Page 29 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

HUNTER

What is that squeal? No, not a squeal. Ringing. Hollow ringing. Something’s tickling my cheek, and I bat it away. It comes back. The hell is that?

Stars spin overhead—too many, too bright—while a porch floodlight casts a wide, jaundiced halo across the yard. Crickets rasp in surround sound. For three disorienting seconds, I think I’ve passed out on a football field again, sophomore year.

I pry my eyes open, only to get grass in them.

The fuck? And why is the world sideways?

I taste copper and dirt. When I pull away from the grass and push off the ground—I’m on the ground?

—I sit up, only for my stomach to swirl.

I almost vomit, and my brain thumps against my skull. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus.

CARVER6. That’s the first thing I see clearly. Calvin’s license plate.

The passenger door hangs open. Somewhere nearby, a rideshare Prius chirps a timid arrival noise.

It all comes flooding back, almost fast enough to make the world spin.

Calvin’s roaring engine, and me marching off the porch to intercept him, vowing not to repeat driveway round one.

No Calvin on the walk. Just his car. Where the hell is he?

There’s a rustle in the hedge. I hear a loud crack, and then… nothing.

Anya. He’s here for Anya.

I lurch onto all fours. Blood trickles past my ear, warm and ticklish. A rideshare driver—a bearded guy in a neon-green Prius—leans out his window, phone in hand. “Uh, Miss Anya here?” he calls, scanning the driveway. “I’m Derek with GlideRight—five-star service?”

I wipe blood with my hand, look at the dark smear, then at him. “Drive, Derek. Save yourself.” My voice croaks like gravel dragged under a tire.

Derek’s eyes widen at the sight of blood. He slams the Prius into gear, U-turns so violently a palm frond slaps his windshield, and rockets back toward town.

One problem solved. Onto the next.

I stagger upright. Head throbs, but legs work. Porch lights burn gold across the yard. From inside the house, a woman’s sharp cry cuts the summer hush—Anya’s mom. Then Gage’s bellow, low and lethal.

Adrenaline kicks in. I sprint—not steady, but I fight to stay upright. Porch boards thud under bare feet, head pounding in syncopation. My brain hasn’t caught up, and everything plays in staccato.

The screen door bangs behind me. I reach the bottom of the stairs and take it all in.

Mrs. Markoff shrieks my name. Gage’s deep bark echoes from upstairs.

Calvin whines something about betrayal. He’s up there too.

Theo’s calm tone strains, trying to be heard.

He stands between Mrs. Markoff and Calvin, though he’s not holding her back.

The stairs are too narrow for her to slip past.

“I’m here?—”

“Help them!” she shouts, pointing upward. Her eyes clock the blood on my face, but she’s too worried about Anya to ask.

A booming voice behind me jolts every hair on my body straight up. “Step aside, Jessica,” Mr. Markoff orders. In his hand is the biggest gun I’ve seen outside of the shooting range.

I raise my palm. “We don’t need that.” Eyes locked on his—I need that gun lowered before Calvin really fucks up, and we have a Shakespeare ending. “Trust me.”

Anya’s father’s ice-blue gaze searches mine. I can’t imagine being in his shoes right now.

But his wife is right there with him. She says, “Trust him, Lex.”

He gives a quick nod, tucking the gun into his pocket. “What next?”

“Come with me.”

Mrs. Markoff squishes herself against the railing to get out of our way, and when I tap Theo’s shoulder upstairs, his eyes dart to Mr. Markoff. I pat his shoulder, and he steps aside.

The bedroom is a sight. Calvin blocks the threshold, blazer rumpled now, hair still damn perfect. He’s squared off with Gage—my big brother’s shoulders broad as the doorjamb, fists bouldered. Anya is visible just over Calvin’s shoulder, sobbing while they’re screaming and red-faced.

“You three assholes have always fucked up my life! Stealing Anya?—”

“Stealing?” Gage spits. “You’re out of your damn mind! You dumped her, you dumbass! We didn’t steal a thing!”

“No! You betrayed me! All four of you!”

“You betrayed yourself! You cheated with some bimbo?—”

Calvin’s fist balls, ready to strike.

“Now!” I snap at Mr. Markoff, and we each grab one of Calvin’s ankles and an arm from behind, his weight swinging from the momentum.

Calvin flails, curses shred through spittle.

In a few awkwardly tight strides, we haul him down the staircase.

He kicks, heel catching my bruised rib, but adrenaline armors me.

We plow through the foyer, past lavender potpourri, using his head to push the screen door open, and straight onto the wooden front walk.

I grin at my partner. “Swing and release. Ready?”

“Da.”

So, we swing Calvin back and let go.

Calvin hits the boards with a hollow crack, skids into gravel, face-first. Blood splatters from his nose, smears pristine blazer lapels. He scrambles, hands slipping in crimson and dirt, lip split wide. One moment of stunned silence, then he glares murder.

He stumbles up, fury and embarrassment making his face twist. He looks nothing like my brother right now. “This isn’t over!”

“Good,” I rasp, wiping new blood from my own temple. “Because I owe you for this.”

His jaw works momentarily, like he’s searching for the words. But he’s got nothing. Instead, Calvin flees to the Maserati—nose bleeding, mouth split—and peels off without parting words. Taillights blur, gone.

Only then does the pain in my skull roar fully. I brace a hand against the rail. Gage turns, sees the blood. “Where the hell were you?”

“Knocked out, thanks to our little brother,” I mutter. “The coward ambushed me.”

“Of fucking course,” Gage grumbles.

Theo scans my pupils with his phone flashlight. “Concussion?”

“Minor. Alphabet backward. Z, Y, X…present company worth it.”

Mr. Markoff doesn’t take his eyes off the road until he locks eyes with me. “I thank you.” He pauses. “All of you.”

I give him a nod, and in the corner of my eyes, I see her.

Anya stands on the porch, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes big as moons. She heard “knocked out” and gasped like she took the blow herself. She retreats up the stairs.

Gage moves to follow, but I stop him. “I’ve got this.”

Brother hierarchy respects bruised warriors. He squeezes my shoulder—a silent, Thanks for the assist, don’t die. “Mr. Markoff, any vodka in the house?”

“I am insulted you had to ask. Follow me.” The pair part for the kitchen.

I stagger for a moment, using the doorframe for balance. Theo sees it. “You good? For real?”

“I’m fine. It’ll fade.”

“Stubborn.”

I huff a laugh. “I am what I am.”

“You start throwing up, we go to the hospital.”

“Deal.”

“Not a deal,” he says, fully serious. “I’m telling you how it is. I don’t like this. Not any of it. You could have been killed.”

I clap his shoulder. “I know you’re a professional worrier, but trust me, okay?”

He sighs, but lets me pass. Once on the stairs, I climb, slower now, each step a hammer on my skull. Anya’s door is ajar. Inside, she’s pacing, hands tangling at her throat.

She whirls when I enter. “Hunter, you—blood—oh God, this is all my fault!” She rushes forward, tries dabbing my temple with a pink pillowcase. Tears drop onto my chest.

“It’s Calvin’s fault,” I say, gently taking her wrists. “Cal’s a walking cautionary tale.”

“I ruin everything,” she hiccups. “Calvin hurt you. Mom’s terrified. Dad had his gun out. And you three—you’re fighting your own family because of me.” It’s like her strength gives out. Her body just falls onto the edge of the bed.

I sink beside her, head spinning more slowly now. “We fought with Calvin long before you, Anya. This is just the latest excuse. He was never good at sharing his toys.”

She sniffles into my T-shirt when I pull her close. “You make a joke even now.”

“Defense mechanism.” I stroke her hair. “But seriously, if Calvin never talks to me again, that’s a winning lottery ticket.”

She lets out a ragged giggle that turns to fresh tears. “Your head is bleeding…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Dizziness tilts the room, but I stay rooted, taking in the sights.

Candy pink in all directions, dolls staring blankly at us…

this place is a bit much. But none of that is what’s got me freaked out.

“More worrisome is that packed suitcase, kitten. You wanna tell me what that’s about? ”

“I thought if I left, I’d save everyone from more rumors.” She sniffles and laughs bitterly to herself. “Great plan, right?”

She’s leaving? No. Not after all this. I clear my throat. “See? I’m not the only one who jokes at the wrong time.”

“I’m sorry.” She glances away. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Well, I sent a rideshare away. The guy asked for you, so I’m guessing this is what that was about.”

She nods as tears fall. “I’m poisonous, Hunter. I wanted to save all of you from me.”

“Pretty? Definitely. Passionate? Without question. But poisonous?” I shake my head, making the room spin. “Not even close.”

“I don’t know what comes next. I don’t…I’m not sure how to say…” She laughs at herself, wiping her eyes. “I sound like an idiot.”

“Trust me, you get used to it.”

She giggles, despite herself. “Like you’d know.”

“Listen. I joked my way across half the East Coast because big feelings are not my thing.” I swallow, partly because I’m not sure how this will go, and partly because I feel like a fool.

But I can’t ignore what I feel anymore. “Anya, I’m in deep.

When I saw you tear up at dumpling night, something clicked.

This isn’t casual for me. I…care. A lot. ” My throat rasps the admission.

She inhales sharply. “It isn’t casual for me either. That’s what terrifies me.”

“Terrifying is fine.” I nod at the suitcase. “Running is not. Were you going back to Calvin?”

Horror flashes across her face. “No! God, no. I planned to pawn the ring and vanish somewhere in Savannah.”

The honesty stings, but it’s better than the alternative. “Fine, if?—”

“Wait, you thought I’d go back to him after everything?”

“I worried you’d think him showing up here was a sign he still cares about you.”

She shakes her head, her lips curl in disgust. “It’s a sign that he’s humiliated, nothing more.”

I nod slowly, still trying to think clearly. “If you need to run off, I won’t stop you. But it would break me.” My voice cracks. Concussion fog plus heartbreak is a hellish cocktail. “Maybe that’s selfish.”

“Not selfish. Sweet. And scary.” She wipes her own tears now, sniffles. “Where does that leave us?”

“That’s a good question.” I sit back, trying to think. Unfortunately, this damn concussion is making it harder. “If you need to run off and get a clean slate, I get that. It sounds like a relief after all of this. It’s not my place to tell you what to do, kitten. Your life, your choice. Always.”

She swallows hard. “You mean that? You’d support me leaving everyone behind?”

Those words chip away at my heart. “I support your happiness. Period.”

Anya sighs and plunks her head against my shoulder. I do my best not to tip over from it. “Thank you, Hunter.”

She’s really leaving. Fuck. “Anytime, kitten. Anytime.”