Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Micah’s POV

I was just a stray off the street! I was here on a stupid trial basis, brought in out of desperation, and yet here she was, elevating me above international VIPs, above arrogant men in designer suits, above everyone.

A hot flush spread rapidly across my chest, creeping up my neck and setting my cheeks entirely on fire. It was humiliating, overwhelming... but underneath the disbelief, a dark, dangerous thrill flickered in my chest.

Being protected like this, being treated as someone who mattered, someone who was untouchable—it felt like a drug I didn’t know I was starving for. My pride, so thoroughly crushed just moments ago, pieced itself back together with a strange, dizzying rush.

"Let’s go," Eve said, her tone returning to its businesslike chill as she walked past the stunned Frenchman.

I fell into step right behind her, my head spinning. Behind us, the French guy erupted into a string of furious, accented curses, yelling at the guards and demanding to know who I was, demanding to see Phoenix immediately. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one getting red-carpet treatment? Wasn’t he the big shot from France?

Well... I didn’t hate it. In fact, a small, wicked ember of satisfaction burned deep in my gut as I left him shouting outside in the cold.

We crossed into the lobby, and I squeezed my eyes tight for a second, trying desperately not to gawk at the first floor.

I tried to keep my chin up, tried to look like I belonged, but my eyes traitorously swept over the space anyway. It didn’t look like a nightclub at all. It was too pristine, too quiet, draped in dark marble, warm golden lighting, and high-end mahogany accents. It looked more like a five-star luxury hotel for the insanely wealthy.

A sleek, minimalist receptionist desk sat off to the side, staffed by people who looked like supermodels.

’Woah,’ I thought, my heart thumping nervously against my ribs. ’I’d rather work behind that desk than wherever they’re planning to stick me.’

She led me straight into a private elevator. The doors slid shut with a soft click. As the elevator began its smooth, silent ascent to Phoenix’s floor, the silence inside the small space felt suffocating. My hands were clammy. Anxiety, sharp and persistent, clawed at my chest again. Why was Phoenix doing this for me? What did he expect in return?

The bell chimed softly, announcing our arrival at the top floor. The doors slid open to reveal a massive, sprawling penthouse office overlooking the glittering city skyline through floor-to-ceiling glass.

Phoenix was sitting behind an enormous obsidian desk, framed by the city lights behind him. He was on a virtual video call, speaking rapidly into a sleek headset. The lady didn’t say a word. She merely raised a hand, silently guiding me toward a plush couch off to the side. I sat down carefully, feeling as if the soft leather might swallow me whole.

She walked over to a marble sideboard, poured a cup of steaming tea, and placed it silently on the small table in front of me. Then, she turned her cool gaze back toward Phoenix, waiting patiently.

"...of course," Phoenix was saying into his mic, his voice smooth, resonant, and entirely commanding. "Phoenix Club will be expecting you."

He ended the call with a swift click. The second the computer screen went black, the commanding, untouchable posture vanished. Phoenix let out a dramatic, soul-tired groan, collapsing backward into his high-backed leather chair. He slid his long, manicured fingers—adorned with sharp, polished rings—deep into his styled hair, ruthlessly messing it up.

"I’m so tired," he whined, his voice dropping into a dramatic, exaggerated sulk.

"Get up," Eve said instantly, her voice flat and devoid of any sympathy. "You have two more calls to go."

Phoenix lifted his head slightly, peering through his messy hair with a pout that looked entirely ridiculous on a man of his stature. "Eve, can you handle them? I’m literally dying. I’m exhausted!"

"Why don’t I kill you first before I handle them?" Eve responded seamlessly, glaring down at him with a murderous glare that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking.

Phoenix faked a pathetic teary sob, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. He slowly lifted his head—and his dark, luminous eyes locked directly onto me sitting on the couch.

Instantly, his entire demeanor transformed. The fake exhaustion evaporated. A sharp, brilliant spark lit up his eyes, and a slow, enigmatic smile spread across his lips. He clapped his hands together with a sharp thwack and stood up, stepping around his desk with fluid, dangerous grace as he walked toward me.

"Oh, my darling Micah," he purred, his voice dropping an octave, rich and velvety. "You’re finally here."

A knot tightened violently in my throat. "Uh, yeah," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the loud thumping of my own heart.

He stopped a few feet away, leaning casually against the edge of the glass table, sweeping his eyes over me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "Your trial week is going to start today, hope you don’t mind?" he said, his lips curving into a slow, tantalizing smirk.

I opened my mouth, a wave of panic crashing over me. I wanted to tell him how much I minded. I wanted to tell him that I was terrified, that I was way out of my depth, that I felt like a lamb walking straight into a lion’s den. But right at that exact second, a heavy vibration buzzed violently against my thigh.

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

It was my phone. In my pocket. A silent reminder that Noah was still out there. Searching for me. Texting me. Waiting to drag me back into the hell I had just escaped. If I walked out of this building tonight, I had nowhere to run. Noah would find me.

This club, as terrifying and bizarre as it was, was the only wall standing between me and total destruction.

I swallowed hard, forcing the fear down into the darkest corner of my mind. I looked up, locking my eyes with Phoenix’s, and took a deep breath.

"I’m ready," I said, forcing my voice to sound far steadier than I felt.

Phoenix clapped his hands together again, a bright, delighted sound that echoed through the vast penthouse. He spun around, turning his attention back to Eve.

"Get him ready, will you?" Phoenix instructed, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, unpredictable excitement. "Find his style."

My style?

What did he mean by that? What kind of game was I actually playing? And what on earth were they about to turn me into?