The Cruel Twin Alphas: Bonded To My Stepbrothers

A crushing force slammed into my ribs before I even understood what was happening.

Pain exploded through me as my body hit the bed, the air knocked from my lungs. A strangled groan tore from my throat as I jolted awake, my eyes snapping open, arms instinctively wrapping around my aching side.

My father stood over me—rage burning in his eyes like it always did.

He’d kicked me.

Again.

“You unlucky little shit,” he muttered, disgust thick in his voice as he stalked closer.

I scrambled back, panic clawing at my chest, but I didn’t make it far.

His hand fisted into my hair, yanking hard enough to rip a scream from my throat before he slammed my head against the wooden bedframe.

A sharp crack rang through my skull.

For a second, the world went black.

Then came the pain—blinding, dizzying—followed by the unmistakable warmth of blood trickling down my forehead.

I was the illegitimate daughter of the Alpha of the Blackcrest pack.

—my father.

From the outside, it looked like I was cared for. Protected. Maybe even loved.

But inside these walls?

The truth was rot and ruin.

To him, I was nothing but a burden. A mistake he couldn’t erase. He hated me—hated even looking at me.

And to the pack?

I was a slave.

Working from dawn to night. Bowing my head. Taking whatever was given—orders, insults, pain.

Their dirty little secret.

One they wouldn’t free.

One they wouldn’t let live.

“Ever since that hoe gave birth to you and died, nothing has gone right in my life,” he snarled, grabbing my hair again and jerking my head back.

A broken hiss escaped me as tears streamed down my face.

“Please… let me go, Dad…” The plea slipped out before I could stop it.

His expression twisted with fury.

“Don’t you dare call me that, you pathetic piece of shit!”

My head slammed back again—this time against the mattress—but the impact still sent my vision spinning, nausea rolling through me.

“Alpha.”

The voice cut through the room.

Benjamin—my father’s beta—stood in the doorway, tense.

“We need to leave. They’re already here.”

My father stilled.

“Who?” I whispered, barely managing the word.

I pushed myself up from the floor, coughing as I struggled to breathe. “What’s going on, Benjamin?”

His eyes flicked to me—filled with that same pity I hated.

“The pack’s under attack. It’s—”

“No need to explain anything to her,” my father snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through bone. “She’s staying here. We’re not taking her.”

A cold dread coiled in my stomach.

An attack?

I’d dreamed of escape my whole life… so why did this feel worse?

“W-what?” The word trembled out.

“But Alpha, she’s your—” Benjamin started.

One look from my father silenced him.

Distant sounds of fighting bled through the walls.

We were under attack.

“Let’s go,” my father said, already moving toward the window.

Before he could reach it, the door burst open.

A soldier rushed in, sword raised, eyes wild with rage.

“Antonio! I’ll kill you—”

He didn’t get the chance.

My father moved faster.

Steel flashed—and then the dagger sank straight into the man’s chest.

Everything went still.

The soldier’s eyes dropped to the blade buried inside him… then lifted to my father.

A second later, he collapsed. Dead.

“Bloody morons,” my father muttered, shaking his hand like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. He let the dagger fall beside the body. “Let’s go, Ben.”

“Dad…” My voice broke.

He paused.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening painfully. “Are you really leaving me behind?”

I didn’t expect kindness.

I didn’t expect love.

But I hadn’t expected this.

Not this.

“Yes.” He looked at me—cold, empty. “I hope the Morettis come here and slit your throat open. Maybe then I’ll finally have some peace.”

The words hit harder than any blow.

He wished me dead.

Benjamin lowered his gaze.

A rope ladder was already set. My father climbed down first without another glance.

Benjamin lingered.

For just a second.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone.

Tears blurred my vision as blood continued to drip down my face.

He really left me.

The realization hadn’t even settled when—

The door exploded open.

Wolves.

Huge, snarling, jaws stained with blood.

I stumbled back, my spine hitting the wall as terror seized me. Their eyes swept the room, noses flaring as they scented the air.

One rushed to the window, peering out before turning to the others—something passing silently between them.

Then—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Fast.

Men stormed in—dressed in black, guns raised. Behind them, soldiers with silver swords slick with fresh blood.

Their gazes landed on me.

Then the body.

Then the dagger.

One lifted a transceiver. “Alpha, they’ve escaped. But there’s a girl here—injured. And Roger is dead.”

Silence followed.

My chest tightened.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

Two of them.

And then—

They walked in.

The first stepped forward—dressed in white.

His shirt was drenched in blood, stark against the pale fabric. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tattooed forearms streaked with red. A gun rested lazily in one hand, a dagger in the other—its blade still dripping, each drop hitting the floor in a quiet, sickening rhythm.

His hair was combed back, perfectly styled despite the carnage. And his eyes—

A striking, unnatural blue.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

His jaw was sharp, sculpted to perfection.

He looked almost… heavenly.

If heaven was built on violence.

Beside him stood the other.

Black shirt.

The blood on his clothes disappeared into the fabric, making him look even more lethal—like the violence belonged to him. A few buttons undone, revealing ink crawling up his chest and wrapping around his neck.

Broader. Stronger.

The gun in his hand was larger. Heavier.

His hair fell in loose, controlled curls—messy in a way that felt deliberate. His eyes were the same piercing blue.

The same eyes.

The same bone structure.

The same quiet, terrifying authority.

Brothers.

They had to be.

The realization hit cold.

The Morettis.

The Alphas.

And I—

I was standing in front of them, alone.

It didn’t matter who I was.

They had taken over my pack.

They would kill me.

“Who is she?” the one in white asked, voice smooth, almost bored as he glanced toward the blond man near the doorway.

“I don’t know,” the man replied. “She wasn’t on the list.”

List?

What list?

The man in black stepped toward me.

Instinct took over—I moved back immediately, breath hitching as my spine hit the wall. Only then did I feel it again—the warm trail of blood slipping down my temple.

“Who are you, little dove?” he asked. “You killed one of my men, so you better start talking.”

His voice was low. Rough. A gravelly edge that sent a chill down my spine.

I tried to speak.

“I—I…”

Who was I?

A slave?

A discarded daughter?

“We might as well kill her,” the one in white said casually, dragging his fingertip along the blood coating his dagger. His gaze flicked over me with detached amusement. “She doesn’t look like she’d be of much use. Besides, she already caused a loss.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m… Anastasia,” I forced out, my voice trembling. “My name is Anastasia.”

A slow smirk curved the lips of the man in black.

He stepped closer.

Too close.

“Pretty name,” he murmured. “But it tells us nothing.”

His gun lifted.

I flinched—and his smirk widened, like he enjoyed it.

Then he closed the distance completely, pressing the cold barrel against my forehead.

The metal burned against my skin.

A shiver of pure dread slid down my spine.

“We need your identity,” he said quietly, leaning in until his breath ghosted over my face. “If you’re useful, you live.”

A pause.

“Otherwise…” His voice dropped, turning lethal. “You die.”

“Alpha.”

The voice cut in sharply.

A soldier entered, dragging someone by the arm before throwing them to the ground.

My breath caught.

Penelope.

Bruised. Bloodied. Barely conscious.

The same woman who had worked me to exhaustion every single day.

The man in white stepped forward, crouching beside her with unsettling calm.

She tried to crawl away.

She didn’t get far.

His hand snapped out, gripping the back of her neck and forcing her still. Then he turned her head—hard—until she was facing me.

“Who is she?” he asked softly.

The softness made it worse.

“Tell me.”

Penelope trembled violently, her eyes darting between me… and the gun still pressed to my head.

Please don’t.

Please don’t say it.

Please—

“She’s the Alpha’s daughter,” she blurted, her voice breaking. “Anna.”

Their jaws tightened as they looked at me again—really looked this time.

My stomach dropped.

This… this was worse.

I felt it.

The slight tension in his hand.

My breath hitched as I looked at him, fear clawing up my throat.

Was he going to—

And then—

He pulled the trigger.