The Brother's Web

Sleeping with the enemy

The beam of Julian’s flashlight wavered for a fraction of a second. That was all the private investigator needed.

Vance moved with the desperate, chaotic speed of a man who knew he was staring at his own grave. He shoved me backward, out of the direct line of fire, and threw his entire body weight against the thick yew branches. The hedges cracked violently. He scrambled over the manicured barrier, the heavy wool coat swallowing him as he dropped into the pitch-black darkness on the other side.

Julian didn’t fire. He didn't even chase him.

The heavy, unnatural weight in his tuxedo pocket remained untouched. Instead, the blinding white beam of the flashlight dropped directly to the freezing gravel, illuminating my bare, bleeding feet.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I quickly clutched my hands against my chest, slipping the cold metal flash drive straight down into the tight, plunging bodice of my silk dress. The freezing metal bit into my bare skin, a terrifying secret resting directly over my racing heart.

Julian stepped forward. The ambient moonlight caught the lethal, terrifying stillness in his obsidian eyes. He didn't ask who the man was. He didn't ask what he wanted or how long he had been holding me in the dark.

He saw my violent shivering, the scratches on my bare arms from the branches, and the sheer, unadulterated terror in my expression.

"Elara," he breathed.

He didn't demand answers. He simply reached down and swept me into his arms. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his thick neck as he lifted me effortlessly against his chest. The heavy scent of his dark bergamot and cedar cologne washed over me, intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

"I've got you," he murmured into my tangled hair, his massive strides eating up the distance as he carried me out of the maze. "He’s gone. You’re safe."

I am being carried by a murderer, my mind screamed. I am sleeping in the arms of the man who cut the brakes.

But I buried my face in his throat and sobbed. I let the hysteria take over, playing the perfect, broken victim, terrified that if he looked too closely into my eyes, he would see the absolute certainty of his guilt staring back.

We bypassed the estate entirely. Julian’s private driver took us straight to his high-security penthouse in the city center.

The doors locked behind us with a heavy, magnetic thud. The silence of the glass-walled apartment was absolute. Julian didn't take me to the living room. He carried me straight into the master bathroom—a sprawling cathedral of dark slate, brushed steel, and frosted glass.

He set me down on the edge of the massive marble tub. My teeth were chattering violently, my entire body convulsing from the freezing air and the brutal adrenaline crash. The flash drive was a block of ice against my sternum.

Julian turned on the brass fixtures, the steaming water roaring into the deep basin. He didn't look at me with lust. He looked at me with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness.

"Take the dress off, Elara. You are freezing to death."

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, protecting the drive hidden in the silk. "Julian, please. I can do it."

"Take it off, or I will cut it off you," he replied smoothly. He unbuttoned his tuxedo cuffs and rolled up his crisp white sleeves, exposing his thick, corded forearms.

I turned my back to him. With violently shaking hands, I unzipped the silk. As the heavy fabric fell to the slate floor, I palmed the flash drive, slipping it silently beneath the folded edge of a thick towel resting on the marble vanity.

I stepped into the scalding water. The heat was an agonizing shock to my numb skin, drawing a sharp, broken gasp from my lips. I sank down until the water covered my chest, pulling my knees up, entirely naked and utterly exposed.

Julian knelt beside the tub. He didn't look away. His dark eyes tracked the water droplets sliding down my bruised collarbone.

He picked up a sponge.

The scene dripped with a lethal, suffocating tension. This was the man who had supposedly orchestrated his own brother’s death. His hands were large enough to snap my neck without breaking a sweat. Yet, when he touched the sponge to my scraped shoulder, his touch was agonizingly tender.

"He grabbed you," Julian murmured, his voice dropping to a dark, dangerous octave as he carefully washed the dirt from my skin.

"He... he just grabbed me from behind," I lied, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "He didn't say anything. I couldn't see his face."

Julian’s jaw locked. A muscle feathered in his cheek. The pure, unadulterated violence swirling beneath his stoic mask was terrifying. He dropped the sponge and reached forward, his large, calloused hands sliding directly into my wet hair.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

He massaged my scalp, his long fingers working the warm water through my tangled hair. The sensation was paralyzing. A dark, shameful electricity shot straight down my spine. The vulnerability of being completely naked, trapped in the water, entirely at the mercy of a predator who treated me like spun glass—it was breaking my mind.

I leaned back into his heavy hands, closing my eyes, hating myself for the soft, broken sigh that escaped my lips.

Julian’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second. His thumb traced the sensitive shell of my ear, his touch burning hotter than the water.

"No one is ever going to touch you again," he whispered, the dark vow sounding identical to a death sentence.

An hour later, the penthouse was suffocatingly quiet.

Julian had wrapped me in one of his oversized black dress shirts and put me in his massive bed. He sat in the velvet armchair across the room until my breathing evened out, watching me with the unblinking intensity of a gargoyle.

Eventually, the sheer exhaustion of the night caught up to him. His head rested against the wingback chair, his dark eyes finally closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic.

I lay perfectly still for ten minutes. Fifteen.

When I was absolutely certain he was asleep, I slipped out from under the heavy down comforter. The hardwood floor was cold beneath my bare feet. I crept back into the bathroom, retrieved the flash drive from the towel, and padded silently down the dark hallway to his home office.

The room smelled of scotch and old leather. His sleek, silver laptop sat perfectly centered on the mahogany desk.

My hands shook violently as I opened the lid. The screen flared to life, casting a harsh, pale glow over my terrified face.

I plugged the black flash drive into the USB port.

Instantly, a brutal, red decryption window popped up on the center of the screen.

ENTER PASSWORD.

My chest heaved. I only had a few minutes. If Julian woke up and found me here, there would be no more silk dresses and warm baths.

I placed my trembling fingers over the keys. I typed Liam’s birthday. 0814.

ACCESS DENIED.

I swallowed hard, panic clawing up my throat. I tried Julian’s birthday. 1120.

ACCESS DENIED. TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

My blood turned to ice. If I locked the drive, the evidence was gone forever. What would Liam use? What was the one thing both brothers were completely, ruinously obsessed with?

My hands hovered over the keyboard. I held my breath, the silence of the penthouse pressing violently against my eardrums, and typed my own name.

E-L-A-R-A.

I hit enter.

The red box vanished. The screen flashed green.

ACCESS GRANTED.