Stepbrother’s Claim

VALERIT

I'll never forget the scent of white roses the day my father sold my soul for the second time.

The first time was when I was five, and he let the Lazzarys rot in jail while he kept every penny of their empire.

The second time was today, when he forced me to smile as I walked arm-in-arm with him to an altar where his new wife waited… with his twenty-five-year-old son looking down at me as if he were already stripping me bare.

Jaxon Lazzary.

The sole survivor of the family that my father destroyed.

My new stepbrother.

And the man who swore, ever since he was eight, that one day he would make me pay.

I felt it in the way his black eyes scanned me as I stepped out of the Rolls-Royce this morning.

It wasn't desire.

It was hunger.

The kind that leaves a trail of bodies.

I look at myself in the mirror of the bridal suite. The bridesmaid dress is a pale pink, demure, and virginal shade. Ironically, the last time I was a virgin was before Jaxon Lazzary came into my life six hours ago.

Now I don't even know what I am anymore.

All I know is that I'm trembling.

And not exactly from fear.

—Ready, sweetheart?— My father comes in without knocking, as always. He adjusts his tie with fingers that tremble with excitement or guilt. I've never been able to tell the difference.

I smile with all the teeth they taught me as a child.

—I've never been more ready for anything, Dad.

He kisses my forehead and offers me his arm.

I take it.

Because I'm still the obedient daughter.

Because the real game hasn't started yet.

JAXON

I watch her come down the garden steps, and I feel exactly the same thing I felt when I was eight, and I learned that her father had signed the order that killed mine.

Only now that rage doesn't just rise to my brain. It goes straight down to my cock.

Valerit Van.

Twenty-two years old.

Porcelain skin, a mouth made for sucking sin, and green eyes that could make a man slit his wrists just to see her smile.

For years, I planned to kill her.

Then I planned to destroy her.

And now… now I just want to fuck her until she forgets her own last name and can only scream mine.

She's on the arm of my father's killer, smiling as if she doesn't know that I know everything.

As if she doesn't know that I've been waiting seventeen years for this exact second.

My mother (bless her blind soul) squeezes my shoulder.

—Isn't your new little sister beautiful, darling?"

I look Valerit straight in the eye as I answer:

—She's fucking perfect.

My mother laughs, thinking it's a compliment.

Valerit doesn't.

She pales a shade. Just a shade. But I see it.

And I get an erection right there, in front of three hundred guests and a priest.

VALERIT

The ceremony is a charade of hypocrisy with bouquets that cost five thousand dollars.

When it's time for the family photos, my father literally shoves me toward Jaxon.

—Come on, kids, hug your new family.

Jaxon wraps an arm around my waist that feels like it's made of steel and hatred.

His fingers dig right above my hip bone, in that exact spot where no one can see the bruise he's going to leave tomorrow.

He leans close to my ear. His breath smells of expensive whiskey and the promise of violence.

—Smile, little sister. Today is the happiest day of our lives.

The camera clicks.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

And in each of those photos, I smile like the good girl I no longer am.

And he looks at me like he's already fucking me against the altar.

JAXON

The reception is a circus of fake smiles and champagne that costs more than a teacher's annual salary.

I dance with my mother.

I dance with my enemy's new wife.

And when the slow song everyone's waiting for comes on, Valerit's father literally shoves her into my arms.

—Take care of your little sister, Jaxon.

He says it jokingly.

I don't laugh.

Valerit tries to keep a polite distance.

I pull her close until she feels exactly how hard I am for her.

—Does this turn you on?— she whispers through gritted teeth, still smiling for the cameras. —Knowing your mother's watching?

I lower my hand three centimeters. Right to the top of her ass.

I squeeze.

—More than I should, yes.

She tenses.

But she doesn't pull away.

And that's when I understand everything:

She's sick too.

Only she hasn't admitted how much yet.

VALERIT

When the night ends, I'm trembling with rage and something far more dangerous.

I go up to the suite I've been assigned in the Lazzary mansion (because, of course, I live here now).

I lock the door.

I kick off my heels. I unbutton my dress.

And then I see it.

A tiny red dot in the upper corner of the ceiling.

It blinks every three seconds.

A camera.

My heart stops.

Then it beats so hard I think it's going to break my ribs.

I stay still for a second. Two. Three.

And then, very slowly, I look up and stare directly into the lens.

I smile.

Sweet.

Slow.

Pure poison.

I unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor like dead skin.

I'm wearing only a white lace thong and the pearl necklace my father gave me this morning.

I turn my back to the camera.

I bend down to pick up my dress.

I know exactly what you're seeing.

And I know exactly who's watching.

JAXON

In my room, across the hall, my screen is split into twelve windows.

Eleven are empty.

The twelfth… fuck.

Valerit runs her hands through her wet hair.

She turns back to the camera and, with two fingers, gives me the middle finger.

Then she walks barefoot to the bathroom, unhurried, swaying that ass I'm going to bite until it bleeds.

She steps into the shower.

The steam starts to rise.

And my hand is already inside my pants.

Because this isn't revenge anymore.

This is war.

And we've both just fired the first shot.

VALERIT

I let the water run down my back as punishment.

I close my eyes.

And I touch myself.

Not because I want to.

But because I know he's watching.

And I want him to suffer.

I want him to writhe.

I want him to go crazy knowing that he'll never, ever, truly have me.

My fingers slide between my lips.

A gasp escapes me.

And another.

And another.

I lean against the marble wall.

I bite my lip until it tastes like blood.

And when the orgasm washes over me, I involuntarily scream his name.

"Jaxon..."

The water washes everything away.

But not the camera.

JAXON

I come in my own hand, watching her melt, screaming my name.

And it's still not enough.

It will never be enough.

I save the video in a folder simply called "MINE."

Triple encryption.

Cloud copy.

USB copy hidden in the safe.

Then I print out the best shot: her head thrown back, lips parted, fingers between her legs.

I write on the back with a black marker:

Welcome home, little sister.

This is just the beginning.

I'm watching you.

Always.

— J.

And one last line that makes my own handwriting tremble:

The next time you come screaming…

It's going to be with my cock inside you and my hand on your throat.

I slip the photo and note under her door at 3:17 a.m.

And I stay there, leaning against the hallway wall, listening as she picks it up.

I hear her breathing quicken.

I hear the paper crumple in her fist.

And I hear, crystal clear, the muffled groan she lets out when she reads my name.

I smile in the darkness.

Good night, Valerit.

Sleep well.

I'm not going to sleep a wink all fucking night.