Chapter four
Russell’s Penthouse, The Level
Russell
Fury. That’s all I feel at this moment. My bastard brother is downstairs with the woman I want, and jealousy and rage consume every inch of my body.
She knew what she was doing when she walked across the room and draped herself over him.
It was deliberate, and a direct goad. A statement that she isn’t mine to have.
But if I can’t have her, I’ll make damn sure he can’t either. Our whole lives have been like this, brothers so close but always confrontational. That fact isn’t going to change now.
As I sit in my penthouse, looking over the London rooftops, my mind wanders to what they’re doing only a floor below me.
Perhaps now they are sitting down to dinner.
A meal my brother has put a lot of effort into, or Mrs. D has.
No doubt, Connor will have given her a single rose and taken her by the hand before offering her a chair.
He’ll sweet talk her, only the way he can.
Though my brother and I are both ruthless, Connor does a better job of hiding the jagged edges. My faults are stark and undeniable. They burst from me when I least expect it, all the parts of myself I hate. And every poor bastard I meet knows it.
My mind fills with images of him wining and dining with her.
They hold hands across the table as they discuss nonsense, both of them pretending tonight isn’t purely a fuck fest, that this is somehow dating like adults.
But I know my brother, and I’ve had plenty of girls like Samantha.
Neither of those backgrounds merge into meaningful relationships.
From the small interaction I saw tonight, it’s obvious there was chemistry.
However, incompatible liquids should never mix; they cause explosions, which result in casualties or worse.
Unable to shake the painful images from my mind, I stand abruptly then walk over to the drink cabinet and pour myself another glass of whiskey.
I watch the amber liquid splash into the heavy crystal glass, then immediately lift it to my lips, downing it in one swallow.
As I go to pour another, I give in to the niggling urge.
I place the glass back down on the wooden surface and make my way to my balcony, pushing open the sliding door and stepping out into the cold winter air.
The sharpness bites through the thin black t-shirt I am wearing, but I ignore the stabbing reality of my actions.
The ladder between my apartment and my brother’s below are only meant to be used in emergencies, and then only if absolutely necessary.
They were installed after the building was constructed outside of standard regulations.
But living the life we do, we always ensure we have an escape route.
As dangerous as it sounds, ladders at the top of a skyscraper may offer a safer route than being cornered by an enemy.
I stand, grasping the freezing chrome handrail as I look down on the lights of the city, trying to twist the current situation into a conceivable emergency.
I can’t. It doesn’t matter which spin I place on it right now, there’s no sane reason for me to descend from the fifty-eighth to the fifty-seventh floor hanging onto the outside of the building, but I won’t rest until I see what is happening.
If I see her with him, perhaps the visual reality will curb my growing obsession.
I step up onto the barrier, swing my leg over the rail, and place a foot on the cold metal.
When my body is fully on the outside of the balcony, I brave a glance down and my stomach flips.
Fuck, this is high up. My mind briefly wanders to what would happen if I let go.
How high up am I? I've never thought to check.
Thinking back on my knowledge of buildings, I know each floor is around ten to twelve feet tall.
As I make the calculation, I slowly start to descend the rungs, pushing the soles of my shoes against the slick grips.
Seven hundred—right now I should be around seven hundred feet in the air. If I were to fall, there would be none of me left. I’d be unrecognizable, merely a disgusting splatter on the pavement below. Plenty of people would celebrate the loss of me, very few would mourn. I know I’m not liked by most.
After what feels like an eternity, my foot hits the top of the handrail of Connor’s apartment.
Nervous of being seen, I slide off the ladder quickly and move to stand behind the half-closed curtain covering the glass sliding doors.
His living space, like all of the apartments in this building, is open plan, and I have a direct view of the kitchen.
My rage, which had subsided slightly as I scaled the skyscraper and calculated the distance between myself and death, reappears with full force.
Samantha is laid out on top of the modern kitchen island, her knees bent and open wide.
Long slender legs are hooked over Connor’s shoulders, and ankle-breaking black heels dangle down his back.
She looks to be wearing only a minute bra—I can see her plump nipples erect beneath the sheer fabric.
Waves of blonde hair I’ve imagined wrapping around my fingers lie across the dark surface.
My brother’s face is buried between her legs, his expression hidden by her thigh, but his tense body and firm fingers gripping her ass tell me he’s enjoying himself.
His subject's eyes are closed, but I watch on as she arches her back from the worktop, thrusting her pussy upwards farther into his face.
His fingers tighten and plump flesh spills around the edges of his grip, the skin turning a beautiful shade of pink.
He pulls her closer and she slides fractionally toward the edge, deeper onto his tongue.
I watch on in awe, disgusted with myself but unable to tear my eyes away.
Samantha writhes underneath my brother's touch, completely lost in the moment.
Her chin lifts and her eyes open, her stunning body spasming before my eyes.
The unmistakable sight of a woman reaching orgasm plays out before me.
I can’t hear the moan that escapes her lips, but I don’t need to.
I know it is one of pleasure. My brother rises from his position, wiping at his lips with his hand.
They smile manically at one another, and Samantha’s focus moves toward where I stand.
Unknowingly, I have moved out into the open. I’m caught standing like a schoolboy with his nose pressed against the glass watching a forbidden scene play out before me.
She doesn’t flinch; she merely stares back impassively as if I’m not there.
I take the opportunity to step once again behind the curtain, out of view.
Momentarily, I consider that she didn’t see me, even though I know she did.
There was no scream of terror—she just looked at me like all the times she has as I watched her dance, with nothing but pity and disdain in her gaze.
Having swerved an awkward conversation or beating from my brother, I take the chance to leave, scurrying back to my penthouse the way I came.
***
The Level Boardroom
Connor strolls into the boardroom the following morning like the cat that got the cream.
Sadly, I watched as he drank, and the reality increased my anger, which hasn’t dissipated since last night.
He’s dressed in his sweats while I sit in my full suit, ready to leave immediately after this meeting to head to our office in Canary Wharf.
We use the boardroom on the same floor as Connor and Harrison’s apartment for meetings that can’t be conducted in the office.
Perhaps the information being discussed is highly sensitive, or it most likely concerns a case that isn’t officially on our law firm’s books.
We meet here with men who support our other business dealings, the ones that can’t be discussed out in the open.
“Day off?” I snap as Connor walks over to make a coffee at the machine.
“Coffee?” he replies, glancing over his shoulder. “You sound as if you need it.”
“No.”
“No, thank you,” he corrects me. “Fuck Russ, who twisted your panties this morning?”
“You,” I mutter. “This is meant to be a business meeting, and you’re here dressed as if you’re lounging on the sofa scratching your cock.”
“Fuck off.” He lifts his mug from the machine, then walks over to sit down opposite me. The large glass boardroom table stretches out between us. “I’ll get ready once we’ve had this shitshow of a meeting, whatever it’s about.”
“Still got company?” I probe, unable to keep my questions at bay. The desperation to know whether Samantha stayed the night is fierce.
“No, she went home,” he says with a scowl, and I relax fractionally. Not staying over means things haven’t progressed beyond fucking. Once she spends the night, my position could become more complicated. Not that it isn’t already.
“Did your tongue action not satisfy her?”
The words pass between my lips before I can stop them.
His eyes narrow, but he says nothing. His response tells me that Samantha never told him about my snooping.
My confidence rises a fraction with his lack of knowledge, so I revert to my old ways.
“Maybe she needs a real man to make her cunt drip.”
He shoots to his feet and storms around the table until he stands above me. “Stand the fuck up,” he snarls.
“No.” His fingers take hold of my shirt collar and pull me to my feet. “What’s up, brother? Have I struck a nerve? Was your piece not satisfied with your performance?” We stand in the boardroom, nose to nose as he pulls me toward him. “Unsatisfied women have wandering eyes…and arses.”
My brother pulls harder on my clothes then pushes me back a few steps. Being taller and bigger than him, I could stop the motion if I wanted to, but I allow him his caveman moment.
“Never speak of Samantha like some cheap slut again,” he barks. “You’re not fit to lick her boots.”
“Possessive already, brother. She must be good in bed. That’s if you got the chance to find out. The little bitch has been holding out on you from what she said last night.”
I keep goading him, unsettled by his reaction to my comments.
It’s clear he cares, which makes my position even more precarious.
If I am going to pursue Samantha, I need to know what I am getting into.