Stepbrother Needs (His Twisted Game, Book Three) Read Free

me, and I
followed him into the lobby.
    “Like I said, Mr. Buchanan, I’m sorry to
interrupt your conversation, but I thought you would want to know as soon as
possible.”     The doorman’s tone was professional and
measured, but you could sense concern under the surface – whatever had
happened tonight had definitely been out of the ordinary.
    “Thank you, Graham,” Cole said.   “And it’s fine.   My conversation was over.”
    I resisted the urge to scream.   It was good to know that I had no say
in when we were done talking about something.
    “Can you tell me what he looked like?”
Cole asked.
    “He was about five ten, black hair and a
mustache,” Graham said.   “He was
vehement that you were supposed to have left a key for him, and when I told him
you hadn’t, he asked if he could access the apartment anyway.   He was polite at first, but then he got
a little mouthy with me.   When I
told him we had security cameras and if he didn’t leave soon we’d have to call
the police, he took off.”
    I frowned.   That didn’t sound like Gordon.   The physical description was all wrong .
    “Are you sure he wasn’t taller?” I asked.   “With no mustache?”
    “Avery,” Cole said, shooting me a warning
look.   But I was sick of shutting
up.   Gordon was a threat to my
safety too – in fact, he was probably more of a threat to me, since the
only reason Gordon even cared about Cole was because I was with him.
    “What?” I asked.   “I have a right to ask questions, too.”
    “Would you like to see the tapes, Mr.
Buchanan?” Graham asked.
    “No,” Cole said at the same time I said,
“Yes.”
    “Thank you, Graham,” Cole said.   “Please let me know if he comes back.”
    “Of course.”   Graham nodded his head and tipped his hat with one
white-gloved hand.   “You can count
on us for the best security, Mr. Buchanan.”
    “What the hell are you doing?” I asked as
Cole led me toward the elevator.   “Don’t you want to see the tapes?   It didn’t sound anything like Gordon, don’t you want to know who it
was?”  
    Cole mumbled something unintelligible as
we stepped onto the elevator.   I
wasn’t completely sure, but it sounded like, “I know who it was.”
    “What?” I demanded.   “You know who it was?   Then who was it?”
    “No one.”   He pushed the button for the top floor roughly, then watched impatiently as the numbers over the doors began
lighting up as the elevator began its ascent.
    “No one?   It sounded like someone.”
    “It’s taken care of.”
    “Wait, what?”   I shook my head.   “What’s taken care of?”
    The elevator dinged as we hit his floor,
and he stepped off and began making his way toward his apartment, his strides
long and purposeful.
    “Cole!” I yelled, struggling to keep up
with him.   “Stop.   You need to tell me what the hell is
going on.”
    “Avery, please,” he said as I followed
him into the apartment.   “It
doesn’t concern you.”   His voice was
another warning, yet again making it clear that I shouldn’t push him.  
    I stared at him for a long moment as he
walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water, uncapped
it, and took a long drink.   He
loosened his tie and then pulled his wallet and keys out of his pocket,
throwing them onto the kitchen counter.   He picked up his phone and began typing out a text message to someone
before turning his back to me.
    “Whatever,” I said, livid.   “I’m going to bed.”
    I stalked down the hall and into the
bathroom, where I took off my dress and got into the shower.   Anger burned bright inside of me, and I
grabbed the shampoo and conditioner and lathered up my hair, trying to be
careful of my wrist.   It was
starting to feel sore again -- I was going to need to put my brace back on when
I got out of the shower.
    Nice of Cole to come and check on me, to
make sure I was okay.   He obviously
cared about nothing but himself.
    I