Fight: A Stepbrother Romance Novella by Stephanie Brother Page A
Authors: Stephanie Brother
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was the cook's day off, affording me a perfect excuse to be looking for him.
He didn't seem at all suspicious, though he wasn't terribly warm. Ever since I had threatened to leave with Paxton, my father had treated me in a distant fashion. I appreciated the disconnect, because I hadn't had to maintain as much of a façade or pretend to be oblivious to his perversities. There had been no spontaneous hugs, which I feared would make me want to throw up or slug him in the face. The idea of letting him touch me turned my stomach. In fact, his hand on my shoulder was enough to make my skin burn.
"Just order in something. I'm not up to another one of your culinary disasters."
Under other circumstances, I might have been hurt, or might have even made a joke if he had said it in a tender or teasing fashion. Instead, I just shrugged and nodded, adding casually, "I'll just bring something back. I have to run an errand anyway."
He shrugged as he entered his office, clearly not giving a damn what I was going to do, or what I brought back for dinner. I don’t think he gave a damn about me anymore, since I no longer fit so neatly into “His Princess” box, but that didn’t bother me. I didn’t want his love or affection. I just wanted him to pay.
My heart was racing in my ears, and I rushed across the entryway to scoop up my keys. There was no time to go upstairs for my laptop, just in case he went straight to his book looking for the flash drive. I had to get out of there, and I had to get out now. I felt a bit like a spy on a secret mission, except I wasn't furtive, nor was I confident in my abilities to escape.
I basically ran as quickly as I could to my VW convertible, got inside, turned on the engine, and reversed down the driveway as fast as possible. There was no sign of anyone emerging from the house, but I still pressed my foot almost to the floorboard for the first quarter-mile before I even pulled over to put on my seatbelt.
My hands shook, and I double-checked my pocket at least three times to make sure the flash drive was still there as I drove away from the city, at first uncertain where I was going. It was only as I took the interstate and started programming my GPS that I realized I was headed to Vegas.
As I drove, common sense asserted itself over the adrenaline rush from my panicked flight, and I knew I had to slow down and make some plans if I wanted to get seventeen hundred miles from here without being intercepted by my dad or anyone in his employment. At the next exit, an electronics store caught my attention, and it was next to a branch of our bank. I figured that was the fortuitous development, so I got off the freeway and parked in the parking lot.
I used my father's credit card without a flash of guilt to buy a brand-new laptop, and then I went to the bank to withdraw a hefty portion of my savings. Some of that money had come from him, though the larger part was from relatives and even an occasional summer job. I didn't feel any remorse for taking his money, especially since it was going to the worthy cause of getting me to Paxton and hopefully enabling us to destroy my father. It seems fitting that he should pay for his own downfall.
I was back on the road within half an hour, and I drove steadily for several hours. My phone rang twice, both times showing my father's number. I ignored it and the voicemails he left, knowing I would need to deal with it all soon enough, but not ready to cope with hearing his voice just yet.
When I grew too tired to drive, I pulled off the freeway into a small town and found a hotel. I had no choice but to use my ID to register, but I didn't use my credit card. Perhaps I was being paranoid, or maybe I had read a few too many thrillers, but I knew he could track me that way if he was determined to do so.
In the small room that was as far from luxurious as one could get, though it was clean, I plugged in the new laptop and started updates so I could use it. While I
He didn't seem at all suspicious, though he wasn't terribly warm. Ever since I had threatened to leave with Paxton, my father had treated me in a distant fashion. I appreciated the disconnect, because I hadn't had to maintain as much of a façade or pretend to be oblivious to his perversities. There had been no spontaneous hugs, which I feared would make me want to throw up or slug him in the face. The idea of letting him touch me turned my stomach. In fact, his hand on my shoulder was enough to make my skin burn.
"Just order in something. I'm not up to another one of your culinary disasters."
Under other circumstances, I might have been hurt, or might have even made a joke if he had said it in a tender or teasing fashion. Instead, I just shrugged and nodded, adding casually, "I'll just bring something back. I have to run an errand anyway."
He shrugged as he entered his office, clearly not giving a damn what I was going to do, or what I brought back for dinner. I don’t think he gave a damn about me anymore, since I no longer fit so neatly into “His Princess” box, but that didn’t bother me. I didn’t want his love or affection. I just wanted him to pay.
My heart was racing in my ears, and I rushed across the entryway to scoop up my keys. There was no time to go upstairs for my laptop, just in case he went straight to his book looking for the flash drive. I had to get out of there, and I had to get out now. I felt a bit like a spy on a secret mission, except I wasn't furtive, nor was I confident in my abilities to escape.
I basically ran as quickly as I could to my VW convertible, got inside, turned on the engine, and reversed down the driveway as fast as possible. There was no sign of anyone emerging from the house, but I still pressed my foot almost to the floorboard for the first quarter-mile before I even pulled over to put on my seatbelt.
My hands shook, and I double-checked my pocket at least three times to make sure the flash drive was still there as I drove away from the city, at first uncertain where I was going. It was only as I took the interstate and started programming my GPS that I realized I was headed to Vegas.
As I drove, common sense asserted itself over the adrenaline rush from my panicked flight, and I knew I had to slow down and make some plans if I wanted to get seventeen hundred miles from here without being intercepted by my dad or anyone in his employment. At the next exit, an electronics store caught my attention, and it was next to a branch of our bank. I figured that was the fortuitous development, so I got off the freeway and parked in the parking lot.
I used my father's credit card without a flash of guilt to buy a brand-new laptop, and then I went to the bank to withdraw a hefty portion of my savings. Some of that money had come from him, though the larger part was from relatives and even an occasional summer job. I didn't feel any remorse for taking his money, especially since it was going to the worthy cause of getting me to Paxton and hopefully enabling us to destroy my father. It seems fitting that he should pay for his own downfall.
I was back on the road within half an hour, and I drove steadily for several hours. My phone rang twice, both times showing my father's number. I ignored it and the voicemails he left, knowing I would need to deal with it all soon enough, but not ready to cope with hearing his voice just yet.
When I grew too tired to drive, I pulled off the freeway into a small town and found a hotel. I had no choice but to use my ID to register, but I didn't use my credit card. Perhaps I was being paranoid, or maybe I had read a few too many thrillers, but I knew he could track me that way if he was determined to do so.
In the small room that was as far from luxurious as one could get, though it was clean, I plugged in the new laptop and started updates so I could use it. While I
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