Baited By My Cruel Stepbrother

Elara Voss froze in the doorway of her parents' luxurious Beverly Hills bedroom, her bare feet rooted to the cool marble floor. The coppery stench of blood hit her first, thick and nauseating, before her eyes could fully process the horror. Her mother lay sprawled across the king sized bed, designer silk robe soaked crimson, while her father slumped against the headboard with a single neat hole in his forehead. Dark figures in black moved like shadows near the open safe, their gloved hands rifling through documents. A scream built in Elara's throat but never made it out.

Strong fingers dug into her arm, yanking her backward so hard she nearly stumbled. Jax Rivera's voice was a harsh whisper against her ear. "Move, princess. Now." His body pressed against her back, solid and tense, shoving her down the hallway before she could even think. Gunshots cracked behind them, splintering the expensive woodwork. Elara's heart slammed against her ribs as they bolted down the grand staircase, bare feet slapping on polished floors that suddenly felt like ice.

They burst through the French doors into the back garden. Warm California night air wrapped around them, carrying the distant scent of jasmine and chlorine from the pool. Jax didn't let go of her arm. His grip was bruising, possessive even in the middle of hell. Elara glanced back once and wished she hadn't. One of the intruders stood at the balcony railing, silhouetted against the mansion lights, raising his weapon.

They crashed through manicured hedges, thorns tearing at Elara's thin sleep shorts. Jax moved like he had done this before, navigating the familiar backyard with deadly precision. He kicked open the side gate that led to the service alley where her father's sleek black Mercedes waited. "Keys," he barked, already searching her father's usual hiding spot under the wheel well.

Elara's hands shook so badly she could barely help. Her mind kept replaying the image of her mother's lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. "Jax, what the hell is happening?" she gasped, voice cracking. He didn't answer, just hot wired the car in seconds flat like it was nothing. The engine roared to life. He shoved her into the passenger seat and peeled out, tires screeching on the pavement.

The mansion shrank in the rearview mirror, its lights still blazing like nothing had gone wrong inside. Elara hugged her knees to her chest, the reality sinking in deeper with every block they put between them and that nightmare. Her parents were dead. Murdered. And Jax, her cruel stepbrother who had spent years making her life miserable with his taunts and cold stares, was the only thing keeping her alive right now.

He drove like the devil himself was chasing them, weaving through Beverly Hills streets toward the freeway. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Keep your head down," he muttered, hazel eyes flicking to the mirrors constantly. Elara noticed fresh blood on his shirt collar that wasn't his. Or was it?

The city lights blurred past as they hit the 101. Elara's breathing came in short bursts. Every siren in the distance made her flinch. Jax reached over without looking and squeezed her thigh, the touch firm and grounding. "Breathe, Elara. I got you." His voice was rough, the same tone he used when he used to mock her for being too soft, too privileged. But there was something different in it tonight. Something raw.

She shoved his hand away, even though the warmth of his palm had felt strangely comforting. "Don't touch me. This isn't some game, Jax. They're dead." Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them back. She wouldn't cry in front of him. Not when he had spent the last two years calling her princess in that sneering way, reminding her she was just the stepsister who didn't belong in their blended family.

Jax laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the confined space. "You think I don't know that? I saw it too." His jaw clenched so tight she thought it might crack. For a second, his mask slipped and she glimpsed real grief mixed with something darker. Anger. Determination. He glanced at her, eyes lingering a beat too long on her bare legs before snapping back to the road.

Another set of headlights appeared behind them, riding too close. Jax cursed and floored the accelerator. The Mercedes surged forward, but the vehicle behind matched their speed. Elara twisted in her seat, heart leaping into her throat. It was a black SUV with tinted windows, no plates visible. "Jax..."

"I see them." He swerved sharply onto an exit ramp, nearly clipping a barrier. The SUV followed, closing the gap.

They ditched the Mercedes in a dimly lit parking garage near downtown LA and stole an old Honda from the shadows. Jax worked fast, wires sparking under the dash. Elara stood watch, arms wrapped around herself, the night air raising goosebumps on her skin. Sirens wailed blocks away. Her mind raced with questions. Who would want her parents dead? Why now, when the Voss empire was at its peak with tech contracts and port deals?

Jax slammed the hood and yanked open the passenger door for her. "Get in." As she slid inside, his body brushed against hers, heat radiating through his thin t shirt. She hated how aware she was of him. The way his muscles flexed, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and gunpowder. He had always been cruel, always pushing her buttons, but tonight he was the only wall between her and whatever hunted them.

They drove in tense silence toward the cheaper parts of the city. Jax finally spoke. "We can't trust the cops. Not yet. Too many questions about the family business." His hand rested on the gear shift, inches from her knee. Elara shifted away, but the car was small and his presence filled every inch of it.

The rundown motel off the 101 had flickering neon signs and the faint smell of mildew when they finally pulled in. Jax paid cash for the room, eyes scanning the parking lot the whole time. Inside, the single queen bed dominated the cramped space. He barricaded the door with a chair and tossed Elara one of his oversized shirts from the duffel he had grabbed from the car.

"Change. Try to sleep." His voice was gruff, but his gaze lingered as she clutched the shirt to her chest. Elara stepped into the tiny bathroom, hands still trembling. When she emerged, the thin fabric hung off one shoulder, brushing her thighs. Jax was already on the bed, shirtless, tattoos stark against his skin. He didn't look at her directly, but the air felt charged.

She perched on the very edge of the mattress, exhaustion pulling at her bones. Grief crashed over her in waves. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks. Jax cursed softly and reached for her, pulling her against his chest before she could protest. His skin was warm, heartbeat steady under her ear. "Just for tonight," he muttered, voice rough. His hand stroked down her back, stopping just above the curve of her ass. The touch sent unwanted sparks racing through her body.

Elara wanted to push him away. This was Jax. The stepbrother who had made her senior year hell with his bullying. But in that moment, with the world crumbling outside, his arms felt like the only safe place left. She hated how right it felt. How her body softened against his despite everything.

A phone buzzed on the nightstand. Jax stiffened, gently shifting her aside as he stood. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Through the thin curtain, Elara saw him pacing, voice low and threatening into the phone. His free hand clenched into a fist.

She hugged her knees, mind spinning with a thousand unanswered questions. Who were those men? What did they want? And why did Jax seem to know exactly what to do?