Craving My Forbidden Biker Stepbrothers

Chapter 2

Brad sighed loudly. “Another f*****g punk,” he hissed, letting go off my hand. I stared in horror as he walked into the compound and the gates started closing again.

“Wait,” I cried out. “Why don't you believe me?”

One of the old men scowled at me. “Saints ain't gat no damn daughter,” he said, spitting at the floor. “You're so f*****g tiny, do you really think you can come from him?”

“Well how about we ask him then huh?” I retorted. This was my only chance, how the f**k could they not let me even talk to him?

Brad burst into laughter, the rest of the men joining him. “You must be out of your mind little girl, if you think I'll let nobody see The Iron Saint,” Brad spat at me.

I heard the sound of a door opening behind me and turned. The sleek BMW that drove out earlier was parked now and someone was stepping down from it. I pushed my shaking hand into my pockets, not willing to show these men just how terrified I was.

The driver stepped out of the car too, then turned and went back in, even as a tall figure emerged from it. He had very broad shoulders, encased in a dark leather jacket that fitted him like a second suit and when he turned, cold piercing gray eyes landed on me.

The men around me all bowed, bent over in a ninety degree angle even as this tall hunk of a man approached me. I could practically hear my heart speed up as he got nearer, calm surrounding him like he knew the world was he and there was nothing to be feared of.

He stood right in front of me, saying nothing even as Brad crept closer, murdering apologies that sounded to be like they were so far away. There was a small scar on his left brow that divided it into two, his jaw was so sharp and his mouth was hard.

Shit s**t s**t.

This was a f*****g mistake, I should never have come here. What the f**k was I even thinking about.

I try to say something but the words are stuck, unable to escape. There's only one way to get away from this man’s cold gaze and I take a step backwards and turn.

A strong pull turned me back around. His hand is wrapped around my wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough for me to know it was pointless budging. He looked at me like I was a plague, like I disturbed his day, yet, I couldn't stop my heart from beating louder.

“What would you do,” he said in a low voice, “if she actually turned out to be my sister?”

His sister? This one of Victor Creed's sons. Which of them? Why was I so f*****g unfortunate.

“Open the gate, Brad,” he instructed calmly, his eyes still on me. The old men muttered amongst themselves beneath their breaths, wondering why he had paid me any attention.

The same f*****g question I was asking.

I had not showered for two days and I had rain and road water on me. I knew I stunk badly, I knew my skin was grimy yet, his hand did not shift.

“Come with me.”

I followed him slowly, finally entering the compound of the man my mother claimed gathered me for the first time. Rolls royces, Ferraris and other exotic cars and bikes were littered everywhere. It was bigger than I had imagined, with well trimmed grass covering the walkways, all leading to the largest house I had seen in my life before.

Victor’s son dragged me behind him, barely giving my time to get my bearings. His hand was tight around my forearm, the leather gloves smooth against my skin, his gait steady. His brown hair was well trimmed, everything about him seemed so perfect.

I do not want this man as my brother.

My heartbeat spiked with every step we took, his grip and gait unrelenting. Somehow, I knew he was the worst person I had met, even if he seemed to be nice.

from his grip alone

He led me up the entrance stairs to the large white door. “Ladies first,” he said, shifting for me to pass.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

He raised a single brow up. “To see Dad.”

The door opened by itself, and I stepped into the house. “You actually believe me?”

Suddenly, he dragged me towards his body, his hand wrapping across my waist. “Of course not,” he muttered in a low whisper. “But I must admit, you are more intriguing than the others.”

Others? What others? Why is his hand around my waist? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words again seem to be lost, this man taking them along with him.

Suddenly, a door opened. I yelped as I turned around, pulling my alleged brother's hands away from my body as I turned to face the person that just entered the room?

“What is going on here?”

An old man stood in the middle of what seemed to be their foyer, his hands behind his back. His eyes were grey and cold, his hair was as dark as the man who pulled me in, streaks of grey hair running through it and his beard, yet he was standing so straight,I already knew who he was.

I had looked up pictures of my father online, and they did not do him justice. Right now, staining so close to me, I finally feel fear creep across my skin.

“Mr president,” my brother said, bowing slightly, “I found her at the gate. She said she needs to speak to you.”

Victor’s cold eyes met mine. “Who are you?”

“I—”

“I found her at the gate,” my supposed brother interrupted, “saying she had to talk to you, because you are her father. What punishment should I give her?”

Victor does not answer his son, rather he walks towards us.

I stumbled backwards, my back hitting the door knob as he lifted his hands, touching my chin. He turned my face to the left, and I let him, allowing him to inspect me.

Grey eyes peer into my face, darting around slowly. Fear, grief and recognition floods him all at once and with a single word, I finally believed my mother.

“Maria?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I cried, my voice breaking. My fists clenched at my side, him saying the one thing that confirmed my worst fears. He knew her, he knew who she was.

“Yes,” I repeated. “That is my mother's name.”