FIERCED 3: Finale of the Stepbrother Raider Romance Series

Fierced

Book 3
in the
STEPBROTHER RAIDER SERIES

by

Stephanie Brother

www.stephaniebrother.com

© 2015 Stephanie Brother

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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FIERCED

Chapter ONE

After Rocco is forcefully escorted from the consulate by the goons in black, my father steps away from blocking the door. No need to prevent me dashing after my step brother. He's gone from my life, perhaps for good.

And I'm my father's prison inmate once more. How had I never seen it until now? I lived in a delusion of being precious first daughter when in reality I’m daddy’s puppet doll. While I'm of use as his campaign prop, the perfect child built by the perfect parent, I’m permitted the illusion of independence. If I can't be made use of then I'll be dumped in some rehab and my father will still come out looking like the caring, now suffering in anguish, parent.

I head immediately for the door. I have to get as far away from him as possible inside this barricaded fortress. Ironic that an embassy, meant to be a haven, is my personal asylum.

“We leave tomorrow at seven,” my father announces as he crosses to the security of his desk, the size of most normal people's bathrooms.

“I'm exhausted,” I say wanly, without much hope. “I think I may have picked something up in the camp.”

Daddy's terrified of illness but fat chance he's going to let me off with an excuse infection. I'd have to be terminal to get out of this gig. Even then he'd wheel me out for the press to gain the sympathy vote.

“I'll send the doctors up to your room right now,” Daddy says, not even looking up at me from his papers.

“I -” Oh, what's the point of fighting it? Any negation only makes him more intent on getting his domination kick. I'll see the doctor, who will say I'm fine and there'll be no choice but to go on this political press jaunt.

I walk calmly up the wide staircase, passing the security beef at every level and calmly enter my bedroom. I've been gone only a few days but it seems like years have passed and I'm no longer that bratty girl that lived in this childish princess room. I see this for what it is. I've seen too much of what other people call living.

And I know what it means to be a woman after the incredible night under the stars in the desert with Rocco buried deep inside me. He seared into the marrow of my soul that night. Over and over pressing all the way into me as though he wanted to climb all the way inside me, merge our physical and emotional beings and never let go.

“Never let me go.” Did I imagine his hoarse whisper in my hair?

“Never.” My lips had formed the word and repeated it now. I would never know another man as amazing in every way as Rocco.

In a short time he'd become everything to me and my life would be nothing without him. He'd opened me to real life in every way. In the solitude of my girlish bedroom, I hang my head, ashamed at the selfish demanding brat I'd once been. The white-canopied bed is piled high with packages. Monica had been shopping for our press conference.

I sweep them all off the white frilled coverlet onto the floor and throw myself down on my back. Hot tears of rage threatening. Will I ever see Rocco again?

Not one, but two doctors come into the room shortly after. The first takes my temperature and two phials of blood then steps away for the older geezer wearing a suit with a matching vest despite the heat. And yes, he actually has one of those weird watches on a chain in the pocket that's about as big as a mantelpiece clock.

“I'm Dr Palimpost and I'm just going to ask you a few questions,” the old guy says.

So just to make sure, my father has sent up the shrink as he threatened. He really is determined to ensure I go to Venice and play my part.

“Do you know where you are?” Of course I freaking know where I am. Why doesn't he just get to what he really wants to know. Not that I'll ever tell. They'd have to strap me down in a straitjacket and fill me with that truth serum to make me. I quickly wrestle that thought from my mind. My father wouldn't think twice.

“Can you describe for me your relationship with your stepbrother please?”

Not in a million years, dude. I have to cloak my mind like an alien spaceship and not let him discover my true feelings for Rocco.

“He took me out for an adventure, thinking it would be beneficial for my artwork,” I say as non-committal as possible.

“I see. But the description of events doesn't pertain directly to your relationship. How would you describe your emotional state in his presence?”

On and on he drones out the same question in different words, going round in circles hoping to catch me out in discrepancies.

“Would you say that your feelings for your stepbrother are love in a familial sense or a, er, feminine sense?”

Ha, so my father told him how I'd blurted out my deepest emotion for Rocco. Fuck, it came out before I could stop it, before I was actually aware of feeling it.

If I thought having Stockholm Syndrome would get me out of this bogus trip to Venice, I'd go for it. But I know my father will shut me up in some swanky institution from which I may never emerge until the streaks highlighting my hair are dull gray.

“You understand how concerned the ambassador, your father, is for you.”

“Yes.” Behind the doctor's bulky form, I catch a glimpse of myself in the huge gilt mirror – a picture of humility and contrition.

“And you know how important the support of loving parents is?”

“Yes, doctor.”

Because any rebellion will lead to internment.

“So no more running off to Africa and be the good girl your father expects you to be?”

“Yes doctor, I promise.”

He seems content with my act and the two bogus medics for hire leave me in peace. I stay in my room feigning a headache to avoid going down to dinner but no one notices. My father and Monica go out on the town, forgetting all about me.

Rocco

If I never step foot in that hellish embassy building again it will be too soon. Men like Lisa's father are the root cause of all the miserable lives in the world, using people to advance their own power.

After sleeping like a vampire in his coffin and waking refreshed I got that twitch inside. The one that always comes over me when it seems I'm about to be trapped in routine. Waking every day to the same boring tasks, the same monotonous life, even the same woman day after day, brings me out in hives.

Yeah, Lisa and I had fun. She got to experience real life, outside her small wooden box and we shared something incredible that night in the desert. Never in my varied experience had I entered that completely into the body and soul of a woman. But it's not in my DNA to keep going at it day after day. I need freedom. I need spontaneity. It's a vital part of living that I can escape the tedious security of knowing what's ahead on the road.

I almost stifled inside that rigid house with my imposed new family. Once I closed the door on them I could breathe again. There was only a small twinge of regret about dumping her back home. I rode the bike non-stop back to the port and straight onto the waiting ferry. I couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. It wasn't until we departed from Sicily, on the second leg of the journey that guilt crept into my mind.

What the fuck was that?

I never let regret take over my life. What's done is done and there's no point pining and whining over it. All's you can do is keep moving forward and trying to live a better life, not waste it mulling over useless guilt.

But there she was. In my fucking head the entire voyage. I was stifled, dragging for breath while sitting at the bar. I went up on the deck for the wide expanse of air and ocean. And there she fucking was again. Her soft hair blowing about in the breeze, laughing as the waves rocker her off balance and she caught at my arm for support. There she was, those wide enthralled eyes looking up into mine as she continued to curl her small fingers around my thick forearm. Unwilling to let go.

Never let me go.

I shouldn't have left her back there.

We had an unwritten but inviolate rule in the raider's club, something like the army guys live by. Never leave a man behind enemy lines. I could kid myself she was safe all I wanted but I couldn't hide the truth behind my own fears. I left Lisa back there, alone with him. Her asshole father. And my self-obsessed mother. The two narcissists joined in unholy wedlock would make everyone in their orbit fucked up in a very short time.

Monica had used me as her mini-man between her many husbands. And then some new asshole would come along and she'd fall madly in real love, claiming this was the one after about ten minutes of bullshit chit chat. I can't even count the number of husbands she's had. My father lasted seven and a half months– not even long enough to meet me. And between every jerk since then, I was picked up and tossed over like a puppet. My mother's little puppet boy.

I looked out towards Africa and there she was.

Lisa.

So serious about capturing the new world she was finally discovering. Capturing her images and presenting them so the world would take a little notice. Make some fucker give a shit about other people instead of lining up for the latest piece of shit gadget or the latest stupid shoes.

There she was. Talking to the women of the tribe and really listening, not just because she thought someone was watching. I watched her for long periods of time without her seeing me. Her small hands wrapped tight around her camera, huge eyes taking everything in, snapping small events, inspiring faces and imprinting everything to memory. I watched her making friends with women who had even less idea about her than she had about them and all the time, her beautiful, perfect body drove my cock into a frenzy.

She was in my mind, my body, yeah it's stupid but she was even there in my soul. I could run as far as I could but I'd never escape her.

I knew I was using her jealous outburst as an excuse to get away.

And I left her back there.

It was easier to run away like always. Easy to convince myself I had somewhere better to be and pointing the front wheel ahead to the open road is my reason. The instant I kick back the stand and the engine pulls out from under me, every tension flows from my muscles, I can forget it all and relax into my freedom again.

Chapter TWO

Lisa

I wake up in the darkest hour, covered in icy sweat and shaking. For a moment I'm back in the tent with the women around me before realizing I'm merely alone in my room, without the support and solidarity of the tribe.

I'm completely alone and Rocco is gone. And my biggest dread is for the fact that I'm never going to see him again. His constant traversing of the desert is incredibly dangerous and he could be taken by those guerillas any time. They may even be out waiting for him after his enraged rescue of me and beating of one of their own. 

Nausea rises and prickles rising the length of my arms make me shiver harder. I'm trapped here again after he showed me a way out and the passion I want in my life. The thought of him not coming back is intolerable.

When I come too again, light is pouring into the room where Monica has instructed one of the maids to open the drapes because, god forbid she might have to exert herself. The effort might chip her perfect nail polish.

“Up, up, up, your bath is waiting,” she says in that overly sweet voice. “Did you not try your gown for tonight? I had it sent over from Dolce.” With a flick of those fingernails toward the packages, the maid hustles across the room to pick them all up from where I swept them to a heap on the rug.

“Monica, aren't you upset that Rocco's gone, banned from our happy family home?” I murmur, unable to comprehend how a mother can be so nonchalant.

“Rocco's always gone, baby girl. That's his temperament. You however will stay with your parents for always now, won't you? We have so much to accomplish to support your father in his dream.”

“He has a dream?”

“He does now. He's planning to announce it to the world tonight in Venice.”

I stifle a groan. What now? I pray to all the old Gods of Rome that it isn't something that's going to require my doting presence for years to come.

“You know, I really feel unwell after our long trip in the desert. Could you not convince daddy to let me stay home this one time?”

“I wish I could, sweetness, but your father is already so concerned for your health. If you’re too ill to come on this most important tour, I'm sure he'll have no choice but to send you into a facility for a complete check up.”

Despite everything my stepmother really is a great actress. I could almost believe she's devastated by sorrow at being unable to fulfill my wish. An unpleasant clench in my gut however tells me that I'm going to be more of a hostage than before. Only now detained with the promise of endless deliveries from famous Italian designers. The maid is gawping at the sparkling purse she's just unwrapped from the soft pink box, covered in crystals and huge silk roses.

All I want is to be wearing the borrowed clothes Rocco ripped from me in the dark then personally dressed me in so tenderly as the sun rose setting the sand to gold. The only trip I want to take is with my inner thighs gripped tight around him, his body nestling back into my spread vulva sending spires of thrilling light up through my core. With my arms wrapped around the undulating iron of his abdomen, my breasts swelling to press into his back. Feeling the ripple of muscle every time he pulls the powerful bike back under his control like a wayward puppy.

I want him so bad it makes my inner tunnel ache with pangs of hungry need. My cheeks ought to pink up, standing here in front of his, our, mother while I imagine his perfect massive shaft sawing in and out of my pussy.

But I don't. Because it's the most perfect and natural thing that's ever happened in my life. And I won't let him leave it without a fight.

I need a plan. After I get through this nightmare party where a hundred journalists are going to ask me a thousand times if I'm delighted to be the daughter of a powerful man and a mega movie star, I'm going to find my way out of this bullshit charade forever. It won't be easy to accomplish, because of the security goons and the video cameras in every crevice but planning starts right now on setting myself free.

“I suppose my son showed you some excitement,” Monica says, giving me a strange delving stare.

Fuck, does she know? Can she tell from my face that Rocco and I got closer than she might imagine? She's giving me a look like the FBI suits, thinking they can force you into giving up your guilt. And then it occurs to me that she's jealous. She doesn't want another woman closer to her only child, her son, than she is. And the way she touches Rocco whenever he's close enough, I realize now it's more sensuous than motherly, the way she strokes her slithery fingertips across the rope sinews flexing against his smooth skin.

“He certainly did,” I say, relishing my moment of superiority over her even though I know it's mean.  I'm still mad at how uncaring a mother she is and why didn't she even try to protect her precious son from my father's expulsion? “I have some great photos to prove it.”

“Yes we saw all those,” Monica replies.

Shit, in my haste to get away, I left my laptop in my father's office.

“We selected the best pictures to make into a presentation that we'll show tonight at the gala. It will be a great boost to your father's campaign, the humanitarian work he's doing in Africa.”

What? What humanitarian work? I never heard my father once mention Africa and I know for sure he couldn't give a shit about the plight of refugees living in a camp.

“Those are my photos. You can't just purloin them to use for your own benefit.”

“Lisa, those photos are government property and I would have thought you would be glad to help out your fathers' cause. I'm surprised at how self-centered you can be sometimes.”

Monica's plastered-on smile morphs from one instant to the next into a turndown of disgust that would have intimidated me a week ago. Now I just stay silent and prepare for the battle to come.

Rocco

After hours of non-stop riding, whipping back against the wind blasting me in the desert, I can't go on. Every mile is more torturous without her body pressed into my back. It's like having the skin ripped off me and left bare naked raw, that's how torn up I feel that she's not clinging around my waist, pressing that luscious chest hard into me.

I keep going. Pushing on with a ferocious insistence, forcing the engine to its limits to get her out of my head. But she won't let go. I can't let her go. She's there with me always. The image of her lively eyes, that smiling mouth with the lips I want to suckle into mine and that compact sizzling bod. So strong and so soft, the embodiment of feminine.

Riding is empty now without her clinging to me more intensely that she needs to because she wants to feel my solid protection coursing through her. The only woman I know who makes a simple ride on a motorbike into an erotic experience.

She had every right to haul me across the hot coals of a firewalk for the way I treated her on the journey back to Italy. I gave her no choice, forcing her to return without talking to her and then I ignored all her attempts to make it right. I couldn't let her in. The very place I need her to be is the one I shut her out from.

And I may as well have locked her in a police cell by taking her back to that life with her old man. She can't see it because she loves her dad, especially after losing her mom so young. But I never had a father to exert control over me or to teach me the value of that role model. Doesn't mean I can't detect a selfish arrogant asshole when I see one.

Lisa

My father monitors me from the corner of his eye constantly during the limo ride to the airstrip. Any trust he may have once had in me is gone. Although now I'm pretty sure he doesn't relax enough to place confidence in anyone. He seats me in a chair facing him on the private plane so as to scrutinize me even while reading through the stacks of papers from his briefcase. Monica flips through Italian Vogue and folds down the corners of the items she'll later have her assistant tell the designers she'd like to receive as a 'gift'.

I open my copy of
Gone Girl
and pretend to read so as to avoid my father's stare and plot my future. I might, somehow, be able to get out of the Embassy by creating a distraction for the goon guards and disabling the cameras.

My problem is cash. Meaning I have none. My mother left me a trust fund in her will but that's tied to my father until I reach twenty-five. My expenses are handed over as I need them. Jesus, I've never been taught how to handle a budget or manage an income because whatever I need is provided after I've gone to politely beg for it. I may have everything I want but I have zero independence. My father has cleverly kept me his financial captive.

We land in Venice and a private speedboat transports us across the lagoon. Monica reclines in the center of the white leather banquette wearing a scarf around her hair and massive sunglasses, the epitome of a 1950s Italian movie star. When the launch turns into the Grand Canal, my mouth falls open at the opulent old buildings lining both sides of the water. People on the banks wave frantically at us and snap shots of the famous actress who is now my mom.

When the boat stops at the dock right on the Canal there are crowds more people craving an instant of attention from Monica and the security goons with us are busy with ringing her off from the clamoring hordes demanding selfies. This could be my best chance, to somehow slip away while they're busy taking care of Madam Moviestar.

My father is visibly irritated at the press of people who have no idea who he is. This is the first time he's ever been outside the spotlight of attention and he clearly can't stand it. He takes hold of my elbow more roughly than necessary to pull me with him inside the solid marble hotel lobby.

Check in is naturally waived and we're led straight to our top floor suites with balconies opening directly onto the busy Grand Canal. I have my own room but it adjoins my parents Presidential suite. No way out. Best I can hope is that the newly married couple will allow me to keep the double doors firmly closed.

“The hairdresser will be here in ten minutes,” Monica tells me.

She's glowing from the adulation of her fans. It's obvious she eats up the lurve like breakfast, which of course she never touches. She eats only once a day – the same thing. Char-grilled vegetables drizzled with a quarter tablespoon of the finest extra virgin olive oil. “I think we'll give you a nice updo.” Groansville.

“I'd rather wear my hair loose.”

A sudden image of Rocco wrapping a tendril around his solid finger floods my mind and makes me gasp. It's intense the feeling of loss without him beside me. My pussy clenches and throbs, reminding me of the loss from not having him push inside me as well. It's the emptiest feeling in the world. In the shortest time I got so comfortable with the safety of his presence, knowing he'd always take care of me. I felt so adored with Rocco, in a way I never had in my entire life. Until it all vanished because of my stupidity.

“Lisa dear, you could learn a lot about fashion while you're living here in Italy. An updo will suit the gown I chose for you,” Step-mommy informs me.

Whatever. I'll order pasta carbonara followed by tiramisu at dinner tonight and lap it all up in front of her.