Auctioned to my Stepbrothers (Sold to the Naughtier List #5)
Chapter 1
Dylan
Toby stops pacing as I end the call, and says, "Sounded like you worked your magic."
"She could lose her job for giving out patient information, but I convinced her to see if anyone matching Nikki's description has been at the hospital in the last week."
His chest rises and falls. Anger hangs on his words. "We should have looked for her sooner, Dylan."
"Don't beat yourself up. We thought she was ignoring our calls and texts. That happens when you get caught reading your stepsister’s diary."
Toby slams his fist against the wall causing the framed photo of Nikki finishing her first marathon to hang askew. He takes it from the wall, stares, then returns it, making sure it's straight.
I open each desk drawer, unsure what I hope to find. "Keep looking for anything that tells us the last day she was here."
“Her purse is still here.” Toby rifles through it. “Her mailbox was overflowing. We're such assholes."
He’s right. We are. I had no idea what was supposed to be a stupid sibling razz would end up with our stepsister missing. I’m not ready to believe that she’s gone gone though. "Mom and Dad didn't know she was missing either. We'll find her."
"Will we?” My brother glares at me. “Because her keys are right here. Her car is in the parking lot."
"She had that single house key she took when she went running. It fit in her shorts pocket."
He moves to the coat closet and searches the floor. "Her running shoes are gone."
"So she went for a jog—"
"Don't finish that statement. Even our ultra-marathon running sister doesn't do multi-day jogs." Toby straightens, the cords of his neck flexing.
I grasp at straws rather than give up hope. "Okay, let's try this. She went out with friends. Traveled light. Ended up staying a few days."
"Do you know how stupid that sounds? What were we thinking, reading her diary? We're grown-ass men."
I can't help that I've been obsessed with her for the last five years. “Just thought I could find something to razz her about."
Toby mumbles. He’s been obsessed with her as long as I have. Five years is the lie I tell myself—the day she turned eighteen. Same for him even though he hates to admit it.
"How was I supposed to know she'd written out kinky fantasies about us?" I stop looking at her minutia and survey the room. It's like she just walked out and didn't come back.
"It was the hottest fucking thing I've ever read," Toby admits as he shakes his head. "When we find her… I'm going to make every single one come true."
My cock is shamelessly hard. I curse myself for being able to think about sliding my erection into my stepsister's tight cunt when we don't even know if she's alive.
I feel like I'd know if she wasn't. Is that possible, or just a delusion? I feel in my core that she's out there waiting for us to bring her home, to save her.
Attempting to lighten the mood, I ask, "Any ideas on how we apologize, while simultaneously committing ourselves to her pleasure?"
"We'll figure that out after we find her." Toby disappears into NIkki’s bedroom for a second then returns. "Her phone's here."
We split up and check with the neighbors—everyone pinpoints about a week ago that they can be certain they last saw her. Not a single useful detail.
My phone buzzes—it's my friend from the hospital. She's quick to remind me that this is off the record, that's why she's calling from her personal cell phone during her lunch break.
"Did you find anything?"
"Nothing definitive." Her voice hushes. "No one by the name of Nikki Harris has been in the hospital in the last week."
"Fuck." I rake my hand through my hair, realizing how badly I needed something other than a dead end.
"Hold on, Dylan. There's something else, but you didn't hear it from me.”
“Sure.” Hope swells my heart. A single piece of information is all I need. A single thing to give me a direction. I won’t stop looking until I find her.
“I want to help you, but I can't afford to lose my job over this."
My stomach knots at the heaviness in her tone. "Go on."
"There was a woman who fit Nikki's description.
She came in as a Jane Doe, didn't have any identification, just a single key in her pocket.
The records indicate a locksmith was contacted but he said it was one of the most generic key styles available.
It looked like she'd been jogging and got hit by a car.
Physically, other than some bumps and bruises, she was okay, but she hit her head… and had amnesia."
Alive, good. Amnesia, fuck! "I’ll be right there. Let me grab some things to prove who she is."
“I’m sorry, Dylan. She’s been discharged.”
“You let her go?” All of my anger and fear and worry pour into the question.
“I didn’t,” she says defensively.
Pissing off the only person who’s been able to help isn’t going to get me anywhere. I dial myself back, while struggling to fathom how you let someone with amnesia walk out of a hospital. Is she out there scared and homeless? “When did she leave? She didn’t come home. Where did she go?”
"She was discharged six days ago. The doctors wanted to keep her longer, but I hate to say it… We were short on beds and couldn’t hold her against her will. It looks like she was given a list of places that could help her."
“I don’t have a pen. Let me—”
"I’m going to send the list to you. And remember, I'm only telling you this because I know you personally."
"I owe you for this, big time."
"Actually, I don't want to ever speak of it again. I'm violating all kinds of hospital policy."
"Got it."
"In certain cases, the hospital will inform women of safe places they can go instead of going home. It's usually for unsafe home environments, but since she didn't know where she lived or if it was safe—"
"Perfect. Send the list." Every second wasted is time she doesn’t know that she’s loved.
"I want to help you find your sister, but I don't want this coming back to haunt me."
"It won't, I promise."
I hang up and rush back to Toby. "It looks like she has amnesia, and we've got some leads as to where she might be."
Anguished relief torments Toby's expression. "Let's go save Nikki."