My Bully Became My Stepbrother

Riley

If David — my father, the man who has never once stopped giving orders — hadn't sent me three texts in a row during fifth-period history, I would never have left club early to go home.

"Come straight home after school. You're meeting Victoria today."

Those were his exact words.

Victoria. The fiancée he'd been dating for six months, the one about to move into our house.

I sighed, shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and headed home along the familiar streets.

The afternoon sun was blinding, and the suburbs were so quiet that the only thing I could hear was my own Converse crunching up the gravel driveway.

I turned into our yard and was just about to dig out my keys when I stopped dead.

David's black Ford SUV was parked at an angle on the driveway.

The engine was off, but the car was — rocking. Rhythmically.

For a second or two my brain went completely blank.

Then I heard it: a stifled, wet, sticky sound of breathing, drifting out through the gap of a window that hadn't been rolled all the way up.

God.

My stomach lurched, and embarrassment and disgust slammed into me at once.

My father and my soon-to-be stepmother, in broad daylight, doing it in the car on our own driveway?

I stopped breathing. The only thought in my head was to get the hell out of there.

I stepped back, meaning to slip away the way I'd come, without a sound.

My back hit something hard and fleshy.

Not a tree. Not a wall. A person.

A smell hit my nose all at once — mint body wash, a trace of sweat, expensive cedar cologne.

I gasped and spun around.

When I saw the face in front of me, the blood froze in my veins.

Jess.

Jess Holden.

He was standing right there on my driveway in that signature black leather jacket, hands in his pockets, looking down at me.

His sharply cut face held no expression at all, and his deep-set eyes were locked on me, cold, like some predator that had already picked out its prey.

He was our high school's star quarterback, and the one bastard in the whole school nobody was stupid enough to cross.

Worse: three days ago, in an alley, I'd watched him pin a guy against a brick wall and beat him until his face was covered in blood.

I'd panicked, pulled out my phone — which had no signal at all — pretended to dial 911, and screamed "The cops are coming!" just to drive him off.

What the hell was he doing here?

Panic wrapped around my heart like a vine and squeezed.

He'd found out who I was.

He'd followed me home. He was here for payback.

The SUV rocking behind me didn't matter anymore. I turned and bolted for the street.

I didn't make it half a meter.

A large hand, knuckles sharply defined, closed around the hood of my sweatshirt.

An irresistible pull came from behind my head, and I lost my balance completely, stumbling backward, my back slamming hard into a broad, solid chest.

"Let—"

I was just about to scream when Jess's arm locked around my waist like an iron band and pinned me against him.

He lowered his head, his thin lips almost brushing my ear.

"You'd better keep your mouth shut." His voice was low and hoarse, with a nasty edge of amusement to it. "Unless you want your dad and the woman in there to stop what they're doing and come out here to see what we're up to."

His breath fell across my neck and sent a shiver down my spine.

My jaw snapped shut and I swallowed the scream whole.

He was right. If I made a sound now, those two in the car would absolutely come stumbling out half-dressed.

Just picturing it made me feel like I couldn't breathe.

When he saw I'd given up struggling, Jess let out a soft laugh.

He didn't let go. He half-dragged, half-carried me back behind the huge oak tree beside the garage.

It was a blind spot from the driveway — a perfect place to hide.

The second we stopped, I shoved him away like I'd been electrocuted.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, my chest heaving with every breath.

I stared him down, back pressed flat against the rough trunk, both hands balled into fists at my sides.

"What are you even doing here? Jess, are you insane? Following me home?"

Jess didn't answer right away.

He leaned lazily against the brick wall beside him and slid his hands back into his pockets.

He looked me up and down like I was some kind of joke.

"Following you?" He raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself, Riley."

"Then how do you explain standing on my driveway?!" I demanded through gritted teeth, my mind racing, trying to work out whether yelling would get me caught by my dad first or have my neck snapped by Jess first.

Watching me act like I was facing down a mortal enemy only deepened the mockery in his eyes.

He straightened up and stepped toward me, slow and deliberate. His shadow fell over me and wrapped me completely in the weight of his presence.

"Your driveway?" He gave a soft scoff, dipped his head slightly, and fixed those deep eyes straight on me. "Listen, short stuff. From now on, you'd better show your brother some respect."

I froze.

It felt as if the air around us had been sucked away in that one second.

"What did you say?" I stared at him in disbelief, as if he'd just said something stupid in an alien language.

"I said," he repeated, one word at a time, that nasty grin still on his face, "show. Your. Brother. Some. Respect."

This was beyond ridiculous.

I laughed, coldly, looking at him the way you'd look at a mental patient. "Is this your new game? Because I wrecked your one-sided beatdown three days ago, you went to all that trouble to find my address and ran all the way over here just to make up some disgusting joke for me? You think I'd believe—"

"Riley?"

A familiar voice came suddenly from the direction of the driveway and cut me off.

My body went rigid.

Carefully, I peeked out from behind the oak tree.

David was standing beside the Ford SUV, hurriedly tucking the hem of his shirt into his belt with one hand while looking around.

His cheeks still carried an unnatural flush.

And next to him stood a blonde woman.

She was looking down and smoothing out her wrinkled pencil skirt, then lifted a hand to fix her messy hair.

Victoria.

"Riley? I can see your backpack. Where are you?" David called again.

Before I could react, Jess moved.

He stepped up beside me, reached out that solid arm of his, and dropped it straight onto my shoulder.

"What are you—" I warned under my breath, trying to shake him off.

But his grip was shockingly strong. His fingers even dug slightly into my shoulder, a hint that left no room for argument.

He half-wrapped his arm around me and walked straight out from behind the oak tree, into the sunlight.

"We're over here."