Save Me: a Stepbrother Romance Read online

  SAVE ME

  Copyright © 2015 Bella Scully

  All rights reserved.

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, events, and incidents are works of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  NOTICE

  This book and any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for brief quotation in a book review.

  FREE PREVIEW OF STEP WICKED

  Love steamy stepbrother romance? Flip to the end of this book to read a naughty chapter from STEP WICKED, the first book in Bella's upcoming stepbrother romance serial, WICKED GAME.

  This book would not be possible without the endless support, pep talks, and patience from my writers group.

  A big thank you to all of you.

  This book is dedicated to you, the reader.

  I knew three things about Callum Gatlin:

  First, he was an asshole. He radiated hate. Fifth grade inducted him into my asshole hall of fame when he tripped me at lunch, sending me flying into a splattered pool of creamed corn on the floor; little me bawled her eyes out until the office sent her home. In eighth grade, he ended my blossoming band career by stuffing a condom (unused, thank God) into my trumpet. And during junior prom last year, he snatched my corsage. I found it the next day stuffed down the pants of the mascot in our lobby, forming a suggestive bulge.

  Of course, I wasn’t special. Cal Gatlin had his own special brand of asshole for everyone, from teachers to his father to the policeman that patrolled our school halls (because of him, according to the rumor mill).

  But the point still stood. Cal Gatlin had it out for everyone.

  Including me.

  The second rule of Cal Gatlin was that he was trouble. A criminal. Dangerous. Endless rumors surrounded him, every one of them more horrific than the last. “Did you hear Cal Gatlin set fire to the bar down the road?” “His tattoos are gang signs. My cousin said he got into the Hell’s Angels.” “I heard he beat his mom to death, I swear to God.” If the asshole personality wasn’t enough to get me to avoid him, his promising future as a prison drug smuggler was.

  Third and worst of all? As of 1PM yesterday during a tearful (then furious, then bargaining, then resigned and depressing) conversation with my mother at the kitchen table…

  Callum Gatlin was my new stepbrother.

  I glared at the slats of the air conditioning vent on my bedroom ceiling. The pink and purple boy band posters plastered around it smirked at me, laughing at my pain with their too-white teeth and too-blue eyes. I wondered if the vent was sharp enough to slit my wrists.

  “For God’s sake, Nat,” Mom’s voice snapped through the door, her voice echoing through the massive hallway. “Don’t be such a drama queen. You and I both know we need this.”

  “Really, Mom? James Gatlin? Really?”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “His son sure as hell isn’t.”

  “Natalie Amelia Harlow, you will not use profanity in this house.”

  My groan was muffled by feather stuffing as I smashed my down pillow over my face. I was tired of being a goody-two-shoes. I was tired of being the overachieving, obedient child, the one who made straight A’s and had a 5.0 GPA. The one who never caused trouble for her single mother and always flossed after brushing. For once in my life, I wanted to act like my 17-year-old high school girl self.

  And I was doing a great job at it if I say so myself.

  “You said you weren’t serious,” I moaned into the pillow. “You said you didn’t want to get remarried right away. You said you wanted to wait after Dad.”

  “Well, things change.”

  Mom’s voice was tight. She hated when I used Dad against her. Even if their marriage had been rocky (and that was an extremely charitable way to describe the dumpster fire we called a home life), it wasn’t fair to bring a dead man into this.

  “And we need help with the house payment. James makes me happy, Nat. And James and I need each other—we’re both single parents raising teenagers. It’s hard. It’s lonely.”

  “So you decide to make it harder by marrying someone you barely know?”

  “James and I have known each other for a while. We’re just taking a chance for once.”

  “And who cares what happens to me, right?”

  “Natalie, it would mean a lot if you at least tried to pretend to be okay with this. For me.”

  I didn’t answer. Mom groaned.

  “If not for me, then do it for your father.”

  I crawled to the door, leaning my head against it, letting my eyes sink closed. It was true. As much as I hated it, this brave carrying on is exactly what Dad would want.

  And I missed him. I missed him more fiercely than anything I had ever lost in my life. I had been holding his hand when he died. Sometimes I still felt the ghost of his warm pulse on my hand, reliving the horror of its faint beat fading until only a cold emptiness remained.

  Something in me died along with him. Ever since, I was a zombie. Not living, just going through the motions, terrified that somebody would realize I wasn’t the perfect daughter, Student Council member, and Harvard prospect they believed me to be. Being perfect was my mask, the one I hid the pain and nightmares and migraines behind. Everybody bought it.

  Except Mom. Because she felt the same pain too.

  “He would want us to do this. To try to move on.”

  “I know, Mom,” I whispered.

  “Can I come in now?”

  I huffed, but I reached up and turned the lock on the door. Mom pressed it open with her shoe and peeked in. Her expression softened behind her soft blonde curls. For the first time, I noticed the gray strands threading through her golden hair and how deep the wrinkles around her eyes were getting.

  “Do you really want to do this?” I rasped, wiping away a tear with the back of my hand. “Shake up our lives again? We’ve been through too much already.”

  “I know, sweetie.” She knelt down and wrapped her arms around me, smelling of her usual cheap rose perfume and the printing ink of the newspaper she worked at. I buried my nose in her arm, wishing I could evaporate. “We have. But maybe this is our chance. Maybe this time everything will finally get better.”

  “Better,” I echoed, my voice bare and hollow.

  “Your father would have wanted you to be happy. You know that.”

  “I do know, Mom. I’m just wondering how the hell rooming with Callum Gatlin is going to make things better.”

  “Watch your language. And who cares if James’ son is troubled? Everybody is.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  She pinched me for cussing, but then drew me closer into her embrace.

  “He has problems. But so does everybody. That’s what family is for—taking broken people and putting them back together.”

  I hated that my Mom always dished out Oprah-style homegrown wisdom about Family and Love and Other Diabetes-Sweet Homey Topics. Especially because she was always irritatingly right.

  She kissed my forehead.

  “Just give him a chance? Give us a chance?”

  I stuck my lower lip out, milking my one indulgent trip into immaturity for all it was worth. She rolled her eyes.

  “For me?” Mom asked, combing her nails through my hair. “Will you give this a chance for me?”

  I frowned. My throat burned, my eyes were hideously puffy and red, and the last thing I wanted to do was share a house (or worse, a bathroom—ugh) with resident town delinquent Callum Gatlin. But I could n
ever say no to Mom when she used her sweet voice.

  And I couldn’t say no to her now, not if Mr. Gatlin made her happy. Mom had been so worn down since Dad’s death. I glanced from the dark circles under her eyes to the fingernails she bit to stubs. Even if I was a selfish, immature child, I wouldn’t let her kill herself over one of my tantrums.

  “All right, Mom.” I sighed one last time, making it extra dramatic. “For you.”

  “Good.” She kissed my forehead. “Now help me clean out the guest room. I doubt your brother will want to sleep on the couch.”

  Ugh.

  Brother.

  I picked myself up, ignoring the growing headache that threatened to split my skull, and followed her downstairs.

  I had one month. One month until Cal Gatlin moved in. One month until he started the inevitable quest to bring about my mental breakdown. One month until our house would be filled with the smell of him and the sound of police sirens. One month, and my whole life would be turned upside down.

  I took a deep breath.

  One month.

  Here goes nothing.

  The month passed in an instant.

  Mom and Mr. Gatlin—who insisted I call him James every time he visited for dinner, flashing his white veneered smile—opted for a small courthouse wedding. I wore a navy lace dress Mom picked out for me from one of the thrift shops around the block. Mr. Gatlin (or, James, I guess) bought her silk violets for her bouquet. The ceremony lasted fifteen minutes.

  Callum didn’t come.

  Thank God.

  But he couldn’t stay out of my life forever. A week after they pulled away from the courthouse with a tiny placard reading “just married” taped to the rear window, the U-Haul vans arrived. I sat on the front lawn, picking nervously at the skirt of my pink sundress as each one dragged old furniture and cartons of books into the house.

  I kept out of the way, dodging any sign of Cal Gatlin.

  Or at least I tried to.

  My plan didn’t last long. Because the last U-Haul carried not only more boxes and a futon from the 80s, but Cal Gatlin.

  “Hey, Sis.”

  Cal was leaning against the truck, ignoring the few relatives hauling in the last pieces of furniture. I flinched. I had avoided him since the last prom incident aside from a few glares from him in the hallway.

  I guess my luck had to run out at some point.

  Since then, he had grown at least a few inches on his already tall frame. Now he towered over me like a hulking giant. The constant fighting had paid off in muscles that rippled across his arms. Tight abs stretched his shirt, and new tattoos and scars laced across his strong arms. A single diamond stud glittered in his left ear as bright as the two green eyes that fell on me with a smirk.

  My stomach turned as my gaze traveled down to that smirk.

  Glaring I could handle. With glaring, I knew where we stood. He hated me for being the blonde goody-goody to his dark bad boy. As long as we avoided each other, we would avoid conflict. Smiling was something horrifically worse, one that made my eyes widen and my lip tremble.

  Smiling meant Cal Gatlin was happy to see me. Smiling meant I was Cal Gatlin’s new toy.

  The hair on my neck rose as his smirk grew.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I am not your Sis.”

  Cal’s lip curled. “What’s wrong, Sis? Ashamed of your family?”

  “Shut up,” I snapped.

  Heat crept up my cheeks as they burned bright red. My pink, cardigan-addicted pianist self was no match for Cal Gatlin, and I knew it. I wanted run to bed and crawl under the covers and forget this ever happened.

  Please, God, let me fall asleep tonight and wake up and realize it was all a dream. Dad would be alive and reading the paper at the kitchen table. Mom would be mixing her Sunday morning pancakes at the counter. I’d walk downstairs and tell them what a crazy dream I’d had that Mom would marry someone like James Gatlin, and they’d laugh and laugh.

  I picked myself up and trudged indoors, keeping my gaze fixed ahead of me.

  Don’t look at him.

  Don’t look at him.

  Don’t look at him.

  Shit, I looked.

  My heart fluttered into my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, Cal Gatlin was stalking after me. His leather jacket stretched tight over his broad shoulders, his ripped jeans hugging the muscular legs that had tripped me when I was a kid in middle school. I hated him. I hated his earring, his smirk, his eyes that tracked me like a cat preying on a mouse.

  “Where’re you going, Sis? Don’t you want to spend some quality time with your big brother?”

  “Shut the f—”

  I halted as Mom and James walked out of the kitchen, blissfully unaware that their daughter was being stalked by her potential murderer. Cal’s smirk grew, and he crossed the room with wide strides. I stood frozen at the steps of the stairs.

  Please, God, let Mom bury me somewhere nice.

  “What’s wrong, Sis?” He tilted his head, and that predatory, toothy smile spread as his full lips parted. “Can’t use big bad grown up words in front of Mommy and Daddy? Maybe I should teach you a few.”

  “Gatlin, I don’t get what the fuck you’re doing—”

  “There. That’s a good one. Fuck.” His hand reached over my shoulder to prop himself against the wall. He leaned forward, the heat rolling off his body in waves against mine. He had me pinned with no escape route. My blue eyes grew wide. “You know what fuck means, Sis?”

  I froze. His body was too close to mine, his gaze too intense. The word fuck hung in the air between us, teasing me.

  His smirk grew as my silence held. “That’s okay, Sis. I’ll have lots of time to teach you about fuck. I can teach you about fuck all day.” His eyes raked down my body again, making me shiver. My heart pounded in my throat. “Let’s see. How about cock? That’s a nice, big grown up word. Cock.”

  I flinched. The word cock rolled off so easily from his full lips. Every inch of my body was electric and breathless. Fight or flight was kicking in.

  “Fuck off, Gatlin,” I breathed.

  “Mm, good, you’ve learned fuck. But how about a big word like cock? How big do you like it, Sis?” He leaned forward again, his nose an inch from mine. His glittering green eyes burned a hole into mine, his smirk growing poisonous. “Go on, we’re family. You can tell your big brother anything. Tell your big brother how big you like cock.”

  “I told you to fuck off.”

  “Say it after me. Let me see it come out of those pretty little lips. Cock.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  In the bravest moment of my life, I pressed my hands against Cal’s chest and shoved as hard as I could. His eyes grew wide, and he stumbled back, more out of shock than force. The boy was hard as rock and weighed a ton, and my hands felt feeble against him.

  “Don’t. Ever. Touch me. Again,” I spat.

  I willed my voice to sound strong. His eyes widened. A strange expression flashed across his face. Was it … respect?

  Impossible. The only thing Cal Gatlin respected was himself.

  “I didn’t touch you,” he grunted.

  “Like hell you didn’t.”

  “I leaned over you. Leaning ain’t touching, Sis. Though trust me. I’d love to touch.”

  I suppressed the bile rising in my throat and marched up the stairs. Count to ten, Nat. Count to ten, do some mindfulness exercises, do whatever you have to, just don’t engage him. Do not encourage Cal Gatlin because the one thing Cal Gatlin loves is prey that fights back.

  Unable to stop myself, I glanced over to see Cal still leaning against the wall, his eyes raking my body again.

  “What are you—are you undressing me with your eyes?” I choked.

  “Can’t help liking what I see.”

  I clutched my coat around me as if that would help.

  He smirked.

  “What’s wrong, Sis?” He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine again. “Afraid
I’m not giving it enough credit? Want to give me a firsthand taste?”

  “God, you’re revolting!”

  “See, I already have you screaming. I bet you’d scream louder in bed.”

  “Callum!”

  “Mm. Like that. Say my name a little more.”