Blood Brothers Read Online Free PDF

bitch! Where do you get off
treating me like this?” Her voice was pure venom. Madness reigned
in her eyes.
    Still nimble at thirty-nine, Michael pivoted
on his left foot, swinging backwards and then around. Letting his
guard down for a spilt second, he nudged her away from him. “Stop
this. Do you hear me? My daughter is in there. My daughter.” Though
forceful, he did not shout. He didn’t dare take the chance of
Christal overhearing, because if there was anyone he treasured, it
was her.
    “You smug son of a—”
    The slap echoed through the hallway. By the
way it stung his hand, it had to really smart on her cheek. He was
not the nicest guy, and he knew it, but he did not often resort to
physical violence. Leaving marks was not the thing to do to your
wife when she was the most respected socialite in the community.
Bad for business. Very bad, indeed.
    Stephanie did not react in a hostile manner.
In fact, all she did was sniff and cringe away from him.
    Michael considered saying something, but at
the moment he had no words. Instead of speaking, he started to walk
away towards the bedroom where his bags were already packed.
Miraculously, he still held the coffee cup in his hand. Only a tiny
amount had spilled. What remained, however, was only a swallow, and
he could see the grounds floating in the lukewarm liquid. He turned
it up, finishing it off. After all, as his grandfather had once
told him after finishing his own last bitter sip of coffee, he’d
paid for that as well.

    ***
     
    She’d left Christal alone in the kitchen.
There had been no other choice. If she’d remained there in the
hallway much longer, one of two things was going to happen. One—she
would have lost it and simply broken down, crumbling onto the floor
in a sad mournful heap. Or two—and the one that was all too
realistic—she would, in cold-blooded simplicity, have ended the
life of Michael J. Cole, and derived no small satisfaction from
doing it. Of course as tempting as homicide was at that particular
moment, the eventual consequences were not nearly as alluring.
She’d be sent off to prison, fighting off the admirations of much
larger and much more masculine females, while Christal was left,
albeit with plenty of money to secure her future, without either
parent. Those were the only two things keeping her from jumping
Michael as he strode away like he owned the world.
    It had taken her only a minute to make her
way to the opposite end of the house. Once there, she dodged into
her office. She had not had a real job in many, many years.
Business was not Stephanie’s forte, but she still maintained a home
workspace. As the executive organizer for every single important
social event on the town of Benedict’s social calendar, as well as
a chair on some local charities and a few other interests,
Stephanie, while not bringing home a paycheck, kept both ends of
the candle burning, as it were. And why shouldn’t she? With
Christal at school and involved with more and more extracurricular
activities, she needed something to fill the void that was her free
time.
    Mike’s office resembled his professional
attitude. Dark wood-paneled walls, mahogany desk, velvet wingback
chairs and sofa, and walnut table comprised the sitting area.
Custom built book shelves, framed photographs of Michael with his
clients and associates, and clippings of Michael’s business and
philanthropic undertakings adorned the walls. A generally stoic and
conservative look.
    Stephanie’s office, on the other hand was, as
one might think, much more feminine. Decorated in soft colors, the
furnishings were more for comfort than style, without sacrificing
beauty unnecessarily. All the wood was pine, near white in color
and highly polished. Low lighting and masterfully concealed
speakers perfectly plumed the classics like Beethoven and Vivaldi.
Her office didn’t have the pretentious frames and signed artwork,
she had chosen a simple cork board to pin up invitations