Chapter 4 Evie
Our redbrick mansion sprawled across the middle of the property.
The scorched side, which had burned down months ago, was nothing more than a patch of grass and shrubs now—a quiet marker of the new chapter we’d all started.
A better reminder of Rook finally letting go of his obsession with revenge for our parents’ deaths.
I didn’t crave revenge like Rook had. I only wanted answers. Who were my parents before they were killed? What did they do in their free time? And more importantly, why did Cameron target them in the first place?
We knew Cameron Fletcher—Regan’s dad—used our parents’ business to smuggle illegal goods into the country.
We knew he destroyed everything they built.
But I never understood why he chose them.
From everything I remembered, they were quiet, kind, normal people.
What made them stand out as targets to someone like Cameron?
Even with Cameron dead, the questions lingered. Letting those questions go didn’t feel fair—not when I survived and my parents didn’t.
I dreamed about them often, but nothing like I had the other night, nothing about their actual deaths. It was getting worse. The guilt always nagging me that I was alive and they weren’t. Their memory nearly wiped from our lives.
The house thrummed with life as always, a constant mess of voices and movement with seven of us under one roof—plus Harper, Regan’s best friend, who was basically an eighth resident at this point. The familiar noise of Hero and Mason bickering filtered in from the kitchen as I rounded the corner.
“Taste it. What if it’s delicious?” Hero demanded, stirring a dark liquid in the pot.
Mason leaned back, sandwich in hand. “And what if it kills me?”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
“To possibly kill me? Make it thirty.”
Hero’s dead eyes lit up, but he nodded. Mason grinned, dunking the spoon into the pot before dramatically tasting it.
His yell rang out, Hero groaning as I slipped past, laughing under my breath.
Hero could bake—the formulaic methods were right up his alley—but cooking wasn’t quite a strength for him.
In the living room, Zack and Kane lounged on the couches, beers in hand despite the early hour. Zack’s grin spread wide as his gaze locked on me. “Evie,” he said, his deep voice always making me smile. “You’re looking dangerous as always.”
“Dangerous is the goal,” I shot back, tossing my hair with a dramatic flip of my hand.
“Dangerous? You have enemies in the house or something?” Kane asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Keep your friends close, right? Sometimes your enemies are better company.”
They exchanged a knowing look before Kane broke into a smile. “It’s Aiden, isn’t it? Always the enemy.”
I didn’t answer, only flashed a grin and continued toward the stairs. Rook and Regan passed me, their laughter soft as they headed toward the kitchen together.
The noise faded as I climbed the stairs and reached my room.
The second I passed through the door, the weight of the morning settled over me, thick and unshakable. It had started as a slow simmer—irritation lurking beneath my skin, easy to ignore. But like an ember fed too much fuel, it had grown, and by the time I woke up today, it was an inferno.
I’d been angry at Aiden since the night at Hellfire, but the feeling had sharpened into something colder, more deliberate.
At first, I told myself to let it go and any anger I had at what he did—what he was always doing—wasn’t worth the energy.
But Aiden knew better than anyone he couldn’t ruin my day, meddle in my life, and walk away like nothing happened.
I didn’t want big revenge like Rook did, but I would do a lot to slowly tear apart someone’s life for my own type of revenge.
My fingers flexed with the restless weight of an idea forming as I paced my room. I wasn’t just going to get back at him. I was going to make him pay.
Maybe not only for the other night at Hellfire, but all the nights he sat around watching me, making me feel something when he was only doing a job.
I could almost see his reaction, the way his jaw would clench, the flicker of something dark and dangerous in his gaze when he realized what I’d done. I loved having the upper hand.
And when I unleashed my own type of hell on him, he’d finally understand what it felt like to lose control. To want something so bad you would risk losing your mind to get it.
Whether what he wanted ended up being me or being as far away from me as possible would be his choice, but I knew I couldn’t keep up with this dynamic we had fallen into.
So I was going to end it.
I adjusted my skirt and set the camera in front of me before sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to set my plan in motion. And then, as if the universe conspired to help me with my plan, Aiden’s shadow crossed my open door.
“Aiden,” I yelled.
He stopped, his broad frame filling the space, casting a shadow over my room, and I didn’t even try to hide the way I stared at him—he was hard not to look at.
I never knew if it was the annoyed way he looked at me, or the tattoos covering his arms, or his steady presence, but I never didn’t stare.
“What?” he asked, his tone clipped.
“I need your help.”
His eyebrows drew together, and I almost hoped it was fear I saw in them. “I don’t have time. I’m heading down to the shop with Mason to meet with a customer in twenty minutes.”
“Well, lucky for you, I know you can get there in less than ten minutes,” I said, smiling, “which means you have time to help me. Plus, after what I just saw, Mason could be puking his guts out right about now. He might need a minute.”
He checked his phone, sighed, and finally looked at me. “Fine. What do you want now, Psycho?”
“What am I doing right now that makes me a psycho?”
“Tell me what you dragged me in here for, and I’ll give you an answer,” he shot back, his lips twitching.
I groaned, turning to the camera. “Fine. You’re going to sit here and take a few pictures with me, then I send them to that asshole and . . . insinuate he’s right about us.”
“Us?” His eyebrows shot up, but he stayed rooted in place.
I groaned again. He hated when I joked about us—like the idea was revolting. I wasn’t ugly, and he really had no reason to be so disgusted at the thought.
The answer always seemed to lead back to him doing this only for Rook’s sake, but I still wanted to know for sure.
“Relax, Aiden. It’s only pictures. Try not to have a heart attack.” Heat crept up my neck. “We’re not actually having sex.”
He hesitated, weighing his options. I knew it wouldn’t take much—he always helped when I needed him, no matter how ridiculous. And right now, I needed a hot guy to piss off my ex for breaking up with me in front of everyone.
With an exasperated sigh, he finally walked over and perched on the edge of the bed, rigid as ever, eyes flicking anywhere but mine.
“Come on,” I teased, leaning in closer. “One picture. If I post a photo with you, he’s going to lose his mind wondering what’s going on between us and he needs some sort of punishment for what he did.”
He messed with his small lip ring, jaw clenching so hard I didn’t know how he wasn’t giving himself a headache.
I lifted my phone, heart hammering against my ribs. If he would sit still for even one photo, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity.
The first flash went off, and I adjusted my hair, keeping my expression steady even as I felt the heat of his gaze on me, heavy and unyielding. Each click made my pulse spike, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to move closer or stay just out of reach.
His hand pressed against my side, fingers knotting into the sheets. Heat radiated off him, making my skin prickle, every nerve alive under his gaze. Part of me tried to pretend he wasn’t touching me because he wanted to—but because he was struggling not to.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against his cheek. The jolt that ran through me was electric, raw, unlike anything I’d felt with him before. I’d been around Aiden countless times, but he never let me get this close.
“Dammit,” I muttered, shifting closer for the next photo. My fingers flexed restlessly, nerves buzzing. It was Aiden—I told myself like it mattered. Nothing ever came of my shameless flirting, and he’d never once taken the bait.
The camera clicked, and I pressed harder against him. His sharp inhale hissed through the air, slicing straight to my core. For a heartbeat I thought he might pull away, but he stayed frozen.
His gaze dragged down my neck before snapping back to my eyes, heavy, unreadable. Dangerous.
Was I already pushing him too far?
I couldn’t say this was a normal start to a relationship—definitely nothing I’d ever seen in the movies I secretly obsessed over—but it could be the start of ours.
“You really need all this to make him jealous?” he asked, his words rough.
“Probably not, but I prefer him to really regret being a dick to me, and now he’s going to wonder what had been going on between us the entire time.”
“You wouldn’t cheat on him.”
“No, but he seems to think so low of me. Why not let it haunt him a bit? He can think about all those late nights I spent with you at the garage. On the back of your bike constantly. He’ll wonder about every single interaction.”
“You live to ruin lives.” He shifted and turned away.
“You could at least pretend to be into me for the sake of the photo.”
My lips brushed his cheek again, heat sparking through me as my hand slid up the solid line of his bicep. My pulse thundered, each beat louder than the last, but he stayed unmoving.
The tension between us stretched so tight I wanted to wrap myself around him to find a release.
Could he really not feel it?
Finally, the smallest crack appeared.
His hand twitched like he wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. A war flickered in his eyes, sharp and conflicted, and I wondered if it had anything to do with me at all—or if anyone pressing this close would chip away at his control.
Maybe it wasn’t desire. Maybe it was only the fact that he hated losing.
His lips parted, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as his gaze grew heavier, darker. The fist he had twisted in the sheets shifted, sliding across the bed until his fingers found my knee, then crept higher, curling around my thigh.
I drew in a sharp breath, but I didn’t back off. Nerves and intent tangled together, wired so tight it almost hurt, and the air between us thickened until I knew I wasn’t the only one caught in it anymore.
So I leaned closer, deliberate this time, testing him, tempting him, daring him to break first.
His gaze caught mine, heavy enough to pin me in place, and the shiver that ran through me was part warning, part want. For a breathless second I swore this was it—if he kissed me, would it mean he wanted me, or would I be handing him the leverage I had been chasing all along?
Then he broke.
Aiden leaned in suddenly, the tension in his shoulders snapping like a pulled wire.
He turned, closing the last inches between us, and his hands swept up my side, rough and unrestrained, before threading into my hair.
His grip tightened until pain sparked deliciously down my spine, pulling me toward him.
His mouth crushed against mine, tongue fierce and demanding, and all the air between us vanished.
The stiff soldier I knew Aiden to be was gone. In his place was something feral—his body shifting forward until his chest pressed into mine, one hand clamping hard onto my thigh and dragging me across the mattress until I was straddling his lap.
I’d imagined kissing Aiden more times than I’d ever admit, but my fantasies had never come close.
In a world where I was always the one in control, always the one demanding, I opened. I let him take over. He wasn’t soft, or gentle, or hesitant. He was all-consuming.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Evie?” he growled against my throat, teeth scraping down the sensitive skin, each sharp bite forcing me to arch into him.
“Aiden,” I gasped, ready to beg for more—but the sound of his name ripped him out of whatever trance he was in. He wrenched back, standing so abruptly I toppled onto the bed.
“Fuck. What the actual fuck?” His hand drove through his hair, yanking until strands stood on end. His voice cracked raw. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who turned and shoved your tongue down my throat.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, pacing now. “We are going to pretend that didn’t happen and move on.” He looked up, his nostrils flaring as his eyes met mine. “Got it?”
“I mean . . . I have photo proof of what we just did.” The shock on his face made me smile, and I stood to face him. “I don’t think I can pretend it didn’t happen when I can now see proof of it at any moment. Honestly, everyone could see proof of what we did.”
“Why would they need to? It was a moment of temporary insanity. Nothing actually happened. It’s not like it went any further.”
“They won’t know that, and the evidence looks pretty damning.” A thrilling shiver ran through me, my aching need to take control of any situation, finding plenty of happiness in Aiden’s sudden worry.
His jaw ticked, the flex of it making me miss his mouth on mine already. “And what do you want? You’re threatening to blackmail me? Over what?” His eyes burned into mine, his hands still clenched at his sides.
“I’m not threatening,” I said, letting the words roll slowly off my tongue, savoring the power shift between us. “I’m giving you options.”
He took a step toward me, his presence suffocating, and for a second I thought he might kiss me again—if only to shut me up.
I wished.
“And what exactly are my options?” he asked, his voice dangerously low, the gravelly edge sending a shiver down my spine.
I smiled, tilting my head up enough to meet his deadly gaze head-on. “Either you help me with something I need, no questions asked, or . . .” I held up my phone, the screen still showing the damning photos, “everyone sees exactly what happened between us along with a pretty story I tell them.”
His silence stretched out, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. “You really want to play this game, Psycho?”
I stepped closer, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to remind him of how easily he had lost control moments ago, and close enough to think of how badly I wanted it to happen again.
Of course I wanted to play this game. I would do anything to force Aiden to look at me as anything more than an annoying thorn in his side, and if he gave in once, it only gave me a delusional idea I could get him to do it again.
I let the silence stretch, the weight of it heavy between us. His gaze shifted from my lips back to my eyes, burning with something darker than anger. I smiled, knowing that, for once, I had the upper hand and I had no intention of letting it go.
“I think I started the game, and I’m the one making the rules.”