front of me. And just like that, all my plans go out the window.

Sloane.

Making a right hand turn that puts me behind her, I follow at a respectable distance while the shiny red compact in front of me weaves itself deeper and deeper into Clearwater, until we leave behind the busy downtown full of crowded restaurants and shops in favor of the posh residential neighborhoods where I grew up.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out where she’s going.

Clearwater Golf Club

Members Only

Telling myself I just want to see her—confirm it’s her—and then I’ll leave.

I make a liar out of myself when I pull into the lot and slam my shitty little hatchback into park so hard she shudders before I jump out and start walking toward the car I’d been following.

Watching while its driver parks in the employee lot, I stop short when a kid, no older than nineteen or twenty, jumps out in a crisp white dress shirt, tie, and matching navy-blue vest that is the uniform for the club restaurant’s wait staff.

“Hey, man,” he says, jogging past me like he’s late for his shift. A few seconds later he chirps his alarm like he’s warning me not to try to steal his car.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Standing in the middle of the country club parking lot—a club I was essentially blackballed from when my parents disowned me—I start to laugh because, as it turns out, I’m not losing it.

It’s fucking lost.

I’ve officially lost my mind over this woman.

A woman who, I’m fairly sure has been sent by my brother to do exactly what she’s doing.

Drive me batshit, banana balls crazy.

And the worst part? I mean the absolute worst fucking part of it all? Knowing that changes absolutely nothing.

I still want to fuck her.

It’s not her you want to fuck. It’s just that it’s been so long since you’ve fucked anything but your own fist that the first woman who’s dropped in front of ? —

“When mother said you’d crawled out from under your rock to show up at the house last week, I’ll admit, I was sure it was the pharmaceuticals talking…” The instant I hear my brother’s voice behind me, the back of my neck goes tight and my hands crank themselves into fists. “But here you are.”

Walk away.

Just walk away because you do anything else, you’ll end up doing something that not even Colt can drag you out of .

Putting one foot in front of the other, I don’t get more than three steps away before he takes another swing.

“Sorry about Hanna.”

As soon as he says her name, a high-pitched whining kicks off in my ear and my heart starts pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Turning around with every intention of going back to prison, I pull up short when I see the woman standing beside him—a gorgeous redhead that I recognize—in a black, designer sheath dress, an uncomfortable-looking pair of red-bottom peep-toes, and a door-knocker of a diamond engagement ring on her finger.

Amy.

Her name is Amy.

We dated briefly my sophomore year.

By Clearwater standards, her family is considered middle class.

Not wealthy enough to live on the golf course but wealthy enough to be a member of the club it surrounds.

She’s hungry. Always has been. Always looking for something better.

Someone richer. Exactly the sort of woman my brother would tie himself to because, with enough money, women like Amy are easy to control.

Women like Sloane.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I know who she is.

That I know he sent Sloane across the bridge to do whatever it is she was sent there to do to me but for some reason, I don’t.

Maybe because I’m afraid if he knows I figured it out, he’ll call Sloane back and all of a sudden, that’s the last thing I want to happen.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I say instead, careful to keep my distance. Not because I’m afraid of what he might do. Because I’m afraid of what I will do if I let myself get close enough to grab him. “Finding out who Hanna really was before I married her saved me quite the headache.”

“Might’ve saved you a headache but it cost you a trust fund.

” Ethan’s good-natured grin turns nasty.

“Ten million dollars… must’ve been hard, watching all that money slip through your fingers.

” Looking at Amy, he shakes his head. “Our grandfather was old-fashioned—the stipulation we have to meet before we can access our trust funds is that we have to be married by the time we’re twenty-seven.

” Looking at me, he smiles again. “How old are you now? Thirty and still not married.”

When it all comes together, I start to laugh—a real laugh that nearly puts me on my ass and knocks that shitty grin right off his face.

“Is that why you did it?” I ask. “Is that why you sent me that video of Hanna sucking your dick a week before our wedding?” When I say it, Amy goes pale and she looks at Ethan like he just slapped her in the face.

“Because you wanted to fuck with my access to my trust fund?” Still laughing, I take a step toward him, allowing myself to get closer than is prudent but I can’t help it.

I want to see his face when I say what comes next.

“I’m sorry to have to break it to you but there were no strings attached to my trust fund.

No stipulations—I was given full access when I turned twenty- five …

I was marrying Hanna because I was in love with her and since I was stupid enough to want to do it without a pre-nup, you really did do me a favor. ”

When he realizes what I’m saying, Ethan goes pale. “Bullshit,” he spits at me, mouth twisted into a snarl. “There’s no way grandfather would?—”

“You might be their golden boy, little brother,” I tell him with a small smile.

“But grandfather saw you for the slimy piece of shit you really are.” Leaning in, I deliver the death blow.

“He knew what you did to me… and it was more like thirty million.” Backing away from him slowly, I flick a look at Amy.

“Maybe after you two get married and he can finally access his trust fund, he can afford to buy you a pair of Louboutins that actually fit.”

Turning away from them both, I leave them standing in the middle of the country club parking lot to walk back to my shitty little hatchback and drive back to Barrett.