Tell Me Why (Legacy of Lies #7)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Eve - Three Months Ago

Every Tuesday and Thursday at two-fifty in the afternoon, I come face to face with the devil. Well, actually, there are four devils that rule Exeter University West, known as the Sacred Sons—Roman Rush, Jackson McKnight, Lucas West, and his twin, Christian West.

But only one of those devils is in my Abnormal Psychology class.

I shift in the stiff auditorium chair, my laptop perched on the microscopic desk in front of me. My heart hammers against my ribs. Any minute, he’s going to walk through the door. Any. Minute.

I hate that I do this—watch the door with my breath held for a bi-weekly glimpse of the devil incarnate. He is beautiful, though. I’ll give him that. Christian West has a face card that never declines. Unfortunately.

His most stunning feature, though, are those sharp blue eyes that cut through me like a blade. One time, that gaze fell on me, and in the span of half a second, they threatened to slice through every defense I’ve ever built.

And that swagger. Damn. It’s not just privilege. It’s the swagger of someone who knows they can annihilate you with little more than a text.

He and the other Sacred Sons rule this campus through their secret society, the Burning Crown. They’re venerated here. Exulted. Untouchable.

But I know who they really are. I know exactly what lurks behind those pretty-boy faces. Deformed hearts and twisted morals. I know, because, for my entire life, that’s what I’ve been told.

A couple of minutes before class starts, Professor Cannon walks in, sets his shoulder bag down on the desk, and pulls out a stack of papers. Then he picks up a dry-erase marker and starts scribbling on the whiteboard— assessment of DSM-based psychopathology.

Capping the pen, he turns to the class, pushing his mess of dark hair away from his aging face. “Okay, let’s get started. We have a lot of material to get through today. Open your textbooks to…” He glances down at his notes. “Chapter three, page 134.”

I release a relieved breath as I open the textbook on my laptop and find the correct chapter. If Christian hasn’t shown up by now, then he probably won’t. And thank God. Small miracles.

Fifteen minutes into class, though, the door opens, and the devil himself saunters through it. Every girl in the lecture hall sits up straighter, their attention focused on Christian as he strides across the room with effortless confidence.

Fuck.

RIP to my focus. The lecture might as well be in another language now.

I watch, transfixed, as he moves across the room with predatory grace. If it were anyone else, they’d be mortified and apologetic for disrupting class. Not Christian. He owns the space and everyone in it. Including Professor Cannon, who says nothing as Christian climbs the auditorium stairs and glances around for an empty seat.

There’s one right next to me, because…of course there is. But there are others, too, and I pray with everything in my soul that he takes one of those.

Please don’t sit next to me. Please don’t sit next to me. Please don’t sit next to me.

I sink lower into my chair and pretend to read something on my computer, so I don’t make eye contact, even accidentally. I’m convinced that he’s some kind of soul-snatcher. Make eye contact, and that’s it. Your soul is no longer your own. All the Sacred Sons have that ability, I hear.

Seconds later, he’s standing in the aisle next to me, his muscular, jean-clad thigh brushing against my arm. I flinch but manage to keep my eyes on my laptop.

“I need to get by,” he says to me, his voice deep and gravelly like he just woke up.

Without glancing up, I pull my laptop against my chest and move my legs to the side awkwardly, creating just enough space for him to get by. He skirts past and drops into the chair next to me. Goddamn. He smells like soap and pine with a smoky undertone, and it’s all I can focus on as I resituate myself.

Professor Cannon hasn’t skipped a beat. He’s talking about something—I don’t even know what—when Christian leans over like he’s going to ask me a question. I shift away from him, glancing over my slightly raised shoulder like he has the plague. I know for a fact that my face is twisted in disgust, but I can’t help it. If he notices, he doesn’t react.

“Hey,” he whispers. “What page are we on?”

I’ve been at Exeter University West for six months now, and Christian has never spoken to me—none of the Sacred Sons have—which is a serious accomplishment for me, considering the Sacred Sons treat this campus like their own personal hunting grounds. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had a spreadsheet listing the name, age, and weight of every girl enrolled here, complete with their campus photo. There isn’t a female on campus they don’t know about, except for me. And I need to keep it that way.

Ignoring him, I straighten in my seat and refocus on my laptop.

“Hey.” Christian grabs my wrist. “I’m talking to you.”

I blink down at his hand, and I don’t know what happens, but something comes over me. All the anger I’ve managed to bury deep, deep down rushes to the surface, and I slide out of my seat. I expect him to realize he’s fucked up and let go. He doesn’t. So I’m forced to yank my wrist out of his hand. “Don’t ever fucking touch me,” I hiss.

He doesn’t even have the decency to look shocked or confused by my outburst. Instead, he leans back, the corners of his full mouth lifting into a lazy smile, like he knows something I don’t...

Suddenly, I have the feeling I’m the one who has fucked up.

Blinking, I look up and notice the room has gone completely silent. Everyone is staring at me, including Professor Cannon.

Shit.

Swallowing, I mumble “sorry” to the class as I snatch my bag and laptop and rush up the stairs to the nearest exit. My cheeks burn, and my heart is pounding as I push the door open and stumble into the hallway.

What the fuck did I just do? Why didn’t I just answer his stupid fucking question? I’m such an idiot.

But that’s the thing about the anger you keep suppressed. It rears its ugly head eventually, and the last thing I expected was Christian West touching me. That wasn’t exactly on my bingo card for today, so I wasn’t prepared.

It’s okay. Everything is okay.

I’ll just skip class this upcoming Thursday, and by next week, all this will be forgotten. With any luck, Christian won’t even remember I exist.

I stop at a bench and use it to set my bag down, so I can shove my computer inside.

“Hey,” a deep voice calls from behind me.

On instinct, I turn to see who it is, and I really wish I hadn’t. Christian is walking toward me, one hand in his pocket, that fucking smile still teasing the edges of his lips. I grab my bag and continue down the hallway.

“Hey,” he says again, his voice closer this time.

“Leave me alone,” I say, doubling down on my stupidity. I should apologize and make up a lie about being on my period or something, but I just can’t bring myself to pander to him. Monsters don’t deserve civility.

He catches up to me in the empty hallway, moving around to get in front of me, forcing me to either stop or crash into him. I stop.

“What the fuck was that?” There’s laughter in his tone, like we’re old friends, and this whole thing is some kind of joke.

“Nothing,” I say, taking a step back. He notices, glancing down at my feet, then slowly pulling his gaze up the length of my body like he has all the time in the world. Finally, his eyes snag on mine.

I’m holding my breath. I’ve just noticed that. And my heart is pumping so hard and so fast, my body jolts with every beat. But it’s not because I’m afraid of him. What can he do to me in the middle of a public hallway? It’s because I’m afraid of what I might do if he continues to provoke me.

“Nothing?” he repeats, taking a step toward me. “That didn’t seem like nothing.”

“I’m on my period,” I say in a rush, reaching for the only thing my panicked brain can come up with. I gesture down to my gray leggings. “Just…bleeding like a stuck pig. Everywhere. So, yeah, I can’t really stop and chat.”

Guys hate talking about menstrual cycles. I know from experience. Something about it just freaks them out, so I fully expect Christian to back up with disgust and let me pass. He doesn’t, though. Damn. Should I mention tampons? Maybe that would do it.

He laughs again. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

Um, what?

I didn’t expect him to challenge me on this, so it throws me a little. “Why would I lie about gushing copious amounts of blood?” I say, deliberately emphasizing the blood.

It’s not working.

He pushes me back against the wall, his large body surrounding me, trapping me. His hand falls to my waist, which is hidden beneath a hoodie that’s three sizes too large. Dipping his head, he speaks directly in my ear, “Fun fact about me—I hate liars.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Why do I get the sense he’s not talking about the lie I just told, but something else? Am I just being paranoid, or does he know the truth about me?

Okay, now I’m afraid.

“W-why would I have any interest in lying to you?” I ask. “I don’t even know you.”

He’s too close. His heat surrounds me, and it’s suffocating. I don’t want to touch him, but I have no choice. I can’t breathe. So I raise my hands and push against his chest. He doesn’t even budge. It’s like pushing against a brick wall.

“I’m asking myself the same thing. Why would some random girl in my psych class have such a strong reaction to me? It doesn’t make sense.”

I can’t help the disgusted scoff that escapes my mouth. “What, just because I’m not falling all over myself to talk to you, I’m lying? Is that it?”

“Exactly,” he says with another laugh, his hand moving upward, cupping my breast through the thick fabric of my hoodie. “Makes me wonder what you’re hiding.”

When he squeezes my breast, that’s it, I fucking snap. “Get the fuck off me!” I yell, burying my knee in his crotch with a strength I don’t normally have.

He stumbles back—and for a split second, there’s a flash of shock on his face. But it’s quickly replaced with anger. Real anger. Before I can get away, he rushes me and slams my back against the wall.

All the air is pushed out of my lungs, and I gasp. Holy shit. I suck in a gulp of air and before I can even fight back, he’s grabbing my face, pushing my head against the wall. “That wasn’t nice,” he says through gritted teeth, his mouth hovering over mine. “You should apologize.”

He’s gripping my jaw so tightly, it’s making my eyes water. And the really fucked up part? I can hear voices approaching, which means people are seeing him do this to me, and doing nothing to stop it.

Fucking sheep.

“Fuck. You,” I say, slightly slurred due to the limited movement of my jaw.

A sound rumbles deep in his chest, like a growl. I’m sure he doesn’t like being challenged—especially by some “random chick,” as he put it. But he can seriously fuck himself. There’s no way I’m apologizing to him—especially now.

With a chuckle, he pushes his free hand down the waistband of my leggings. I squirm and try to push him off me, but he’s far too strong. In seconds, his warm fingers breach my panties and the patch of curls shielding my entrance. One digit dips between my pussy lips, and enters me forcefully.

I suck in a sharp breath and rise up onto the tips of my toes. “You fucking asshole,” I choke out. The hand holding my face tightens as his other hand explores me.

“ Mmmm ,” he intones, pulling my face up, he brushes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “Well, well. You’re drenched.”

He pushes his finger in deeper, and a shock of something rushes through me. If I weren’t so disgusted, I might mistake the shiver that rolls through my body as pleasure. But that’s not possible. Not with a monster like Christian West.

Swallowing, I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think about something boring, like math—anything to stop my body from reacting to his touch.

What’s the square root of twenty-four?

“You like that, don’t you?” he chuckles, tilting his head to the side, and drawing in a sharp breath. Like he’s smelling me. “You can pretend you don’t, but all you girls are the same. One flick of your clit, and you’re putty in my hands.”

I don’t consider myself a violent person, but I’ve never wanted to murder someone so much. I didn’t ask for this. There are half a dozen girls in Professor Cannon’s class alone who would give their left tit for a sideward glance from Christian, but not me. That’s never been me.

“I swear to God,” I say through gritted teeth, “I’m going to kill you for this.”

It’s a bold claim. Christian West is one of the most powerful guys on campus. He has money. Influence. Resources. He could do whatever the fuck he wants, and no one would even bat an eye…

But I’m not just some random girl from a normal, middle-class family. I know how to exploit my enemy’s weakness, and Christian’s weakness is as clear as glass. He’s so fucking cocky, I’m surprised his massive ego made it through the door.

He ignores my comment as he readjusts his hand inside my leggings, so he can use his thumb to brush over my clit. Goddamn . Electricity zips through my veins, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning.

It’s not him, though. This reaction has nothing to do with how he touches me. It’s been too long since I’ve been fucked properly. Of course, my body is responding to the only guy who’s touched me like this in months . I’m only human.

His left hand is still holding my face, so when I try to bite him, he’s able to prevent me from making contact with his cheek.

“Ah-ah,” he says. “I like it rough, but no leaving marks. That’s against the rules.”

His casual, amused attitude pisses me off more than anything. More than him trapping me, more than him invading my body, taking something he has no right to. Anger, frustration, and disgust all erupt inside me at once, and I scream as loud as I possibly can, right in his face, the sound grating painfully across my vocal cords.

With his hand still on my face, he uses his forefinger and thumb to pinch my lips together and stop my screaming.

I expect him to be angry. Instead, he smiles down at me, curiosity flashing in his eyes. And if I’m being honest, that is more terrifying than his anger. I’d rather deal with his rage. I know what to do with that. I have plenty of experience dealing with enraged men. But the spark of interest I see in his cold blue eyes snakes down my spine and makes me shudder.

His hand is still buried inside me when he asks, “Who the fuck are you?”

I shake my head, and he releases my mouth just enough for me to speak. “I’m no one,” I answer.

He pulls back a little and looks at me with fascination, like I’m some kind of insect he’s caught in a jar. “Tell me your name.”

“No.”

He laughs a little. “You know I can find out.”

He’ll ask Professor Cannon, or he’ll get the class attendance list. But the name he’ll see on that list, Eve Verone, isn’t mine. When I enrolled at Exeter University West, I used my mother’s maiden name. Turns out, fake documents can be purchased, and they look surprisingly legit. Legit enough for the admissions office, at least.

“Go right ahead,” I spit back.

I should just tell my fake name so he doesn’t go digging around in my student files. My fake ID, birth certificate, and high school transcripts fooled the ExU gatekeepers, but would they hold up under closer scrutiny? I’m not trying to find out.

But telling him my name—actually saying it out loud to him—feels like a step too far, and I can’t get myself to do it. I’ve been desperately trying to lay low for months now, so giving him any information, even my fake name, feels like I’m playing with fire.

Slowly, he pulls away, removing his hand from my body and stepping back. My heart is still thundering inside my chest. I have no idea what to expect next. Will he pull me into a bathroom and fuck me? Or will he do it right here, in the hallway, where everyone can watch?

Shaking his head, he brings the tip of his finger up to his mouth and sucks on it, pulling it out with a pop. “Sweet,” he growls, his voice seductively smooth. He holds his finger up. “But no blood, which means you lied to me. And I’ve already told you how much I hate liars.”

The fucking asshole. I don’t owe him the truth. I don’t owe him anything . The entitlement of this guy is so colossal, it’s unreal. But I swallow back that reply because it’ll just piss him off more—and if he’s pissed, or intrigued, or both, then he won’t let me go. He won’t forget about me. Which is exactly what I need him to do.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words nearly choking me on the way up my throat. They taste bitter in my mouth. “I was embarrassed. It won’t happen again.”

He leans in, but makes no move to grab me again, thank God. “I don’t believe that for a second.” His voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. “You’re trying to throw me off, but it won’t work. I’ve just made it my mission to learn everything about you, Miss Eve Verone. Every dark, lurid secret.”

With a deep chuckle, he just walks away, and I’m left standing in the hallway, too shocked to speak, move, or make sense of what just happened. How does he know my name? I’ve only caught his gaze once in class. It doesn’t make sense.

But there’s one thing I do know—now that I’m officially on a Sacred Son’s radar, I’m royally fucked. And not in a fun way.