My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 24

Raphael

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I didn't look at anyone as I stormed out of the red mist. They saw the look on my face and moved out of my way like sheep running from a wolf. My arms were wrapped tight around Gianna. She was shaking against my chest, her breath coming in tiny, broken gasps that made my blood boil.

I reached the edge of the stone patio where my men stood guard, their hands resting on their holsters.

"Find Ciro," I ordered, "He’s out on a drop-off for Dante. I don’t care if he’s in the middle of a deal. Drag him back here. I want him on the floor of my study in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," they said in one voice.

I kept walking. I kicked the heavy doors of the mansion open, the wood slamming against the stone walls. The music was still thumping, but I didn't look at the crowd. I didn't care about the party anymore.

I carried her up the back stairs, my boots loud on the marble. I pushed into my private study and kicked the door shut behind me. I tossed her onto the deep leather couch. She sank into the cushions, looking tiny and pale against the dark hide.

I didn't say a word. I dropped to my knees on the floor between her legs. I grabbed her ankles. I saw the way the wire had dug into her soft flesh. My jaw tightened until it ached. I hated that she was hurt. I hated even more that she had been out there for some other animal to find.

I started to pull her sneakers off, I threw them across the room, not caring where they landed. I ran my thumb over the edge of the wire cut, watching the way her skin flinched.

"Raphael..." she breathed.

Her voice sounded different. It wasn't just fear anymore. It was soft, airy, and strange. I looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, the black centers growing until there was hardly any color left. Her skin was turning a soft, glowing pink.

I reached for her feet and ripped the white socks away. My blood turned to ice. There was tape wrapped around her arches, cheap, white medical tape and it was soaked with fresh, dark spots of red.

"What the hell is this?" I asked.

The hunting grounds were my design. I had cleared every jagged rock and every shard of glass. I had made sure the paths were safe for the women to run. There was nothing out there that could make a girl bleed through her sneakers like this.

I didn't ask for permission. I grabbed the edge of the tape and peeled it back. My jaw went tight as I saw her skin. The soles of her feet were swollen and bruised. There were deep, angry cuts in places that made no sense. This wasn't from a trap. This was something else.

"What happened to your feet, Gianna?" I snapped, my eyes lashing up to hers. "There is nothing in those woods that could do this. I made sure of it."

She looked taken aback, her head tilting to the side as if the room was spinning too fast for her to catch. For a second, she looked lost, but then she blinked and tried to pull herself together.

"Um... ugh... ballet practice," she said.

Her voice was thin, a lie that didn't even try to be strong.

I narrowed my eyes. I am not a man who can be fooled by a girl with wide green eyes. I know what a dance injury looks like, and I know what a blade does to skin.

"Ballet?" I repeated, as I gripped her heels, holding her in place so she couldn't pull away. "Where exactly do you practice, Gianna? In the middle of a fucking war zone?"

But instead of answering me, she touched the velvet of the couch, her fingers moving slowly over the fabric as if she had never felt anything so soft in her life. Then she looked at me and smiled.

I didn't like the silence. I didn't like the way she wasn't looking at me.

"Gianna. I am talking to you," I snapped, but she didn't even flinch at the sound of my voice.

She began to stroke the fabric, moving her hand back and forth, back and forth. She looked mesmerized, her touch slow, as if the feeling of the cloth was the most important thing in the world.

"So soft," she whispered, "It feels like... like clouds."

My blood turned to ice. This wasn't just fear. This wasn't just shock.

I let go of her heels and reached up, my hand wrapping firmly around her jaw. I forced her chin up, tilting her head back until she had no choice but to look at me. I leaned in, my face inches from hers, my eyes searching for the truth.

I saw it immediately.

Her pupils were massive, black ink spilling over her green iris until there was almost no color left. Her eyes weren't focusing on me, they were jumping around. Her pulse was thrumming against my thumb.

She was drugged. Someone had put something in her system.

"What did he give you?" I hissed, my grip on her chin tightening. The image of Ciro flashed in my mind.

A red wave of fury crashed over me. We trusted him to watch over our family. We had told him to keep them safe when we're not there. Instead, he had brought her to a place where men wore masks and hunted women, and he had filled her blood with chemicals to make her compliant.

To make her a better "prey."

"Did Ciro give you a pill, Gianna? Tell me!"

She just smiled, a small, broken tilt of her lips. She reached up, her hand trembling as she touched the cold silver rings on my fingers. "Your hands are so warm, Raphael."

I felt a roar of protectiveness flare up in my chest. I pulled her closer, my other hand landing on the back of her neck, holding her head steady. I wanted to shake her, to wake her up, but there was no use. I don't even know what she took.

"I'm going to kill him," I muttered against her forehead.

I looked back down at her mangled, bleeding feet and the dilated mess of her eyes.

I stood up, and went to the black cabinet and grabbed the heavy first aid kit. I slammed it down on the table next to her.

"Stay still," I ordered.

I knelt back down between her legs. I grabbed a bottle of clear cleaning liquid and some soft white cloth. I took her foot in my hand again. It was small, so small. I started to dab the blood away from her heels, moving as gently as I could with hands that were made for breaking bones.

But Gianna wasn't staying still.

She let out a long, airy giggle. It was a sweet sound. She started to move on the velvet cushions.

"Raphael," she whispered, "Your hair... it’s so messy. I like it."

I didn't look up. I kept my eyes on the red cuts on her soles, my jaw so tight it ached. "I said stay still, Gianna. I'm trying to fix you."

"But I feel so good," she breathed. Suddenly, I felt her small, soft hands land on my shoulders. She didn't just touch me, she gripped the leather of my jacket, pulling herself closer until I could feel the heat radiating off her body, "Everything is so warm. You’re so warm."

She slid her hands down my chest, her fingers tracing the dark lines of the snake tattoo over my heart. Her weight tipped forward, and I caught her before she slipped off the couch, my hand locking around her waist and pushing her back. A soft sound left her, somewhere between a sigh and something else.

I let go.

She didn’t.

Her fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling my hand back, and pressed my palm flat against her bare waist, right above the edge of her shorts.

"This feels so good," she sighed, her eyes closing. "Do that again. Touch me there."

My blood turned into liquid fire. I felt a surge of heat hit my gut so hard I almost lost my breath. Her skin was hot and soft under my fingers. I could feel her heart racing, her skin humming with the drug that was making her feel everything ten times over.

I should have pulled away. She was high. She didn't know what she was doing. And I wasn't a monster who took advantage of a girl who couldn't see straight.

"Gianna, stop," I said sternly, but my voice lacked its usual bite. I tried to pull my hands back, but she leaned into me, her small body pressing against my chest.

I looked up at her then.

Really looked at her.

The red light from the forest was peeking through the window, hitting the side of her face. Her hair was a wild brown mess, her lips were parted and wet, and her green eyes were dark and deep like the ocean at night.

For the first time, I didn't see the gold-digging stepsister who had invaded my home.

I saw a woman.

And she looked like an angel that had fallen into the mud and didn't mind the mess.

I shouldn’t have looked at her twice but I did. Her hair fell in loose, natural waves around her face, light brown. Her nose was straight, her lips full, slightly parted like she didn’t even realize it.

My eyes moved before I could stop them.

Down her throat.

The soft line of her neck pulled tight when she swallowed, and my jaw clenched without warning. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, hard enough to ground myself, but it didn’t help.

I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. I shouldn’t be seeing her like this. My gaze kept going anyway.

Her body wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was… small, soft in the right places. The kind that didn’t need to try. The curve of her chest, the narrow dip of her waist, the quiet shape of her hips...

I swallowed.

No.

She’s your sister.

Step.

Not blood.

Not really.

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