Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Damon’s POV

HOLY SHIT.

What in the absolute hell did I just listen to? Was I even supposed to be hearing any of this insanely high-level, dark-web political conspiracy?

My mind was reeling, but my issue was the heavy, lethal arm still pinned across my chest and the iron palm clamped over my lower face. Noah was holding me so tightly against his chest in the pitch-black locker room that we looked like a pair of twisted lovers hiding in a closet.

Disgusted, I wiggled violently out of his grip. Noah instantly whipped his head toward me, his icy eyes flashing with a silent, lethal promise of slaughter if I made a single noise. I just rolled my eyes, tilted my head toward the glass door, and kept listening.

Who could have guessed these high-ranking elites actually wanted the university’s saintly golden boy dead? Even his own father—or rather, his adopted pastor father—was in on it. I didn’t know the full, bloody backstory yet, but this entire situation was straight-up fucked up.

"Fine, I will find a proper way to eliminate him soon," Pastor Bernard’s voice echoed off the ice, cold and defensive as he tried to pacify the restless crowd.

"Soon? How soon, Bernard?" one of the wealthy businessmen sneered.

"Have you grown so soft and attached to that adopted freak that you’re ignoring the threat to your own blood son?" another mocked. A few quiet, cruel chuckles rippled through the group, though Pastor Bernard and the Prime Minister remained dead silent.

"I said I will deal with it!" Bernard snapped, his holy composure slipping into visible irritation. "Let us focus on the primary reason we gathered here tonight."

He turned toward the Prime Minister, whose posture was stiff with agonizing grief and rage.

"We slaughtered every single member of the Whitney family and wiped out the rest of the Phantom Group sixteen years ago," Bernard continued smoothly. "Who could possibly be left alive to seek revenge now?"

"Is there anyone left from that bloodline at all, besides Miller’s fake son?" the grey-haired man pressed.

"Noah Miller is the absolute star of the university," the Vice Chancellor spoke up, her voice smooth and dismissive. "The boy is a model student, constantly swamped with athletic training and academic duties. There is zero possibility he has the time, resources, or mind to pull off something like this."

"Then if it isn’t him, WHO THE HELL IS DOING THIS?!" the Prime Minister roared, his voice bouncing off the empty bleachers like thunder.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the group. No one had an answer.

"Whatever their objective is," the Prime Minister growled, catching his breath, "we know they won’t stop until every single one of us is six feet under. We need to stay vigilant."

"Could it be the Silver family?" a woman asked cautiously.

"Silver is completely uninvolved with the old Phantom Group," someone scoffed. "That arrogant bastard doesn’t even have time for his own family, let alone hunting down old ghosts."

A collective sigh of relief washed through the group. The Vice Chancellor pulled out her glowing phone, glanced down at a notification, and let out a weary breath. "I have an urgent matter to attend to on campus. I’ll be taking my leave first."

"No, we are concluding this meeting now anyway," the Prime Minister declared flatly. "Tomorrow is my daughter’s funeral. The moment she is in the ground, Plan Mayor officially commences."

The conspirators nodded in silent agreement, turning on their heels and dispersing toward the side exits. The heavy double doors slammed shut with a echoing thud, and the single overhead light abruptly shut off, plunging the entire arena into absolute darkness.

I exhaled deeply, pulling back from the glass window. My brain was completely fried. Phantom Group? Plan Mayor? And my own father being casually dragged into their conversation? Just who the hell were these people, and what kind of war was brewing under the surface of this city?

I turned around in the dark to face Noah, opening my mouth to grill him for answers, but the look on his face told me he wouldn’t share a damn thing. He was staring down at his smartwatch, his long fingers flying across the touch screen in a blur of swift motions.

He tapped at the screen for a full, tense minute while I stood there waiting. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

"You should leave," he said, his tone dropping back to its usual flat, emotionless tone as he turned away. "And forget every single word you heard here tonight. If Micah finds out even a fraction of this... I will kill you."

I almost laughed out loud. This bastard had threatened my life so many times in the last twenty-four hours that the fear had completely worn off.

"I won’t breathe a word to Micah," I replied smoothly, crossing my arms over my chest. "But what’s the actual plan here?"

Noah’s brow furrowed, a faint glare settling on his face. "What plan?"

"What are you going to do to those monsters?" I asked, tilting my head toward the empty ice rink.

"It’s none of your business," Noah muttered coldly. "I only dragged you along so that if we got cornered, they wouldn’t dare pull a trigger with a Silver heir in the room."

My jaw practically hit the floor as the realization hit me. "I was a fucking human shield? I can’t believe I got used like a piece of collateral!" I placed a dramatic hand over my heart.

Noah rolled his eyes in supreme disgust and went right back to scrolling through his screen.

I leaned against the lockers, staring at his sharp, unreadable profile in the faint ambient light. I already knew pieces of Noah’s history, but seeing the full scope of his dark reality changed everything. I used to want to uncover his secrets just to drag him off his high horse and steal his title at school. But now? I didn’t give a damn if he slaughtered every single one of those elite bastards. They had butchered his birth family. It was pure, unadulterated revenge.

Wait...

My mind suddenly pulled a sharp handbrake. Noah had already executed the Prime Minister’s daughter. But... he wasn’t planning on hurting Pastor Miller’s other son, was he? He wouldn’t lay a single filthy finger on Micah... right?

I searched his eyes in the dark, watching the subtle, possessive flicker that always appeared whenever Micah’s name was brought up.

No. Never. Noah would tear the world apart before he let a hair on Micah’s head be harmed. The sick truth was, Noah loved Micah even more than I did.

Wait a minute... even more than I do?

The thought slammed into my chest like a freight train. My breath hitched, my whole body going completely still. Do I... do I actually love Micah?

Before I could stop it, a scalding, unstoppable flush exploded across my neck and cheeks. Memories of last night flooded my brain... the feeling of Micah’s soft, trembling body pressed against mine, the warmth of his hands, his wide, breathless eyes looking up at me on the bed...

"What the fuck are you thinking about so much that it’s making you hard like an idiot?" Noah’s sharp, lethal voice shattered my romantic daydream.

My eyes snapped open, and I violently averted my gaze, desperately trying to hide the humiliating heat burning up my face.

"It’s none of your damn business!" I snapped, clearing my throat as I backed toward the door. "I’m heading home. My father is returning tonight, and I have much better things to do... like spending quality time with Micah."

Noah’s face instantly twisted into pure, murderous fury. He reached down, grabbed a heavy, steel-bladed ice skate from the ground, and reeled his arm back to hurl it straight at my head.

"You bastard—!"

I sprinted out the door and slammed it shut behind me just in time. CRACK! The heavy skate collided violently with the thick glass panel, spiderwebbing the surface instantly.

"Crazy psycho!" I yelled through the cracked glass, not waiting around for him to burst through the door.

I jogged out of the arena, jumped into my car, and drive out of the lot. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, my heart hammering against my ribs at a terrifying speed. Whatever twisted bloodbath Noah was planning for Pastor Miller and his elite circle, I wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, I’d willingly lend the bastard a hand.

After all... he was technically going to be my brother-in-law, wasn’t he?

"Brother-in-law?!" I yelled out loud to the empty car.

Overwhelmed by the utter absurdity of my own thoughts, I violently slammed my forehead against the steering wheel at a red light, pounding my fist uselessly against my thigh.

Fuck. I am completely screwed.