Stepbrother Reunion: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Read online

  The two of them shoved me inside the back of the truck among several big drums of what I assumed was the gasoline they planned to use in their sabotage plan. Rob held my arms out in front of me while the other man wrapped several feet of duct tape around my wrists.

  "What the fuck, Leanna?" Rob was growling at me, "What the fuck are you doing down here?"

  I should have been terrified, but somehow the only emotion I could find inside myself was anger. I couldn't believe I had ever thought of this man as worthy of my admiration. This was beyond anything I had ever imagined he was capable of.

  I forgot the trouble I was in at the moment and spat at him. "I'm here for the race, Robert. Remember? I work for ORI. What the fuck are you doing in Colombia? Trying to create an international scene, maybe? Blow up a dock? Destroy peoples' lives?"

  Rob sneered down at me, "You don't know shit about what we're doing down here. Just like you don't know shit about the planet or what this race is going to do to her."

  "You think people like Tristan Powell can go on with their races and their rallies and all their motor sports using fossil fuels and shitting on Mother Nature. You think he can make up for all the time he spends raping the planet with all those contributions to reforestation projects or wetland preservation?"

  Rob was working himself into a frenzy, his buddy climbed out of the truck and closed the big back door. While Rob continued spitting out his manifesto against Tristan the truck roared to life and we began to move, knocking Rob off his feet and onto the floor of the truck but not off his tangent.

  "He makes such a big deal about how his little rally raid is being 'as environmentally responsible as possible' and he gets all the press out to watch his fancy new ferries cross the Gap but he's gonna find himself explaining how his new ferries caused a major disaster in an area of such sensitive environmental concern."

  Rob finally seemed to have finished his rant and sat on the floor of the truck smiling up at me now where I still managed to keep my balance on a large box.

  "How do you expect people to blame Tristan for the explosion?" I was genuinely confused by Rob's plan, "Don't you think they're going to be able to tell that it was sabotaged?"

  Rob wrinkled his forehead, it was obvious he wasn't following me, "What explosion, Lee? What are you talking about?"

  He was listening at least, "If you use all this gasoline to blow up the ferry dock, it's not going to take a crack CSI team to figure out what happened. ORI isn't going to get blamed. They're going to trace it right to you and your credit card history.

  "You really think they aren't going to figure out what happened?" Maybe I could talk some sense into him.

  Rob had his head turned to one side slightly, he looked a little like a confused parakeet, "We're not blowing anything up, Lee."

  Now it was my turn to look confused, "What else are you going to do with that much gas?"

  It was clear he felt he was back in charge, "Leak it." He smiled up at me triumphantly as the truck came to a stop and the engine went off.

  Rob was up on his feet again, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me up as the back door swung open where the guy from before was waiting to pull me out of the truck.

  We hadn't been in the truck for very long so I wasn't surprised that we had only traveled a few block. I looked around and found that we had arrived outside a large warehouse very near where the new ferries were docked.

  The strange guy held onto my arm tightly until Rob was on the ground and took over again. I wasn't sure if Rob was in charge, or if it was just because it was Rob's ex that was causing trouble. They led me into the warehouse where they tied me to a chair "just in case" the strange guy told me.

  A couple of other guys were there and began unloading the truck.

  I guess I should have felt scared. I had no idea what they planned to do with me. It was obvious they couldn't just let me go since I knew who was behind whatever they had planned. Still, I was intensely curious about what Rob meant by "leak it."

  Rob was sitting near me, apparently in charge of guarding the prisoner while his buddies brought in several 50 gallon barrels from the truck.

  "You said you're going to 'leak' the gasoline?" I asked politely of my captor.

  Rob grinned as he watched his buddy then he turned toward me, "Yeah. Leak it." He said proudly, "Those ferries are going to be responsible for a major gas spill. Those leaky gas tanks of theirs..." his voice trailed off as he made a tsk-ing sound and shook his head in a manner that suggested he felt sorry for them.

  "Wait." It was my turn to be confused now, "the ferries' gas tanks leak? You mean you're going to spill 5,000 gallons of gasoline into Caribbean Sea and make it look like it came from the brand new diesel ferries?" It was a plan that could only be hatched by true lunatics. It made no sense. They obviously hadn't done their homework on this and now I was tied to a folding metal chair in a Colombian warehouse with my wrists bound in 17 feet of duct tape with a group of eco-terrorists who didn't have a fucking clue while Tristan was MIA doing God knows what or where.

  The gravity of my situation was starting to set in but still-- it took a good deal of effort to keep from laughing out loud.

  Rob's head was held high while he smiled like the cat who got the canary. He nodded his head affirmatively, "Yup. 5,000 gallons of gasoline, spreading along the coast line. That'll show 'em."

  "Uhh, Robert." I needed to go about this carefully, "The ferries are diesel."

  Rob stared at me blankly. I started to realize he didn't understand the difference. How could he have made it through college, worked for an environmentalist organization (crazy though they may have turned out,) and generally been such an advocate for the environment without learning the difference between gasoline and diesel at some point?

  "Yeah. So?" Rob was looking at me suspiciously.

  "ROB!" The tone of my voice surprised me, "You are going to pour leaded gasoline into the ocean?! What the fuck, Rob? Don't you know what that's going to do to the coastline? It'll poison entire ecosystems!"

  He recoiled for a moment but recovered quickly. Suddenly he was bent over, his face at my own level only inches away from mine, "What's wrong, Lee? Worried your boyfriend Tristan Powell is going to lose his millions?" I'd never noticed how crooked Rob's teeth were before, or the sharp edge that made his nose slightly too narrow for his face. Maybe it was the lighting in the warehouse, but I didn't recognize the man who was sneering at me now, with his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "Worried that dear sweet Tristan is going to be indicted for a major ecological disaster in a foreign court? Why, he'll probably face criminal charges. Not to mention be held financially responsible for millions of dollars in damages." Rob smiled and gave me a vicious little wink while he ran his fingers under my chin as he stood back up.

  He seemed so triumphant. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe I'd ever thought I was in love with this piece of shit. Stupid piece of shit.

  Oh God, how do I get out of this? How could I stop them?

  "No, Rob." I sighed heavily, "I'm not worried about Tristan taking the fall for your stupidity. The ferries don't run on gasoline. You and your buddies are going to get caught. But I am worried about the environmental and economic damage you're going to do by dumping the gas in the bay."

  Just as I'd breathed my last statement, one of the other guys joined us. He overheard what I'd said and now he turned to Rob, "What the fuck is she talking about? 'The ferries don't run on gasoline?'"

  Rob gave him an exasperated look, "Who the fuck knows, Dude." He and his friend headed off across the warehouse floor, "She's just trying to stop us, ignore her."

  The other guys laughed and patted Rob on the shoulder as they walked out of earshot. I didn't hear his reply.

  Left alone in my corner of the large empty building now, I began looking around in earnest now, looking for a way to get out of here. I had to call someone and stop these idiots. The roll of duct tape was sitting on a box about 10 feet away, next
to it was a box cutter.

  I stared at it. Willing the blade to come to me.

  Nope. I was not a Jedi. No telekinetic powers came to my rescue.

  The floor was concrete, the chair was metal. It was going to take some doing to maneuver myself across the floor without drawing attention to myself.

  I was glad these guys weren't professional kidnappers. Their skills at tying up hostages could use some work. My hands were still in front of me, I was worried about getting through so much duct tape and getting it off without pulling most of my skin off with it, but I was pretty sure opening the box cutter and using it to free my hands wouldn't be too hard. They'd secured me to the chair with a shipping strap, also easy to cut through once I had my hands free.

  I looked across the big room, all five of them were busy arranging barrels and laughing and taking. No one was paying attention to me. I began my careful creep across the floor toward my goal, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  Surprisingly, I managed to close the gap in only a few minutes without making too much noise. I had the box cutter in my hands and decided to try to scoot the chair back to where it was so no one would notice I'd moved. I was so grateful for the little rubber stoppers on the feet of the chair.

  I relaxed in my seat and began sawing at the tape while I kept an eye on the sophomoric shenanigans going on across the warehouse.

  I felt like I'd been kidnapped by the Lost Boys of Neverland. Any minute now I expected Peter Pan to fly in, followed by pirates. I shook my head in a disgusted sort of amusement and kept sawing away at the tape.

  I almost had my hands free when I heard noise outside. Several noises, actually.

  The Lost Boys looked up, obviously taken by surprise. A voice speaking Spanish over a megaphone outside cut through the sudden silence.

  I only understood bits and pieces of what the voice was saying, but I was pretty sure it was the authorities.

  Then I heard an American voice-- Tristan!-- over the megaphone, announcing that the authorities had the warehouse surrounded.

  Rob and his friends all jumped into the box truck, the same guy who drove us here jumped behind the wheel. The truck roared to life and headed toward the still open roll up door at the back of the warehouse just in time to be headed off by another large truck blocking their escape.

  Before I knew it, the warehouse was filled with uniformed officers swarming the big room, pulling men from the truck, searching for others.

  Then Tristan was there, running toward me followed by two of the uniformed men.

  They reached me and Tristan finished ripping through the remaining barrier of gray tape while the officers removed the strap around my upper arms and jabbered excitedly at me in Spanish.

  As soon as Tristan's arms were around me again, I felt myself relax into that warm security. The day's events hit me suddenly and Tristan pulled me from the chair and lifted me easily off my feet, saying something to the officers in their native language as he carried me outside.

  ***

  A month later, we stood in the Las Vegas speedway, watching the last of the Rally contestants as they crossed the finish line. A husband and wife team co-driving a hybrid buggy that they had fitted with solar panels. They finished more than 3 days later than the contestant before them, but they finished.

  The stadium had been full 8 days earlier when the first racers made it across the finish line. In the week since, people had come and gone and the stadium was like a small city with its population ebbing and flowing throughout all hours of the day and night.

  It was filled to capacity again today, for the finish of the race and awards ceremony.

  I sat backstage and watched my Tristan-- this wonderful man who had come back into my life still in love with his temporary stepsister just like the 15 year old boy who had been so sad to say goodbye to me all those years ago-- as he stood at the microphone in front of 150,000 screaming fans and another hundred or so cameras lined up in front of him to announce the winners in each division of the race.

  He started with a short speech, thanking the governments and people of each of the countries the race had gone through, then acknowledging other sponsors and participants.

  Then he briefly referred to the "the trouble" in Colombia and the crowd went wild as he gave a short update on how the Colombian government was handling the criminals.

  "Now, I know you're all waiting anxiously for the awards to begin, but before we get to that I have a little something else I need to cover." Tristan paused for a moment and turned to look at me, he gave me one of his panty-melting grins as he continued to speak into the microphone, "By now, you all know my lovely lady, Leanna." He paused while the crowd cheered. He moved the mic away from his face and called out to me to come join him on stage.

  I scanned the crowded stadium from they safety of my backstage position and shook my head, but Tristan was having none of it. He came back and took my hand and led me to center stage, "Leanna, the whole world." He swept his hand toward the audience as he made our introductions, "The whole world, Leanna." All I could do was stand there nervously and smile meekly.

  Tristan laughed and brushed my cheek with a soft kiss and whispered, "It's all good, babes." Then he turned and addressed the crowd again, "I've known this lady since she was a little girl and back when we were kids," He turned and looked straight at me, "she promised that she'd marry me one day."

  My breath hitched in my chest.

  "Well, we ended up losing track of each other for a long time, and then Fate brought us together again."

  Oh my God! What was he doing?! My heart was pounding as I watched Tristan slowly sinking to the stage floor on one knee, his free hand sliding into the pocket of his khaki cargo pants. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. My knees were getting rubbery. Was he doing what I thought he was doing?

  Tristan was looking up at me, holding out a small, ornately carved wooden box opened to reveal a diamond ring fit for a princess. I could see his hand shaking ever so slightly as he held the microphone back up to his mouth, "Leanna Dalton," He was addressing me directly, "I intend to hold you to your promise. Will you marry me?"

  The crowd had let out a collective gasp when he had started to kneel. Now I was surrounded by the chilling sensation of 150 thousand people being deadly silent, awaiting my response.

  I couldn't imagining saying anything but "yes" but the word was lodged in my throat beneath the sob that was threatening to break loose. Tears began to well in my eyes and it wasn't until the crowd began roar as the stadium erupted in a standing ovation that I realized I was nodding enthusiastically.

  The loud thump and the sound of feedback as Tristan dropped the mic was distant in my ears against the audience's applause as it all faded into the background. Tristan was back on his feet, sliding the ring onto my finger and wrapping me in his arms, kissing me hard and deep as if no one were watching.

  I melted into his embrace, feeling safe and adored as always.

  *****

  Epilogue:

  Things move slowly in South America.

  The Guardians of Gaia stayed in the custody of Colombia for several months while Colombia, Panama, and the U.S. argued over which country they would be charged in.

  Colombia won on the basis that they were caught on Colombian soil, even though Panama argued that the crime was intended to be committed in Panamanian waters and the United States argued for extradition because all five of the men were United States citizens.

  It was an international press circus.

  Eventually they got their trial and were found guilty of a long list of crimes-- including my kidnapping.

  Rob and his buddies will be spending several years as guests of the Colombian prison system.

  They did manage to get the attention they'd been after although it didn't go quite as they'd planned. And they made several "world's dumbest criminals" lists for not understanding the difference between gas and diesel or how the ferries worked at all, as well as for their willin
gness to cause an environmental disaster under the auspices of preventing environmental disasters.

  They ended up becoming a worldwide joke, while Tristan's rally received worldwide attention for it's progressive methods of lowering ecological impact in such a controversial sport.

  Nearly 2 years after my adventure in Categena, I sat in the living room of the cabin we had purchased in upstate Idaho-- near the site of our first week together.

  I reclined in the overstuffed chair across the room from the fire place, watching the snow fall outside. Tristan brought me a mug of tea and set it down on the small table next to me and draped the lap blanket back over my swollen stomach, "We don't want the baby to get cold." He teased softly.

  "She's plenty warm, hon." I laughed, "we're both plenty warm."

  Everyone assured me I had timed my pregnancy perfectly, with my third trimester landing squarely in the middle of the winter. Now I understood. I yanked myself free of the blanket and handed it back to Tristan, "If you really want to help, you could rub my feet."

  "Oh, I'll rub more than your feet, Mrs. Powell." Tristan eyed me with a naughty gleam as he reached toward my thighs.

  I giggled and squirmed as he ran his hand upward. He knew I was getting to the point where I couldn't easily get away, and I knew I would never try to get too far.

  Here's a sneak peak at another one of Stephanie's sizzling reads:

  Stepbrother Hangover

  Oh Christ, who turned on the lights? I groaned and shoved my head under the pillow. I tried to shut out the light and the sounds of people in the hallway but it was no use. I was going to have to face the fact that I was awake.

  My head was pounding, my stomach churned.

  What the hell had I been drinking last night? Or, possibly more importantly, how much of it was I drinking last night?