Unspoken Vow (Steele Brothers 2)

I bolt out of bed and almost lose my footing as I try to rush to get to him. When I flick on the living room light, I wince from the brightness, but at least I won’t trip on any of the furniture.

Considering I could hear Anders through two doors and across the apartment, something has to be seriously wrong.

Lucky paces by Anders’ door and gives me a concerned meow when she sees me coming. God, she’s a weird cat.

I don’t hesitate to barge into his room, but the door is locked, and all I do is make a loud thud as my body slams against it.

The noises from inside the room quieten.

“Anders?” I ask through the door.

“No, stop! Don’t hurt me,” he wails.

What the fuck?

I push hard and hear the lock snap, to hell with the damage. The door flies open, making a giant bang against the bedroom wall.

Frantically, I check the room, thinking I need to ward off an intruder or something, but Anders is in bed alone. Long arms and legs thrash, while whimpers fall from Anders’ mouth. His eyes are shut, and his face is scrunched. It makes him look not only anguished but downright tortured.

I don’t even think before I climb onto his bed and kneel over him. My hands go to his shoulders, trying to get him to snap out of whatever nightmare he’s having.

My heart lurches and aches for him, and a weird protectiveness washes over me that I’ve never felt before. I mean, I’ve kinda been protective of my sister, Rachel, but she’s a force to be reckoned with, and there’s no way to keep on top of her. She’s her own person even if sometimes I want to lock her away and yell “Stop doing reckless things and I’ll let you out!”

Right now, I want to hold Anders and reassure him he’s having a nightmare, but he’s not waking up. The only light to fill the room comes from the living room, but it’s enough for me to make out his features.

After Reed all but confirmed Anders’ quirks are more than just a personality trait, I’ve wondered what that’s been about. It’s taken all my willpower not to research it. I’m a lawyer—I get paid to dig up the ugly parts of people’s pasts.

But I’m trying to be respectful here and get Anders’ story the old-fashioned way—by making him trust me enough to tell me himself.

I shake him a little more roughly. “Anders.”

He stills. His eyes fly open so fast they startle me, but it’s as if he sees right through me. Before I even have the chance to blink, something hits the left side of my face, and my head explodes in pain.

I fall onto my back next to Anders, but then a heavy weight climbs on top of me and another punch is thrown my way. At least I see it coming this time, and I throw my hands up to protect my head.

“Anders,” I yell. “It’s me. It’s Brody.”

“B-Brody?” he croaks.

The fight in him stops, but he doesn’t move from straddling my waist.

A few hours ago, the idea of being underneath Anders and practically naked would’ve turned me on. Now, with my head pounding and Anders’ whimpers ingrained into my brain, I can’t feel anything but fear. Not for me, but for him.

I slowly lower my hands but prepare to throw them up again in case Anders isn’t truly awake.

I’m so not prepared for what I find in Anders’ eyes.

Absolute horror.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I whisper and reach for his cheek. I don’t know why. It’s like a reflex or something. But it’s the wrong move, because I barely scrape his beard when Anders flinches. He doesn’t move off me though, and I get the feeling he’s using his body weight to keep me pinned to the bed so I can’t get up.

I quickly withdraw my hand from his face and put them up near my head to show him I’m not going to touch him.

“It’s me,” I say reassuringly.

“Brody …” It’s as if he’s trying to convince himself it’s the truth. “Fuck,” he hisses and scrambles off me.

I remain on the bed, feeling exposed as he eyes me from top to bottom. I’m only in my boxers, and even though he’s not checking me out in a sexual way, my skin heats.

“What are you … I mean … did I …” Anders’ gaze lands on my swelling eye. “Fuck.” He drops to his knees beside the bed, and cool fingertips graze my sore cheekbone. “I’m sorry. Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

My hand covers his. “Don’t. I’m okay.” I sit up slowly but refuse to let him move his hand from my face. “But, are you all right? You were having a nightmare, and you wouldn’t wake up.”

Anders’ skin flushes bright red, even in the dim lighting. “I … yeah, it was just a nightmare. I … umm, get them sometimes. I’m sorry for scaring you. I locked my door and woke up with you on top of me, and—”