Chapter Thirteen
I nside Aubrey's house , Serge stood in the entryway. She hadn't talked to him on the drive to her house despite him telling her that whatever was wrong, he'd fix it.
For how much Aubrey loved to talk, she'd clammed up the moment the meeting was over. Then, shot out of the car when he parked outside her house and rushed inside, disappearing into the back.
He stalked through the living room, down the hall, and hunted her down. No matter what happened, she was taking it too hard. He didn't want to see her upset.
He walked into her bedroom and looked for her. Where the hell had she gone?
A toilet flushed. He walked around the bed and stood in the open doorway to the attached bathroom. Seeing her on her knees in front of the toilet, he reached her in two steps, leaving any irritation behind.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and gathered her hair behind her back. "I've got you."
Her slim body seized, and Aubrey gagged. His chest tightened as he took her weight while her body involuntarily fought against him and the contents of her stomach. He murmured words without putting any thought into them—utterly useless promises. He damned himself for not knowing what to do.
"Try to breathe through your nose." He smoothed her hair back.
Each attempt she made to swallow triggered a chain reaction in her body. At least she hadn't lost more of her stomach's contents. Her head hung forward as a shudder rippled through her.
Letting her hair down, he pulled the nearby towel off the bar and reached toward the sink without losing his grip on her. After wetting the corner, he pulled her back against his chest and applied the dampness to her face. He dabbed her cheeks, lips, and forehead until he sensed her relaxing.
When she no longer gagged and could breathe properly, he carried her into her room. He removed her clothes, pulled back the blankets on her bed, and settled her down. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting gently on her stomach.
His only experience was taking care of Alain when he was a kid. There were times when he and his brother ate rotten food that made them sick, leading them to spend all night and day throwing up until they couldn't even walk.
Aubrey kept her face averted and her eyes closed. He gave her time, not wanting her to talk in case her stomach rebelled again. Instead, he cussed himself out for jumping to conclusions.
He believed she was strong enough to attend the meeting with him, but he should've listened when she explained that she was too tired.
She hadn't run away from him. She was ill.
In the car, she hadn't ignored him. She wasn't feeling good.
He'd assumed the worst out of fear of losing her.
He had to remember everything was fresh and new between them. He'd failed to take care of her.
"Bree?" he whispered.
She continued to keep her head turned. "Sick," she mumbled.
"I know." He rubbed her stomach, hoping the action would permeate the blankets covering her and ease her troubled insides. "What can I get for you? What can I do?"
"Leave me alone." She spoke to the wall. "Sleep."
He frowned. "I'll stay."
She rolled her head against the pillow. "I'll be fine. Just want to sleep. Please...let me."
He, too, preferred hiding in a darkened room when sick and ignoring the outside world. However, he hated leaving her by herself. What if she needed help during the night or ended up getting sicker, and he wasn't there to help her?
No, he had to stay. Growing up, he only left Alain when he was sick if it meant getting them something to eat or filching medicine for him out of someone's house or the corner store. He hated those times.
He wasn't his brother's mother. The stone-hard fact that he was not the person responsible for Alain made his hatred toward his mother burn in his soul. Luckily, when he was old enough to do something about his absent mother, one of her pimps found her dead from an apparent drug overdose.
He hoped his mother rotted in hell for what she'd done to them.
His hand had fisted as memories hit him hard, and he forced himself to open his fingers to concentrate on Aubrey needing him. "I'll have someone bring my clothes for tomorrow."
"No." Her nose wrinkled, and she peered at him from underneath her lashes. "I'm okay. Probably a twenty-four-hour bug or something I ate. I don't want you to get sick. Go home."
"Do you want to go to the emergency room? Maybe they have something they can give you to settle your stomach and allow you to rest," he said.
"I'm fine. Really." She shuddered. "I just want to sleep."
"Aubrey," he said in an exhale. "I don't want to argue when you're not feeling well."
"Then don't." She closed her eyes.
Torn in two, he bowed to her wishes. "I'll be right back."
He hurried out of her room and found her cell phone. On his way back to her, he called his number and then hung up.
He returned to her side. "I'm putting your phone on your nightstand. Hit redial if you start getting sicker, okay?"
She nodded.
He felt her forehead, which was cool and dry. Good, no fever. He'd hate to make her take an aspirin when her stomach was upset.
"Promise you'll call me if you need me. For anything," he said.
She nodded.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Sleep. Don't get up. I'll lock the door behind me. Call me first thing in the morning."
She nodded again without opening her eyes. "Bye, Serge," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
With one last kiss to her forehead, he walked silently out of her room. He locked the front door and strolled out to his car. He glanced back at the house. He hated to leave her, but it was more important for her to stay calm and be able to sleep. If that meant being alone, then he'd give her tonight.
Tomorrow, they would need to discuss their personal likes and dislikes when faced with situations beyond their control. Sickness had pushed his needs aside, and he found himself okay with that.
He started the car and pulled away from the curb. He'd be the first to admit that he had no understanding of what she expected of him when she wasn't feeling well. Sexually, he was confident in his ability to keep her content and satisfied. Financially, he could support her. Hell, she wouldn't even need to work. Emotionally, he'd make sure he provided every need she had. Beyond that, he had no fucking clue what he was doing.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into his garage. Restless, he sat in the car, wondering how he'd gone from living alone without a care to worrying about Aubrey being alone in her own house. His discontent bothered him, and he felt an urge to call his brother.
He removed his cell phone and hit the contact for Alain. One of the first things he'd done when money started rolling in was to purchase a cell for his brother. He paid the upkeep for a promise that Alain wouldn't pawn or bargain with his only link to him.
"Yo," Alain said.
He closed his eyes at the sound of his brother's voice. "Hey."
In the background, the faint slapping of skin against skin came across the line. "Hang on."
The phone clattered, and the noises came clearer through the cell. Serge let his head fall back on the seat. Occasionally, a grunt from Alain and a ragged pant from whatever female his brother fucked tonight came across the line. His cock hardened and he thought of Aubrey. She should be here, in his bed, in his house, in his life.
The noises grew more impatient, needy, and hurried. His hand tightened around the steering wheel. The line between needing to violently vent his frustrations and wanting Aubrey's mouth around his cock blurred. One didn't win out over the other. Both relieved the tension and allowed him to feel.
He needed her inside his soul to understand the monster dwelling inside of him. Maybe then, he'd feel like he wasn't alone.
Or, she'd disappear from his life out of fear and disgust.
"Hey. You still there?" Alain asked.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Still using women, I see."
Alain navigated life one cheap thrill at a time, never caring what tomorrow brought him. Whether he died from an overdose or between the legs of a nameless woman, his brother remained pleased with his life. He was never a serious person, even as a child.
No doubt that was his fault too.
He should've taught his brother how to cope with the life they were handed. But he was emotionless to the dangers, and by the time he understood what drove him to the pain, it was too late.
"I'm sure you called for more than hearing me get my nut off, bro." Alain chuckled. "What day is it?"
"Sunday," he said.
"Jesus." Alain sniffed. "You in trouble?"
"Nah..." He stared into the darkness of the garage. "Met someone."
"Yeah?"
"Told her about my past. Explained some things to her. She's still around." Even to his ears, he sounded mystified, as if he hadn't grasped the reality of asking Aubrey into his life.
"No shit? You going straight?"
"No." His voice lowered. "I'll make her understand. I can't outrun my demons."
They both lapsed into silence for thirty seconds or so. There was so much history between them. They'd lived through, done things, and witnessed more shit than anyone would believe.
He said, "I just wanted to check in. Stop by the house this week. I have a job for you."
"I don't want your fucking job," said Alain.
"Stop by the house anyway." He disconnected the call.
The only one who truly understood him was Alain. He missed his brother.