“That’s our little sister! Get the hell away from her!”
My youngest brother’s voice echoed across the concrete plaza, sharp and completely lacking the polished restraint of the elegant man standing beside him. Before I could blink, the famous gamer lunged forward, physically shoving the tattooed guy away from me. The guy stumbled backward, his jaw dropping as he recognized the wildly popular internet celebrity.
The police officers at the entrance stood paralyzed. The eldest brother—the hedge fund tycoon—merely adjusted his tailored cuffs, his sharp eyes cutting through the scene with chilling authority. He didn’t say a word, but the sheer weight of his presence made the tattooed guy back up into his shiny Range Rover without another syllable.
“Look at her,” my youngest brother muttered, his voice suddenly cracking as he turned to face me. The chaotic energy he displayed seconds ago vanished, replaced by raw disbelief. “She looks exactly like Mom’s old photographs. The eyes… she has Mom’s eyes.”
The eldest brother stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking against the pavement. He stopped exactly two feet away from me. His gaze drifted down to my faded hoodie, my dust-coated sneakers, and finally, the massive, cheap red, white, and blue plaid plastic tote bag I was clutching like a lifeline. A flash of profound guilt crossed his handsome features, so quick I almost missed it.
“You’re safe now,” the eldest brother said, his voice deep, calm, and carrying the weight of a man used to controlling billion-dollar empires. “We’ve been looking for you for a very long time, little sister. Let’s get you out of here.”
Without asking, my youngest brother snatched the heavy plastic tote bag from my hands. “I’ve got it. Jeez, what do you even have in here? Brick collections?” He tried to joke, but his hands were visibly shaking.
