Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

It’s like watching two trains moving in slow motion toward certain collision. I know what my father is going to say before he even says it, but I just can't bring myself to believe it.

"We've managed to keep this out of the press, but we're planning to make an announcement soon. And the two of you have been shielded from it at boarding school. That wasn't intentional on our part. We meant to tell each of you over the holidays, but it just didn't seem like the right moment." He clears his throat. "And you should know first."

No, no, no.

"This may come as a shock."

That’s the fucking understatement of the century.

"Ella and I have been seeing each other for some time. And we're getting married. It will be tasteful, respectful of your late mother, of course. But it will have to happen this summer, before the major campaign push."

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m screaming the words inside my head.

I’ve just lost my virginity to my new stepbrother.

I'm completely fucked.





Excerpt from Elias, Book One in the West Bend Saints Series





Available on Amazon



River Andrews

Call me Cinderella. I’m a rags to riches story - girl from trailer park becomes Hollywood starlet. And I’m about to get my happy ever after.

That is, until I walk in to my house, three hours before my wedding, to find my rock star fiancé sticking his c**k down my sister's throat.

With cameras behind me, filming.

I’m running from the whole humiliating thing. I’m not prepared to run straight into him-Elias Saint.

He’s completely wrong for me-damaged, dirty, and demanding.

But once he touches me, I can’t walk away.



Elias Saint

Some people carry their wounds on the inside. Every f**cking step I take, I’m reminded of mine.

I lost my leg in Afghanistan. Since then, I’ve just been lost.

Now I’m going back to West Bend, Colorado, the place my brothers and I ran like hell to get away from.

And she’s hitched a ride-River Andrews.

A f**cking movie star.

This isn’t a fairytale. Happy endings don’t exist. And I’m no f**ing Prince Charming.

But, for her, there’s a chance I might be.



“Are you kidding me?” My voice sounded shrill to my ears, this weird high-pitched sound that was nothing like me. I wanted to strangle the girl whose voice it was. She sounded bitchy, desperate. This was not me. This was not the person I had become.

“River,” he said. He didn’t even try to take his dick out of the girl’s mouth.

Shit, she didn’t even stop blowing him.

I couldn’t see her face. Her blonde hair spilled down her shoulders and back. She was skinny under the little dress she was wearing, the one that should have hugged her curves.

It was my dress she was wearing.

I could see her spine in the middle of her back.

She was too skinny.

I had told her a million times she needed to eat more. But she'd always deprived herself. She'd say it was her fast metabolism, but she subsisted on crackers and diet soda. It was going to kill her eventually.

My sister had never been one to listen to me. She was a model, had been since she was fifteen. First it was catalogs; then she got her first magazine shoot; now she was doing runway. She was famous.

We were famous.

I was about to be more famous-the realization hit me as I was standing there. I was about to be famous for this. Nothing else. This.

It would be in the tabloids tomorrow. The tabloids loved salacious stories, families ripped apart by drama. And this was certainly salacious.

It was like everything stood still, like someone just pushed the pause button on my life, as I looked back and forth from her to him, my mind completely numb.

It was like I was watching it on television.

I almost laughed. There was a part of me that wanted to laugh. I could feel it, bubbling up inside of me, threatening to spill out.

Pretty soon everyone would be watching it on television. The camera crew was behind me, silent, the ones who were filming me for this piece, part of a live special tonight. They were waiting for me to react. Then they could capture it on film, right in the moment.

A woman devastated.

I wanted to cut off his cock. I wanted to pull a Lorena Bobbitt and cut it right off.

I watched his face, screwed up, his hands threaded through her hair, forcing her head down on him, pushing himself further into her throat.

I knew that expression on his face.

I was just standing there like some kind of idiot, watching him. There was a camera crew behind me, and the asshole didn’t even bother to slow down. He didn’t even break his rhythm.

Jesus H., he's going to come, I thought. She is going to fucking blow him, on camera, right in front of me, and he’s going to come.

And all of this will be broadcast on TV.

I didn’t even look at him as I walked past the two of them.

Traitors.