My Biker Stepbrother, My Ruin

He stepped into the room like he belonged to it. Dark jeans, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, silver rings on his fingers. His leather jacket was tossed over one shoulder, and his hair was messier than usual, falling over his brow like he didn't care enough to fix it. His jaw was sharp, mouth unsmiling, and the chain around his neck shimmered under the party lights. Tattoos clouding his arms.

He looked like a storm wrapped in casual confidence, and I couldn't look away.

"Jeremy!" Carol shouted, waving over the crowd.

I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. Carol no! But I didn't say it out loud. I acted like I wasn't affected.

He looked up when he heard her, and for a brief second, his eyes flickered to me. My breath hitched. He started to stalk towards us, and with each step he took, my heart pounded harder than before. I readjusted my glasses as if that would make me feel better.

He stopped before us and said nothing to me. He just turned to greet Carol like I wasn't even standing there.

"Hi Carol," His deep voice swallowed the air around us. God, nothing about Jeremiah Carter was healthy. Even his voice just sent my body jolting. Nobody should have that effect on anyone, should they?

"You having fun?" My ever chatty best friend asked him but I couldn't tell his facial. I tried to shun his voice away as they spoke.

I looked down at my cup, pretending to fix my straw, pretending he hadn't just skipped over me like a ghost.

"You okay?" Carol asked as he walked away.

"I told you. I don't care," I said, too calmly. "I'm just shocked, that's all. It's weird. He's my stepbrother now."

Carol didn't push it this time, just gave me a side glance and changed the topic.

Just as I looked away, someone else approached our table.

Another boy. No-man.

He was tall, almost too tall, his dark eyes scanning the room with slow, unapologetic arrogance. His hair was raven-black, slightly tousled, and he wore a snug charcoal hoodie and ripped black jeans. Muscles stretched beneath the fabric like they had nowhere else to go. Tattoos were on every little exposed part of his body, except his face, but his hands were clad in black leather gloves so I wouldn't know if he had them there too. His jawline was perfect, his lips full, but his whole presence screamed trouble. And he had that same biker-cool swagger Jeremy had...only darker.

Carol gasped with a grin. "Zayne!" Oh, Carol knew him too. I wasn't surprised. She was my opposite. Ever out-going.

He came over and leaned casually against the edge of the table. "Hey, Princess," he said, voice low and gravelly.

Carol rolled her eyes but giggled. "Teyana, this is Zayne-Chris' friend." Of course,

That made me blink. I looked at him briefly and then back down at my drink. He was intimidatingly gorgeous. His eyes were intense, a little too sharp, and it felt like he was sizing me up.

Zayne tilted his head and looked straight at me.

"I like your glasses," he complimented, a thick British accent rolling off his tongue.

I glanced up, then quickly away. "Thanks," I replied, curtly.

He turned to Carol and asked under his breath-but not quietly enough, "Who's your shy little friend?"

Carol snorted. "No-go area for you, Zayne. She's way too innocent for your mess."

Zayne didn't respond. He just kept staring at me like he could already see what was beneath the surface.

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. There was something about his eyes. Like he didn't just look at girls, he read them. Deeply. Quietly. Like a slow-burning fire waiting to ignite.

No way my poetic mind was at it again.

I glanced across the room, maybe to escape his gaze.

That was when I saw Jeremy again.

He was standing near the bar, a pretty girl beside him talking, laughing, trying to get his attention. But he wasn't looking at her.

He was looking at our table.

At me.

Or maybe at Zayne? Did he know him too?

His unreadable expression didn't change. He just kept watching until the girl touched his arm-then he finally looked away.

Zayne gave me a parting smile. "Name's Zayne. Hope I see you around." His smile was charming.

And then he was gone.

I exhaled. "He's...intimidating."

Carol smirked. "He's worse than intimidating.Trust me, you don't wanna know the kind of stuff Zayne is involved in. I heard he and Jeremy used to race together. Then something happened. Now, they're practically enemies."

"Oh, sure...Jeremy would know someone like Zayne." It's believable. Not like Jeremy was some saint himself.

I looked back at the bar again, only to find Jeremy gone.

My chest tightened.

As the party wore on and people danced, drank, and ate, my eyes kept trailing around to find Jeremy. It was later I got to know he left.

I got home long ago but Carol stayed back with Chris, her cheeks flushed and her laugh full as he introduced us. Chris was pretty decent and he was surprisingly in suits. He was gorgeous as well, but looked much more responsible and friendly than Jeremiah. How was he even managing with Jeremy and Zayne?

I could've stayed too, but the night had worn me out-emotionally, mentally, in ways I couldn't explain.

"Hey Teyana,your mother told me you went to your friend's birthday party. You are back early." My stepfather, John Carter, said. He was about heading out with my mother. They were both elegantly dressed up.

"Oh Yes, I was having headache and just couldn't stay long."

"Oh sweetheart, might have been the loud musics. You young adults can't hold a party without all the..."

"I will be in my room, Mum." I interrupted her, grinning widely like I hadn't just shutted her up deliberately. Her feigned sweetness was getting on my nerves and seriously? I didn't want to have this meaningless conversations with them. She pretended not to notice my hostility and continued.

"Okay, love. Your stepbrother is upstairs. You guys need time to bond. Be a sweetheart to him so that he could be your big brother on campus."

This is the moment where I would choke on my drink, if I had any in hand. So instead, I just exhaled a sharp breath at the revelation that my stepbrother was upstairs.

"Jeremiah is a sweet boy. Don't mind him if he was being cold at first. I have no doubt that he would warm up to you soon." John said. They knew nothing.

I smiled. "Of course," He hugged me, and I watched them head out as they made it known that they weren't coming back home tonight.

On getting upstairs in my room, I started to bail myself out of the black body-con dress i had worn out earlier. The plan was to bath, face-time Sean and sleep. Talking about Sean, I had missed calls from him-calls I had stared at and purposely didn't pick because my mind was busy-occupied with something else.

After the bath, I was brushing my hair out when I paused, staring at my own reflection.

This couldn't go on. Whatever tension was between Jeremy and me, it was real. And ignoring it was only making everything worse.

We needed to talk. Get it over with. Clear the air or ruin it completely-either way, I was tired of pretending like the awkwardness between us didn't exist. He left the party way before I did and his father said he was indoors. This was the opportunity for me to talk to Jeremy because he was hardly at home according to our parents. This morning was my first time meeting him here since I had moved in.

I walked down the quiet hall to his room, heart thudding in my chest. My mother had showed me to different rooms when we got here and that was how I got to know where my stepbrother room was located upstairs.

His door was open. But I knocked still.

I swallowed as I prepared to call his name for the first time. At least-to him. "Jeremy?" I called softly, knocking once as I stepped in.

No answer.

He wasn't there. But his room...

It was nothing like I expected. For someone who looked like chaos, Jeremy's space was... pristine. Everything in place. Black bed-sheets tucked perfectly, desk lined with sketchbooks, bookshelves filled with motorcycle manuals, poetry books, and a few philosophy titles I didn't expect.

Bad boy Jeremy is a fan of poems? Unbelievable if you ask me.

But more than the neatness, his room smelled like him.

Like leather, clean soap, and something sharp and masculine that made my skin tighten. The air felt warmer in here, like his presence still lingered even though he wasn't in his room.

My feet moved on their own, past the large bed, eyes sweeping across his walls.

One of them was covered in paintings-dark, abstract, moody things. Faces hidden in shadows. Ink-drenched skies. One looked like a wolf surrounded by flames. If he painted these, then I was impressed. These were A-level professional paintings.

My gaze dropped to the corner, where a canvas sat propped up against the wall, covered in a black cloth.

Curiosity tugged at me.

I hesitated.

Then I pulled the cloth away.

...And I stopped breathing. I frowned. Did I have to go back to my room to use my glasses? Because...because there was no way it was me in that painting. It was my face, and surprisingly...my body. Jeremiah had a painting of me in his room.

I couldn't breathe.

In the painting, my body looked soft, skin bathed in colors that looked like candlelight, shadows falling in all the right places. My eyes were shut, lips slightly parted. I looked like I was dreaming something or someone was doing something to me. It reminded me of those quiet, longing thoughts I had only ever entrusted to my own heart

I took a step back. My fingers trembled. He hadn't even seen me me like this before, yet had drawn me this perfectly.

I took the painting into my trembling hands, blinking over and over. He saw me. He recognized me. Jeremiah drew me-ME

The door creaked and my body jolted.

I turned around just as Jeremy stepped into the room.

His eyes landed on the painting.

Then on me.