My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 155: Safety

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3rd Person pov

Adrien’s fist landed squarely on Patrick’s jaw with a loud crack that echoed through the hallway, knocking Patrick back against the banister with a surprised grunt. Unlike Liam and Jace, who had crumpled like they were made of paper, Patrick didn’t go down easily.

He shook off the hit, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and swung back with a wild haymaker that brushed against Adrien’s cheekbone, splitting the skin just enough to draw a thin line of red.

The sting only added fuel to Adrien’s already boiling rage, the image of Faye’s terrified face flashing in his mind like a strobe light, reminding him of every moment Noah had suffered because of these monsters.

Patrick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking through the pain as he circled Adrien in the tight space at the top of the stairs. "That all you got, pussy?!" he taunted, his voice dripping with bravado, his eyes flicking to the bedroom where Liam and Jace lay moaning in their own blood.

He lunged again, landing a solid punch to Adrien’s ribs that made Adrien hiss, the impact rattling his bones and momentarily knocking the wind out of him. Patrick pressed his advantage, grabbing Adrien’s shirt and slamming him into the wall, dust from the plaster falling like dirty snow. "You think you’re some hero now? We were just having fun, man. Noah’s been playing games with us all along!"

The words twisted something deep inside Adrien, a new wave of fury crashing over him at how casually Patrick dismissed what they had done—the violation and the cruelty wrapped in their twisted version of a prank.

He caught Patrick’s next swing in mid-air, twisting his arm with a savage yank that made Patrick yelp, and then drove his knee into Patrick’s gut, feeling the air whoosh out of him in a pained gasp.

"Fun?" Adrien snarled, his voice low and venomous, almost unrecognizable. "You call that fun? I’ll kill you for what you did to him!"

That threat hit Patrick like a punch to the gut; his eyes widened for a fleeting moment, the smirk slipping away as Adrien broke free and unleashed a storm of blows that came faster and harder than anything he’d dished out to the others.

He hammered Patrick’s face...once, twice, three times, each impact splitting skin and crunching cartilage, blood spraying across the faded wallpaper in dark arcs. Patrick staggered, trying to defend himself, but Adrien was relentless, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him down onto the hardwood floor with a thud that rattled the pictures on the walls.

He straddled Patrick’s chest, pinning him there, and rained down punches on his torso and arms, every strike fueled by rage like poison he needed to expel. Patrick’s protests turned into weak gurgles, his hands flailing as he tried to shield himself, begging, "Stop! F...fuck—Adrien, please—," but Adrien didn’t hear, didn’t stop, until Patrick’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp, a bloody, battered mess barely breathing among the wreckage.

Adrien rose slowly, chest heaving, knuckles raw and throbbing, but the fire inside him only burned hotter, like the violence had stoked it even more. He glanced back into the bedroom where Liam and Jace lay in their own pools of blood, groaning softly, their faces swollen masks of purple and red, bodies twisted at unnatural angles on the carpet.

The three of them, these sick excuses for human beings, sprawled like trash, nearly unconscious and completely broken. It should’ve brought some peace, some release, but all Adrien felt was a hollow, simmering anger that clawed at him, demanding more.

Then he caught sight of the camera, sitting on the side of the mattress, its red recording light still blinking like it was capturing the aftermath for posterity. With a low growl, Adrien marched over, snatched it up, and crushed the lens against the edge of the table in one brutal motion, shards of glass tinkling down to the floor.

He pocketed the memory card, making sure whatever filth they had recorded would never see the light of day, then turned on his heel and headed down the stairs without looking back. The front door loomed ahead, and as he pushed through into the cool night air.

Beating them hadn’t changed anything; the damage to Noah remained, a wound he couldn’t punch away. As he made his way to the car where Ethan waited with her, Adrien’s hands still trembled with the unspent storm raging inside him.

Ethan cradled Faye against his chest as he hurried down the narrow staircase, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back, with his jacket draped over Noah’s body like the only shield he could offer.

The night air hit him the moment he shoved the front door open, cool and sharp, carrying the metallic screech of distant sirens...but it did nothing to clear the suffocating guilt lodged behind his ribs. Every step toward the car felt heavier than the last, like the weight of what had almost happened pressed down on him along with Noah’s limp body.

Streetlight spilled across her face in flickering, pale patches, and each flash revealed more than he could stand to see: the dark bruises forming along his upper arms where fingers had gripped too hard.

Noah’s skin looked almost translucent under the orange glow, and his doe brown eyes were glassy and unfocused, fluttering as if he was fighting to stay conscious. The sight punched the air from his lungs.

This was Ethan’s fault. He should’ve been there. If he hadn’t silenced his phone to avoid his uncle’s calls, if he’d slipped out of the house ten minutes earlier like he’d planned, if he’d answered Adrien’s frantic text the second it came through... none of this would’ve happened.

"I’ve got you, Noah," he whispered, his voice cracking as he adjusted him higher against his chest. "You’re safe now, I swear. You’re safe." But even as he said it, the words felt like a lie, because how could she feel safe when Noah’s body trembled in his arms, when his skin was marred with fingerprints that weren’t his?

He tried to respond—his lips moved, forming the faintest shape of his name—but the sound that came out was barely a rasp, slurred and distant. His head lolled against his shoulder, and Ethan’s stomach dropped like a stone.

The way Noah’s limbs hung heavy, the sluggish drift of his gaze, and the unnatural heat radiating off him even in the cool night air—it all told him that Noah had been drugged . The realization hit him like a second wave of nausea. They hadn’t just terrorized him; they’d made sure he couldn’t even fight back.

"Noah, hey, stay with me," he urged, panic lacing his words as he reached his car and fumbled one-handed with the passenger door. "I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. This is my fault—I should’ve been there sooner, I should’ve—"

His voice broke completely, and he swallowed hard, forcing back tears because crying wouldn’t fix anything right now. He carefully eased Noah onto the seat, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders, tucking it under her chin like you would with a child.

Her skin felt feverish against his knuckles, and when he brushed a strand of hair from Noah’s forehead, he flinched, a tiny, wounded sound escaping her throat that tore him apart.

"Shh, it’s just me," he murmured, climbing in after Noah and pulling him gently against his side so he wouldn’t slump sideways. "You’re out of there. You’re with me now. No one’s going to touch you again, Noah, I promise. I swear on everything I am, this will never happen again."

He managed the weakest nod, her cheek brushing against his shirt, leaving a damp streak of tears and smeared mascara. Ethan pressed his lips to the top of Noah’s head, inhaling the faint trace of his shampoo under the overwhelming stench of sweat and fear, repeating it like a prayer:

"You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe." Over and over, until the words lost their meaning and became just a rhythm, something steady to anchor them both.

He didn’t know if Noah could hear him anymore, his eyes had slipped shut, lashes dark against bruised skin...but he kept saying it anyway, because it was the only thing left he could offer in the wreckage of the night.