Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Micah’s POV

Rule the Phoenix Club? Did this beautiful, arrogant man really cross an entire ocean, flying straight from France to this city, just to work in a place like this? What in the hell was hidden behind those massive doors? What kind of power did this place hold to draw someone who looked like he belonged on a European runway down into the gritty underbelly of our streets?

My chest tightened. I squeezed my eyes shut for a microsecond, trying to steady the rhythm hammering inside my ribs, but opening them only made it worse.

I watched him stand by the entrance, imposing. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing. The smoke curled around his sharp jawline before drifting toward me.

And the guards—those exact same brute guards who had looked at me seconds ago like I was something scraped off the bottom of their boots—were suddenly practically bowing at the waist. Their shoulders slumped, their faces twisting into pathetic, eager-to-please grins that made my stomach turn with a mix of disgust and envy.

"He’s the one the boss is expecting," one of them blurted out, his voice practically dripping with artificial warmth before he shot a vile, curling sneer in my direction. "Not that... trash over there."

Trash.

The word sliced right through me. Shame flooded my veins like liquid ice. I felt so painfully small standing there on the concrete, exposed under the glaring security lights, wearing clothes that felt too cheap, standing in a body that felt too broken.

I clenched my fists so hard at my sides that my nails bit deep into my palms, praying the sharp sting of pain would keep the stinging tears back. I refused to cry here. I refused to let them see me crack.

The French guy turned his head slowly, his dark eyes tracking the distance between us like he was examining an unsightly stain on an expensive rug. His thick brows furrowed. He dropped his gaze down my body—lingering on my worn shoes, my frayed jeans, my tense, trembling posture—before bringing his eyes slowly back up to meet mine.

There was no outright hatred in his gaze, which somehow made it a thousand times worse.

"I never thought Phoenix Club would accept losers like that to work here," he sneered, his voice smooth. "I thought it was strictly professionals."

Every word hit my ribs like a sledgehammer. My pulse hammered violently against my throat. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask him who the hell he thought he was, coming into my city and talking to me like I was air. But the reality was, I couldn’t move.

The second guard, eager to prove his loyalty to a man who hadn’t even given him his name, nodded in hasty agreement. "If he’s a thorn in your eyes, we will get him out of your sight..."

The guard took a step toward me, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel, his hands flexed like he was ready to physically throw me into the alleyway. My heart leaped into my throat. No, no, no. I can’t leave. If I leave, I have nowhere else to go. Noah will—

Before the guard could take a second step, the heavy sliding glass doors behind them hissed open.

The two guards caught sight of the woman stepping out into the ambient light, and they froze mid-stride. The cruel, cocky sneers vanished from their faces so fast they snapped straight, dropping their gazes to the ground as if looking at her directly might cost them their lives.

"Ma’am," they chorused, their voices trembling slightly as they lowered their heads in unison.

My eyes locked onto her. She was breathtaking, but not in a flashy, exaggerated way. She possessed a quiet, terrifying kind of grace. She seemed like the most normal, composed person I had seen at Phoenix Club so far—not that I had seen many people yet—but the aura radiating off her was suffocatingly powerful. She folded her arms across her crisp attire, her dark eyes sweeping over the scene with an air of mild annoyance.

"Has anyone named Micah come here?" she asked, her voice calm.

The two guards flinched, instantly turning their heads toward me like two panic-stricken dogs trying to point out a bone. Instinctively, my body recoiled. I took a sharp step back, my heel catching slightly on the pavement, my skin tingling with a sudden, overwhelming urge to run and hide.

Her eyes shifted away from the guards and settled directly on me. She simply evaluated me as she began walking in my direction, her heels clicking against the stone. Every step she took closer made the air in my lungs feel thinner.

When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate. She reached out, her fingers cool and startlingly soft as they cupped my jaw. I gasped softly, freezing under her touch. Her hand trailed gently down the side of my face, tilting my head first to the left, then to the right, scrutinizing every line, every shadow under my eyes, every trace of fear etched into my features.

A small, satisfied smile slowly spread across her lips.

"I see why Phoenix is obsessed with you," she murmured, almost to herself.

"What?" I muttered, the word barely escaping my constricted throat. My mind reeled, spinning out of control. Obsessed? What was she talking about?

"Come with me," she said smoothly, letting her hand drop from my face and pivoting on her heel to head back toward the entrance.

My legs moved before my brain could even process the instruction. I stepped up right behind her, desperate to stay in the protective umbrella of her presence. But before we could cross the threshold, the French guy cut across the walkway, broad shoulders swinging as he aggressively blocked her path.

"Hello?" He tilted his head, his jaw tight with sudden, volatile frustration. "In case you didn’t see me too, I’m here for Phoenix. And who the hell is that guy?" he demanded, his accent thickening drastically as his composure shattered into raw anger. He pointed a long, manicured finger at my chest. "Why is this peasant getting priority over me?"

She didn’t even blink. She stopped, staring at him with a deadpan expression that made him look like a throwing a temper tantrum.

"He’s none of your business," she said coldly.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto the two guards who were practically shivering in their polished boots. They flinched under her glare, keeping their chin tucked into their chests, dread practically radiating off them in waves. She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked back at me over her slender shoulder.

"Did these guys treat you badly?" she asked.

The guards’ breath hitched sharply. I could literally hear the quiet, terrified swallowing sound coming from the guard who had called me trash just moments ago. They were terrified of her. Just who was she? Phoenix had mentioned his assistant was coming to pick me up, but I hadn’t expected a woman who could make grown, muscular men tremble with a single side-glance.

I stared at the guards, my mind racing. A sick, chaotic wave of power washed over me. I could destroy them right now. One word from me, and whatever punishment Eve was capable of would rain down on them. But the fear in their eyes was too real, too pitiful, and a sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I didn’t have the energy for revenge. I was just trying to survive the night.

"Uh..." I stammered, lowering my head and shifting my gaze to the floor. "They... they were just doing their jobs. They didn’t hurt me."

"Is that so?" Eve asked softly, though her voice held no real belief. She slowly turned back to face the guards, her eyes narrowing into dangerous, icy slits.

"Look at him!" she barked.

Both guards snapped their heads toward me instantly, their eyes wide with sheer panic.

"Whenever you see him," Eve declared, emphasizing every single word with lethal authority, "let him in. Even if there are millions of VIPs standing in line. Is that clear?"

Wait. Wait. Wait.

My brain short-circuited. My heart slammed against my ribs so violently I thought it might burst through my skin. Is that supposed to be normal?