My Fiancé's Brother (The Guilty Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  My Fiance’s Brother, The Guilty Series, Book 1

  Copyright © 2017 by Odette Stone

  www.odettestone.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9950200-0-9

  First edition, May 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Letitia Hasser | RBA Designs

  To Colleen Hammermaster.

  When no one believed in me, you did. Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  I stared at my own refection in the grimy glass door of the subway train, trying to avoid the crush of jostling people that pressed against my back. I looked less like a bride-to-be and more like a college waif with my red hair pulled into a pony tail and my blue eyes devoid of make-up. I should have put make up on but I had gotten caught up in my book and then when I realized how late it was, I was running just to get out the door.

  The train peeled into my station before jerking hard to a stop, throwing the person behind me against my back. I held my breath as the door whooshed open and then the crowd was spilling around me into the underground station. Glad for my sneakers, I pumped my way up the two sets of cement stairs, which left me more than a little breathless when I staggered onto the street above. Cars honked and the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians. Feeling claustrophobic on the busy street, I passed panhandlers, food trucks that sizzled with the smell of hot grease and overflowing garbage cans. I let out a breath of relief when I reached my destination, the Paper Pelican.

  The store was quiet with only the clerk standing at the counter. I glanced at my watch. I was a bit early and Matt generally was a bit late. I spent in inordinate amount of time browsing through the aisle, trying to look like an avid shopper. Where was Matt? I checked my phone. No messages. I debated on what to do. He hated it when I called him out for being late, but the store was only open for another 30 minutes. I had deliberately picked this store for our wedding invitations because it was only two blocks away from his office. I decided, with a bit of trepidation, to send him a text.

  Me: I’m just at the Paper Pelican. Are you on your way?

  Matt: Got busy. Sorry. You’re on your own.

  I felt the pinch of a headache at the base of my neck. This was the second time that Matt had stood me up at the Paper Pelican. He didn’t seem to realize that I was half paralyzed with indecision about everything that involved our wedding. I needed guidance and input from him. I couldn’t seem to get organized on a single detail and our wedding loomed a mere twelve weeks away. Maybe I could bring him some invitation samples to dinner.

  Me: Where do you want to meet for dinner?

  Another long pause before he responded.

  Matt: Stuck in a meeting. Will be home late.

  He always did this. Why didn’t he care about the wedding? We had so many things to cover and he was refusing to help. Didn’t he realize that I was over my head here? I needed his help.

  I felt slightly sick as I looked towards the counter. Why hadn’t I hired a wedding planner? Oh right, because Matt had convinced me that we would have a lot of fun planning this wedding together. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I just needed to be decisive. I squared my shoulders and walked up to the front counter. The clerk looked annoyed. We both knew that she probably wanted to start closing the store shortly.

  “I’d like to order some wedding invitations.”

  She grabbed an order sheet and then stood poised with a pen. “Do you have a wedding palette colour?”

  “Uh. Not yet.”

  “Do you know how many invitations you need?”

  I took a deep breath. Matt still hadn’t given me his guest list. “Perhaps between 50 and 200?”

  “Do you prefer a reply card and envelope or a reply postcard?”

  I shook my h
ead. “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you know what kind of printing you like?”

  I felt a wave of heat wash over my body. “What are my options?”

  “Letterpress, engraving, embossing, thermography, and flat printing.”

  This was impossible. This is exactly why I needed Matt here. How could I possibly know what to pick? What did he like? What did he want? “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know what kind of paper you want?”

  My hands were curled so tight, my nails were digging into my palms. “Not yet.”

  “Do you have any idea what you want your invitations to look like?”

  This was a mistake. “I should go.”

  Indifference. “Okay. Would you like any samples?”

  “I’ll come back.”

  “Have a good night.”

  * * *

  I stood outside the store and scrubbed my face. Three freaking months until the wedding. I had no idea how we were going to get everything planned in time. I looked around the busy street. Why did everyone around me seem to have such purpose in their life and I was incapable of making even the simplest of decisions. Someone from behind almost walked over me.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the woman snarled.

  “Sorry,” I called after her.

  Matt was working late, but he needed to eat, right? I would go to his office, wait until his meeting was finished and then see if maybe he wanted to order take out. He worked far too many hours. He could afford to spend half an hour with me. With renewed determination, I walked towards his office building. I stood across the street, waiting for the light to change when I saw him walk with purpose down the steps.

  I raised my hand and waved. “Matt!”

  My voice was drowned out beneath the roar of the street.

  He walked towards a cab that was waiting. I watched as a woman got out of the cab. I couldn’t see her face, but she had long beautiful brown hair. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek before they both climbed back into the cab.

  I stood there in complete shock. The light turned green and people streamed around me. Had that really been Matt? Who was the woman?

  I swallowed hard and crossed the street, feeling my rapid heart beat in my chest. It was probably just a client. Matt was probably working a business dinner. That was all. My granny used to warn me not to borrow trouble with my imagination. She always said that it would lead to nothing good. She used to tell me that I needed to take life as it was and stop worrying about things I had no control over. It took me 15 minutes before I managed to find a cab.

  “Where to lady?”

  I gave him my address and sank back into the worn seat and stared unseeing out the dirty window. How likely was it that he would kiss a female client on the cheek? If I confronted Matt about this, he would tell me that I was being both stupid and insecure. I sighed.

  “That’s quite the sigh,” the driver said, “Tough day?”

  Our eyes met in the review mirror.

  “I just saw my fiancé get into a cab with another woman.”

  He gave me another glance. “What spooked you?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “What’s making you nervous?”

  I toed a dirty Kleenex on the floor with my sneaker. “He kissed her on the cheek. He stood me up and said he was busy working and then I saw him smiling at her and he kissed her on the cheek.”

  “What kind of kiss?”

  “Uh.”

  “Was it a sexy kiss or more that french thing on both cheeks? Maybe he was trying to be sophisticated.”

  My mind replayed what I saw. Matt had put his hand on her upper arm. He had been smiling at her face. And when he leaned in and kissed her, he had lingered. It had felt intimate.

  “He lingered.”

  The cab driver shook his head. “You know, in my line of work, I’ve seen it all. Trust your gut. If you saw something you didn’t like, it is probably ten times worse than you’re imagining.”

  “Matt would never cheat on me.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He eyeballed me in the mirror. “You look too young to get married. Are you even out of high school?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I’m 24.”

  “Well, you look too young to be getting married. You should be out there, having fun,” he advised. “Trust me. After you get married, the kids come. And after they arrive, your whole world changes.”

  “I guess.” Not wanting to admit that I couldn’t wait to have a baby. All my friends had important careers. I felt slightly ashamed that my only goal was to get married and start a family.

  When Matt had asked me on our first date, I felt like I had won the lottery. As my friend Julie loved to tease me, I was punching above my weight when it came to Matt. I was cute, but Matt was very good-looking and he was a junior lawyer. Why he wanted to marry me was beyond me, but he did and I wasn’t going to ask why. We would be happy together. We would have the most perfect wedding and then we could start our life together.

  The cab driver was speaking to me. I looked up and realized that he had pulled up in front of my loft. I dug through my bag to find some cash.

  “You sure this is the right place?” he peered through the windshield around the area. It was the most up and coming neighbourhood. Still mostly industrial, there were a handful of condos and lofts in the area.

  “Yeah, I own a loft here.”

  Matt had convinced me to buy a loft here. He had promised me that he would help me with the renovations. He had been too busy and the vast majority had fallen on my shoulders. I had been hopeless dealing with the decisions and the contractors, and without telling Matt, I had simply hired a decorator to take over the project and see it to completion. To this day, Matt still believed that I had managed to convert the old building into the loft that it was today.

  “You should be careful out here. They haven’t caught the throat slayer yet.”

  I shuddered. “Who is the throat slayer?”

  “Some serial killer creep who has been killing women. They say he chokes them to death.”

  My heart tripped. “I’m sure he isn’t out here.”

  The cabbie looked over his shoulder at me. “Just be careful kid.”

  Chapter 2

  I jerked awake. My entire body was tense with fear, but I had no idea why. I lifted my head, my ears straining. Something had woken me, I just didn’t know what. Another noise from downstairs sent my heart racing in my chest. I sat up looking for my phone. It wasn’t on the nightstand. With shaking limbs, I stood at my closed door and listened. Someone was definitely downstairs. Matt had already left for the day. I know because I had gotten up in an attempt to talk to him about the wedding invitations, but he had already been half out the door. I had returned to bed for another hour of sleep and now I was a sitting duck in my bedroom while some intruder rooted around downstairs.

  My need to hide was almost overwhelming. Instead, I looked around for a weapon. My golf clubs. I gingerly pulled out my 7 iron. In bare feet, I eased my bedroom door open. I peered over the glass balcony that overlooked the main living area of the loft. I couldn’t see anyone. Had I imagined those noises? I could see my cell phone charging on the counter. Never again. I would never again leave my cell phone downstairs.

  I slowly made my way towards the stairs, keeping my back pressed up against the wall. Everything was silent below. I crept down the open curved stairs. Nothing. My imagination was playing tricks on me. I let out a deep breath. I needed to get a grip. My therapist used to tell me that my fear was simply my false expectations appearing real. A catchy acronym to remind me that my fear of an intruder was irrational.

  Heart still pounding in my throat, I walked towards the huge industrial sliding door wanting to make sure that Matt had set the alarm when he left. My foot connected with something solid and I barely caught my balance as I tripped over it.

  Recovering, I turned around. A huge black canvas duffle bag. The toilet flushed behind me from
the half bath on the main floor. I stood there frozen, while my mind raced. I needed to hide.

  I don’t even remember moving. Suddenly, I was flattened against the wall in the front walk-in closet. I could barely control my harsh breathing. My heart raced to the point that I feared I would pass out. My vision blurred with tears.

  I heard the sound of the taps running. The bathroom door opened. Footsteps. Then nothing. Holding my breath, I peered around the corner. An absolutely massive man was crouched on his haunches in front of his duffle bag. He had unzipped it and was rifling through it. Was that his kill kit?

  My body was shaking uncontrollably. My stomach clenched rock hard. White knuckles gripped the club over my shoulder. I just needed to get one clean shot to his head. Then I could run. I crept up behind him. He was still bent over his bag. I saw a gun. With a mangled cry, I swung my club as hard as I could. My club connected with air.

  Now I was flat on my back. My club was pressed to my neck. The monster was on top of me. Pinning me to the floor. I caught a glimpse of green eyes that were looking at me in surprise and then everything faded to black.

  ***

  I opened my eyes. I was lying on the couch staring at my living room ceiling. The couch throw was pulled over my body. Images crashed through me. The intruder. A gun. Being flipped onto the floor.

  With a cry, I half sat up. The intruder was sitting in the wingback chair across from me. He stared at me without expression. The pain that compressed my chest was so intense, so all consuming, I had to look to see if I had a knife sticking out of my chest. No blood. No knife. Just fear that was so real I could taste it.

  The man who had broken into my loft looked like some sort of intense terminator robo-cop. All muscles and scariness. Would he torture me like my parents had been tortured or would he kill me quick? I didn’t care about the money. I already decided I would give him whatever he wanted, I just didn’t want to die.

  “You passed out,” his voice was deep and rough. “Drink some tea.”

  My eyes flicked to a steaming mug on the coffee table. None of this was making sense.