Twice Claimed: My Bully

Chapter 1

AMARA

Six o'clock came, and I still hadn't figured out what to do with my hands. I kept lining my pencils up straighter than they needed to be, just to have something to do besides listen for the front door.

Then I heard it, boots on the stairs, taking their time on purpose. My mom's voice floated down the hall, way too cheerful. "Play nice tonight, okay?" I didn't bother answering. There was no version of "nice" waiting for me once those two showed up.

I never signed up to be the family savior, but here I was-stuck tutoring my two bully stepbrothers because their hockey coach had finally had enough.

Six months ago, Mom married Desmond, their dad. Overnight, our quiet suburban house turned into a testosterone-filled arena.

Kingston and Maddox Cole were identical twins, both twenty, both stars on the university hockey team, and both built like they'd been carved from ice and bad decisions.

Six-foot-three, broad shoulders, powerful thighs from years on skates, messy dark hair that fell into piercing green eyes, and smirks that could melt frost off a rink.

The only way to tell them apart was the glasses. Kingston wore sleek black frames that gave his arrogant face an annoyingly intellectual edge. Maddox skipped them entirely, letting that raw, wild energy radiate off him like body heat after a brutal game. They were both stupidly, unfairly hot. And they'd decided from day one that tormenting me-Amara Vance, their new stepsister-was their favorite off-ice sport.

"Move it, bookworm," Maddox had growled the first week, shoulder-checking me in the hallway so hard my back hit the wall. His body had pressed against mine for a beat too long, all hard muscle and that clean sweat-and-mint scent, before he laughed and kept walking. Kingston had watched from the doorway, adjusting his glasses with a slow smile. "Careful, bro. She bruises easy."

They stole my notes. Hid my laptop charger. Mocked my study playlists blasting through my headphones. "Accidentally" knocked my books off the table every time they passed. They'd barge into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth, crowding the space with their massive frames until I fled. Bullies, pure and simple. Until last week, when Coach Torres threatened to bench them for the rest of the season if their calc grades didn't improve.

Their dad-my new stepdad-had looked at me with those hopeful eyes. "You're the smart one, Amara. Help your brothers out?" I wanted to refuse. But Mom gave me that pleading look, and Desmond promised it would just be a few sessions. So now I sat at the long dining table on a quiet Thursday evening, textbooks spread out like battle plans. Mom and Desmond were out on another date night, leaving me alone with the twins. My heart hammered harder than it should, but not from excitement-from pure dread.

The front door slammed. Heavy footsteps. The scent of ice rink and fresh showers hit me before they did.

"Tutoring time already?" Maddox sauntered in first, no glasses, hair still damp. His compression shirt clung to every ridge of his abs, gym shorts riding low on his hips. He dropped into the chair beside me without asking, legs spread wide, knee bumping mine under the table hard enough to make me shift away.

Kingston followed, glasses perched on his nose, same athletic build poured into a black hoodie that stretched across his chest. He took the seat on my other side, close enough that his elbow jabbed my arm as he reached for a pencil. "Let's get this over with, little tutor. We've got practice tomorrow morning."

I swallowed, ignoring the way they boxed me in. "Focus. Derivatives. You both bombed the last quiz. If you want to stay on the team, you need to pass this." For the first twenty minutes, they half-heartedly tried. I explained the chain rule, walking them through problems step by step. Maddox twirled a hockey puck between his fingers, flicking it across the table toward me every few minutes so it rolled into my notes and scattered them. "Oops," he'd say with a grin that wasn't sorry at all.

Kingston leaned in, glasses slipping down as he stared at the page-at my careful handwriting, mostly. "You write like a robot. All neat and boring. No wonder you're single, bookworm."

"Shut up and solve problem three," I snapped, sliding his paper back.

They snickered. Maddox's knee knocked mine again, this time deliberately. "She's feisty tonight. Must be all that tutoring power going to her head."

I tried to scoot my chair back, but Kingston's foot hooked the leg of it, trapping me. "Where you going? We're supposed to be learning here. Or are you too busy staring at us to teach properly?"

Heat crawled up my neck-not the good kind. "I'm not staring. You two are just taking up all the space like always."

"That's right," Maddox said, leaning back and stretching his arms wide so one draped behind my chair. His fingers brushed the back of my shoulder accidentally-on-purpose. "This is our house now. You're just the freeloading stepsis with the brains."

Kingston adjusted his glasses, green eyes locking onto mine with mock seriousness. "Harsh, bro. She's useful for once. Coach said we have to listen to her or we're benched. So spit it out, Amara. Make us understand this crap."

I pushed through, explaining again, slower this time. Surprisingly, they followed some of it. Maddox got one problem right and slammed his fist on the table, making me jump. "See? We're geniuses when we want to be. You're just here to babysit."

"Reward for me?" he added with a smirk, reaching over and ruffling my hair roughly, messing it up completely. I swatted his hand away, but Kingston was already chuckling.

"Careful, she might cry to Mom and Dad," Kingston said. He grabbed my pencil and started doodling hockey sticks in the margin of my notebook instead of working. "There. Now it's not so boring."

I snatched it back. "Stop it! These are my notes. If you're not going to take this seriously, you can explain to Coach why you're failing."

The threat landed. They settled a bit, but the bullying didn't stop. Every time I leaned over to point something out, one of them would "accidentally" bump my arm or elbow my side. Maddox stole my eraser and tossed it to Kingston, who tossed it back over my head like a game of keep-away. Their deep laughs filled the room while I scrambled to catch it.

"You two are impossible," I muttered, finally retrieving it. My cheeks burned with frustration.

Maddox leaned in close, voice low and taunting. "Aw, come on. We're just having fun. You used to chase us around when we took your stuff. All red-faced and cute. What happened to that fire?"

"That was you being jerks," I shot back. "This is supposed to help you pass."

Kingston smirked, tapping his glasses. "She's right. But it's more entertaining to watch her squirm. Look at her- all serious with her highlighters and color-coded tabs. Bet you have a schedule for when you pee, too."

They kept it up like that for the full hour. Teasing comments about my clothes ("Those shorts are so last season"), my music tastes ("Only nerds listen to lo-fi while studying"), and my grades ("Must be nice not needing talent on the ice"). Physical jabs-shoulder nudges, knee bumps, one of them flicking my ponytail-kept me on edge the whole time. No real space to breathe. They were experts at invading every inch around me without crossing into anything their dad could punish them for.

By the end of the session, my nerves were frayed. They'd actually absorbed some of the material-enough to maybe scrape by on the next quiz-but I was exhausted.

"Same time tomorrow, bookworm," Maddox said, standing and stretching so his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of toned abs. He grabbed my water bottle and took a long swig before setting it back down with a wink.

Kingston leaned down as he passed, adjusting his glasses. His breath brushed my ear just enough to annoy. "Don't be late. And try not to drool over us next time. It's distracting." They left me at the table, heart racing from irritation, textbooks slightly crumpled from their rough handling. I stared at the empty chairs, wondering how the hell I was going to survive weeks of tutoring my bully twin stepbrothers without losing my mind.

They were arrogant, invasive, and relentless. Part of me hated how they filled the room with their presence-the broad shoulders, the easy athletic grace, the identical green eyes that always seemed to mock me. But I had a job to do. Keep them on the team. Keep the peace at home.

Even if it meant enduring their normal, everyday brand of hell every single night