Caught between two Kings

Joanna POV

I woke up feeling like my heart might actually burst out of my chest. You know that feeling when you've done something so stupid that your body physically rejects the memory? That was me. My mouth felt like sandpaper, and somehow my hair had managed to glue itself to my cheek with what I'm pretty sure was stress sweat. Gross, but whatever.

The room had that weird twilight thing going on where you can't tell if it's 6 AM or 6 PM, and honestly? I didn't want to know. My brain kept screaming at me to get up and deal with whatever mess I'd made, but my body was having none of it. Classic.

And then it all came flooding back. Jordan Kings. His hands. The way he looked at me like he owned me. God, what was I thinking? Actually, that's the problem, I wasn't thinking at all.

I squeezed my eyes shut so hard I saw stars, like maybe if I concentrated hard enough I could just... delete last night. Spoiler alert: doesn't work that way.

My phone started buzzing somewhere in the bedsheets, and I nearly had a heart attack. I didn't even look at it, just grabbed it and shoved it under my pillow like it was radioactive. My stomach did this weird flip-flop thing. Not exactly nausea, just... wrong.

Eventually I dragged myself out of bed because lying there wallowing wasn't going to fix anything. The floor was freezing against my bare feet, and of course I managed to scrape my heel on the bed frame. "Son of a…" I muttered, way too loud. My neighbor's probably used to my drama by now.

In the kitchen, I found this chipped mug I've been meaning to throw away for months, there's this crack right down the middle that makes it look as broken as I felt. The water tasted like pennies, but I drank it anyway because my throat felt like the Sahara.

Three sharp knocks at the door made me freeze mid-gulp.

My first thought: Jordan. Somehow he'd tracked me down, ready to finish whatever twisted game we'd started. My chest got so tight I thought I might actually pass out right there in my kitchen.

But I opened the door anyway, because apparently I make terrible decisions even when I'm sober.

Josiah.

He's always been the tall one, but standing there in my doorway he looked like he could block out the sun. And that smile, God, that crooked little smile that makes you forget he's related to his nightmare of a brother. His eyes were doing that thing where they seem to look right through you, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

"Joanna," he said, and his voice was so gentle it made my chest ache.

I just stood there clutching my stupid broken mug like it could protect me from whatever this was about to become. Some of the water sloshed onto my hand and dripped on the floor, but I couldn't seem to care.

"Can I come in?"

Every rational part of my brain screamed "NO." But my traitorous leg was already stepping aside, and then he was in my space, making my tiny apartment feel even smaller.

"You look like hell," he said, and somehow it didn't sound mean.

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk," I shot back, sharper than I meant to.

He actually laughed, not at me, just... soft and understanding. He leaned against my counter like he belonged there, arms crossed, studying me with those annoyingly perceptive eyes.

"You were with him last night." Not even a question.

I went completely still. Part of me wanted to lie, to pretend I had no idea what he was talking about. But the words wouldn't come.

"Joanna." His voice was so gentle it almost broke me. "Talk to me."

"I don't owe you an explanation," I managed, but even I could hear how weak it sounded.

"No," he agreed. "You don't. But I'd like to hear it anyway."

My hands started shaking so badly I had to put the mug down before I dropped it and added "cleaning up broken ceramic" to my list of problems. "It was a mistake," I whispered.

He let out this long breath, like he'd been holding it forever.

"Of course it was," he said. "Jordan destroys everything good he touches."

I wanted to argue, to defend something, anything but what could I say? Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the fact that my apartment is basically a sauna.

Josiah took a step closer. Not crowding me, just... there. "You don't have to handle this by yourself," he said.

I laughed, but it came out all bitter and wrong. "What, you're going to swoop in and save me? Play the good guy to his villain? You barely know me."

"I want to know you," he said immediately, and the honesty in it hit me like a truck.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded. I could feel tears threatening and blinked hard, hoping he wouldn't notice. Of course he did.

His hand came up slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. When I didn't move, his fingertips barely brushed my cheek. And God help me, I leaned into it.

"Don't," I whispered, even as every cell in my body was screaming "yes."

"I can't help it," he murmured, thumb tracing just under my eye.

My heart was doing this crazy drumline thing in my chest, scared, angry, hopeful, confused. All at once.

He leaned closer, and I could feel his breath against my skin. I hated how much I wanted this, wanted to replace last night's mistake with something that felt like a choice. His lips were almost touching mine when I heard it.

SLAM.

The door exploded open.

Jordan stood there like he'd stepped out of some dark fairy tale—perfectly pressed suit, hair immaculate, eyes absolutely lethal. He looked from me to Josiah and back again, and I swear the air itself turned sharp enough to cut.

"Well," Jordan said, voice quiet and dangerous. "Isn't this cozy."

I stumbled backward. Josiah immediately moved in front of me, which would have been sweet if the whole situation wasn't completely terrifying.

Jordan's jaw twitched, and he let out this laugh that had nothing funny about it. "Should have known," he said. "My baby brother, always ready to pick up my leftovers."

"Get out," Josiah said, steady as a rock.

"This is my city. My building." Jordan's eyes locked on mine. "My woman. Don't forget that."

My knees almost gave out.

I wanted to scream at him that I wasn't his anything, but the words got stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

"She's not yours," Josiah said through gritted teeth.

Jordan stepped closer, bringing that expensive cologne that was probably worth more than my rent. "Then why," he said, each word precise and cutting, "did she beg me to take her?"

The words hit like a physical blow. I actually felt sick.

Josiah's hands clenched into fists. I could see him fighting every instinct to swing.

And me? I stood there like an idiot, caught between them my body still remembering Jordan's touch, my heart pulling toward Josiah's kindness. It was like being torn in half.

We all just stood there, breathing hard, the tension so thick you could practically taste it.

Jordan's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it looked predatory. "This isn't over," he said. "We're just getting started."

Then he slammed out, leaving the door rattling in its frame.

The silence afterward was deafening. I was stuck between two brothers who each wanted pieces of me I wasn't sure I could give or if I even had left to give.