Claimed by my Stepbrothers

The iron gates of the Blackwood estate didn’t just swing open; they felt like the jaws of a predator yawning wide, waiting for me to step inside. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the taxi window, my breath fogging the view of the manicured lawns that stretched out like an endless velvet carpet. My knuckles were white as I gripped the handle of my battered suitcase—the only thing I had left of a life that had been incinerated the moment my mother’s heart stopped beating. "You okay back there, kid?" the driver asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "I’m fine," I lied. My voice sounded thin, brittle. I wasn't fine. I was an intruder. I was the "accident" my father had hidden for nineteen years, now forced into the light because the lawyers said he had a "moral obligation" to take me in. The taxi came to a halt in front of a mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home. Stone pillars, dark windows, and a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. I paid the driver in my last few twenties and stood on the gravel, feeling smaller than I ever had in my life. I didn't even get a chance to knock. The massive oak door swung inward, and a man stood there. He wasn't my father. He was younger, broader, and radiated a kind of cold authority that made the air in my lungs turn to ice. Liam. He didn't smile. He didn't offer to help with my bag. He just stood there, draped in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my mother’s hospital bills, watching me with eyes that were the color of a winter sea. "So," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The little stray finally arrived." "I'm not a stray," I snapped, my pride flickering to life even though my knees were shaking. "I’m khylie." Liam took a slow step toward me, invading my personal space until I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He smelled like expensive sandalwood and something sharp—like a storm about to break. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face. His touch wasn't kind; it was possessive. A claim before a single word of welcome had been spoken. "In this house, you’re whatever I say you are," he whispered. "Let her through, Liam. You’re scaring the prize before we even get to play with it." A second figure emerged from the shadows of the foyer. This one was leaner, with messy dark hair and a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. He had a jagged scar running along his jawline and a leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. Jax. "She’s smaller than in the pictures," Jax mused, circling me like a shark. "Looks breakable. Do you think she’ll break, Liam?" "I think she'll try not to," a third voice joined in. I turned my head to see a man sitting on the wide stone railing of the staircase. He was holding a book, but he wasn't reading. He was staring at me with a terrifyingly calm intensity. Roman. He was the quiet one, the one who looked like he was cataloging every fear written on my face. "Welcome home, little sister," Roman said, the word sister sounding like a filthy joke on his tongue. I backed away, but I bumped right into Liam’s solid chest. His hands came down on my shoulders, heavy and warm, pinning me in place. "Rule number one, Khylie, Liam murmured in my ear, his breath sending a shiver of pure terror—and something far more confusing—down my spine. "We aren't your brothers. We aren't your friends. You are here because we allow it. And in this house, everything belongs to us." He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching the shell of my ear. "Especially you." I looked from Liam to Jax to Roman. Three kings. One throne. And I was the girl who had just walked into their trap with nowhere left to run. My father was nowhere to be seen. I realized then that he hadn't brought me here to be a daughter. He had thrown me to the wolves to keep them fed. "I want to go to my room," I managed to whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Jax laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "Your room? Princess, you’re mistaken. You don’t have a room. You have a cage. And we’re the ones with the keys." Liam’s grip tightened on my shoulders for a split second before he let go, gesturing into the dark, cavernous hallway. "Go on then," Liam said, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made me want to bolt back to the taxi. "Run along. Hide. Lock the door if it makes you feel better." He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "But remember... we own the locks."