Page 64 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

The screen door bangs behind me. I reach the bottom of the stairs and take it all in. Mrs. Markoff shrieks my name. Gage’sdeep 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, fistsbouldered. 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.”