Claimed by my Brother’s Best Friends

Alyssa "Congratulations, Alyssa. I hope you and Isaac are very happy together," Mom says, her voice tender with emotion as she pulls me into a tight embrace. "Thanks, Mom." I return the hug, firm yet gentle, afraid that if I let her go too soon, she might fall. She's too sick to be standing this long, but she's always been strong—stubborn to a fault. She'd never let anyone here see how unwell she really is. When I finally release her, Gray, my ever-watchful brother, steps in, taking her arm to help her into a chair. "Grayson, I can seat myself," she protests, a teasing defiance in her eyes as she throws him a mock glare. He smiles warmly. "I know you can, Mom," he murmurs, planting a kiss to her forehead before turning to me. His expression darkens slightly. "If your husband ever hurts you, I'll shove my foot so far up his ass he’ll taste it." By the tone in his voice, I know he means every word. But he doesn’t need to worry about that. I laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "No need to be so scary, big brother. Isaac would never hurt me. He loves me too much," I say with confidence, my heart swelling with affection for my high school sweetheart turned husband. Despite the challenges we've faced, I know he’s my soulmate. He’s proven his love for me over and over again. When he asked me to marry him at Senior Prom, I was the happiest woman alive. And now, here we are, husband and wife. I've officially claimed the title—Mrs. Isaac Carter. As the time to leave for our honeymoon in Cancun approaches, I say goodbye to our guests. Most of MoonShadow Creek showed up, but honestly, I only cared that my mom, Gray, and my two best friends, Chelsea and Ashley, were here. "Have a great time!" Chelsea says, squeezing me tightly. She always smells sweet, like berries. I assume it’s whatever shampoo she uses to keep her blonde hair looking so perfect, but it could just be her personality—vibrant, sugary, effortlessly bright. I hug Ashley next, her hazelnut skin glowing beneath the bright lights. "Make sure you send me some pics. I need to get a boo before next summer so we can go on a group vacation," she quips, her excitement contagious. "Will do," I promise with a laugh, already looking forward to sharing the memories of our honeymoon with my best friends. Seeing that Isaac is still saying goodbye to his parents, I step outside for a moment of solitude, inhaling the cool night air. The stars twinkle above, casting a magical glow over what has been a perfect wedding day. I lean against Isaac’s car, taking it all in. Then, movement in my peripheral catches my attention. A girl stumbles out from behind the bushes, hurriedly smoothing down her dress and fixing her hair. "Hey, Alyssa," she says breathlessly, cheeks flushed, before rushing back into the house. A second later, a guy follows—lazily zipping up his slacks. King Sterling. One of my brother's three best friends. He’s tall, built like a brawler, with dark, unruly curls that fall to his shoulders and a medium beard framing his sharp jaw. A scar cuts across his left eye, a reminder of the violence he thrives in. His amber eyes—piercing, predatory—have a way of sending even the bravest men running. And the fact that he’s in a motorcycle gang? Just the icing on the cake. When his gaze locks onto mine, a slow smirk stretches across his face. I grimace. "You couldn't have taken her home first?" I ask, making no effort to hide the disgust in my tone. Seriously, why does he have to screw people in the bushes at my damn wedding? "That's no fun. Besides, I would've missed the hilarious look on your face right now," he teases, his deep, gravelly voice laced with amusement. He steps closer, leaning casually against the car before taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "Want a puff?" he asks, holding it out to me. I cough and wave it away. "No, that's disgusting," I retort. "You shouldn't be smoking those things anyway. You're gonna end up with cancer, dumbass." King exhales a cloud of smoke, then chuckles, low and rough. The sound sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Always holier than thou,” he muses. “Tell me, Alyssa…has he popped your cherry yet, or are you still ripe for the taking?" Heat floods my cheeks. My embarrassment only makes his smirk widen. "N-No,” I stammer. “I know you wouldn’t know anything about that, but Isaac’s actually a gentleman and he wanted to wait until we were married first.” King tilts his head, his smirk turning downright wicked. “Well, isn’t he Mr. Prince Charming?” His voice drips with mockery. “When he can’t get you off with his little d**k, I give you permission to fantasize about me instead.” "Thanks, but no thanks. That would only make me throw up," I snap back. He, Nikolai, and Mason have been an unwanted part of my life since I was twelve. Unbeknownst to my brother, his best friends have spent years tormenting me behind his back. But high school? That was the worst. I was a freshman, and they were seniors, always towering over me, always finding any possible opportunity to make my life hell. The only reason they’re here now is because Gray insisted. According to him, they’re family and deserve to be treated as such. But I hate them. All of them. King just grins at my reaction, clearly enjoying himself. "When s**t doesn't work out between you and Isaac, just know you can call me anytime.” I glare at him, my anger flaring. "Why wouldn't things work out? I love my husband, and he loves me." The rest, we can figure out as we go. King takes another puff, exhaling slowly. "I don't know. Something's just off about him. But if Gray approves, I guess we should too." I snort. "Says the violent man in a motorcycle gang. If anyone's off, it's you." King is the kind of man that gets off on bloodshed. Beating someone's ass or cutting out an eyeball with a switchblade is his idea of a good time. In Gray's gang—The Crimson Reapers—King is known as the Enforcer. I'm pretty sure he has more bodies than a serial killer, but since they keep our small town safe, nobody dares to say a word about the crimes they commit. King just chuckles. "Nah, Kitten, I'm violent because I have to be. Your pathetic-ass husband seeks out trouble.” What the hell does that mean? I wonder, but I decide to leave it alone. This is my wedding night, and I won't let him, or anyone else, ruin it. "What's wrong, Kitten? Am I getting you riled up?" he taunts. I turn away, willing myself to stay calm. He knows I hate that f*****g nickname, but he hasn't stopped using it since he realized it got under my skin. "I told you to stop calling me that," I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady. "And I told you that I’d never stop calling you that." I grind my teeth, irritation burning in my chest. "You're such a d**k. Why is that my nickname anyway?" He shrugs. "Because you always have your claws out, but when it's time to scratch and bite, you're practically harmless." A bitter laugh bubbles from my lips. "f**k you. I could claw your damn eyes if I wanted to." "Sure, you can, Kitten.” His smirk widens. "But just in case those claws don't sink deep enough…you can always call on me, Niko, and Mace if you're in trouble." Why does he keep saying that? I don't need them. I never have. Not even when my dad was murdered. I’ve always had my own back, wiped my own tears—and that won’t ever change. No matter what. Before I can snap at him again, a new voice cuts in. "He's right, Sweet Girl. You can call us if you ever need us," Nikolai says, emerging from the house. Mason follows close behind. Oh, great. All three dumbasses are here.