725 Days With My Alpha Stepbrothers

Stephanie's POV:

The entire room pulsed with the beat of the music, every surface vibrating with the energy of the crowd. Strobe lights flashed in time with the bass, casting the dance floor in bursts of bright white and shadow. The DJ's beats rolled out in waves, each drop hitting like a pulse, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, weaving through the sweaty bodies pressed too close for comfort. The air was thick with heat and the unmistakable smell of alcohol, everyone lost in the rhythm, grinding and swaying like they were hypnotized.

I finally reached the bar, gripping its edge for balance. “Where is the restroom?” I asked, my voice slurring slightly. The bartender didn't even glance my way, too busy mixing drinks for the endless stream of customers.

“Hello? Didn't you hear me?" I repeated louder this time, but I still didn't get his attention.

Frustrated, I tossed my purse onto the counter with an audible thud, and that got his attention. He stared at me with a questioning gaze.

“I need to pee,” I whispered.

“I can't hear you,” he shouted.

Before I could repeat myself, I felt a hand around my waist. I turned, relieved to see Claire, my best friend and practically my sister, standing beside me.

“Don't worry; I will take you,” she said, her voice cutting through the chaos. “You shouldn't be wandering alone when you're drunk,”

“I'm not drunk,” I protested.

“Sure, Steph,” she replied. “I don't have the strength to argue with you right now,” she said. She guided me towards the restroom, her grip firm as if she knew I might stumble off course. Once we got there, she pushed me inside and shut the door behind me.

I was at the sink, washing my hands, when the door creaked open behind me.

“Claire, seriously, I'm fine,” I called out, assuming it was her checking on me yet again. But the silence that followed was unnerving. Claire was never this quiet.

“Claire?” I asked, turning around—only to find a complete stranger standing there. It was not just a stranger but a man. My stomach dropped. What the hell was a man doing in the lady's restroom? Well, that I didn't want to find out. My instincts screamed at me to leave immediately. This was creepy. 

Without saying a word, I tried to walk past him, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through me as the reality of the situation sank in. I was actually in real danger.

“Let go of me,” I yelled, twisting and pulling against his hold, but his grip only tightened.

“Claire! Help!” My voice cracked as I screamed, but the music outside drowned out my cries. No one was coming.

“Don’t waste your breath,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. “No one can hear you. They're too busy partying to care.” 

He locked the door behind him, and my heart hammered in my chest. I could barely stand as he stepped closer, his imposing frame blocking any chance of escape.

I lashed out, kicking at him, but he anticipated my every move and dodged effortlessly. His hand clamped around my neck, squeezing just enough to make me gasp for air.

“Don't piss me off, slut,” he snarled, shoving me backward. My head hit the edge of the sink, pain exploding in my skull. Tears blurred my vision as his fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back until I was forced to look at him.

“Be a good girl, and this will be over quickly,” he hissed, his breath hot against my face. “No one needs to get hurt.”

Terror coursed through me as he bent closer, his nose brushing against my neck. I scrunched my nose in disgust because he reeked of alcohol. “You smell so fucking good, bitch,” he murmured, and bile rose in my throat.

His hands went to my thighs, caressing them before they found a way to my panties, tearing them away and smacking my ass. I have heard stories about girls being assaulted in clubs, but I didn't know I would one day be one of those girls.

“Please don't do this,” I begged, my voice trembling. But he turned me forcefully, making me back him.

Before I knew what was going on, something hard was pressing against my ass. I didn't need a seer to tell me what it was.

A surge of adrenaline washed through me, and I felt a rush of strength in me. No, I wouldn't allow myself to be violated by this stranger. I started struggling. I fought back with everything I had—kicking, clawing, and thrashing—but he was too strong. His weighty body pinned me in place, his member pressing harder against me. I felt utterly powerless.

He yanked my hair back, and I felt an excruciating pain making me be still.

“Since you want to be a bad bitch, I would not go easy on you,” he said, increasing the hold on my hair.

“Claire! Help!” I yelled, and my actions made him grab my breast, pinching my nipples hard, and I screamed in pain.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he yelled, pushing his member against my ass.

“Fuck, this feels amazing,” he groaned, and at that moment, I knew I couldn't do anything again. I closed my eyes, resigning myself to my fate.

A loud thud and a startled yell from the stranger whose grip on me finally broke made me open my eyes, and I turned immediately to see what was going on. 

The restroom door was on the floor, and the stranger was groaning in pain beside the water system, which was now broken into pieces. A man in a black coat was dragging him up, and the stranger was pleading for his life.

“You bastard,” the man cursed, sending him blows. I could only see the back of this man, but the kind of dangerous and cold aura emanating from him was enough to tell me that I shouldn't be here.

The stranger might have gotten himself into trouble with someone that shouldn't be messed with, and I was glad he did. Whatever was going on here was none of my business. I knew I had to be on my heels, but for some reason, I found myself transfixed at the spot. Something in me wanted to see this stranger. 

I heard the clicking of a gun, making my blood run cold. Before I could process what was going on, the gun fired. The sound was deafening, and when it was over, the stranger lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

I stared at the scene, frozen in place. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts. I just witnessed a murder. 

There was only one thing on my mind at the moment. Run!

At that moment, the man turned, and I felt the air leave my lungs. His eyes, glowing an unnatural shade of red, locked onto mine before shifting to a piercing shade of blue. What the hell was that?

“Stephanie Mikaelson, right?” He pulled me out of my thoughts in the most intoxicating voice I’ve ever heard, but this was not the right time to think about something like that. The only thing I could think of was how this dangerous man knew my name. I didn't need anyone to tell me that I had landed myself from frying pan to fire.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” I stammered, desperate to escape. “I'm Nora Roberts.” Without waiting for a response, I bolted for the door, only to slam into something solid.

I looked up, and my stomach dropped. It was him—again.

“Nora Roberts?” he whispered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “But this picture here says you're Stephanie Mikaelson.” He said, showing me a picture of me, my name clearly written across the bottom, and I gasped in shock. “I'm sorry, baby girl, we got the right person,” he added.

Wait, but how did he manage to get here immediately?

I glanced back to be sure, but I was wrong. The other guy was inside the restroom, staring at me with a blank expression. There was only one explanation. They are twins. Two devil twins after me, now that's one hell of a trouble, but I knew one thing. I wasn't going down again.

“Go to hell!” I yelled, kicking him on his groin, and he fell on his knees. I used that opportunity to run, hitting the fire alarm on my way.

I mixed into the crowd, who were now running helter skelter, trying to save themselves from the unknown fire. I didn't have the time to look for my friends; I had to save myself first from these devil twins after me.