Chapter 19 Neve
NINETEEN
NEVE
“What does Faust want?” I fold my arms across my chest, the building quieter here, behind the gauzy partition and further back still, in a private room that seems reserved for group dinners.
It’s gold and black, a long, stone table in the center of it, but there are deep purple couches along the corners.
I refuse to sit in one, and instead, I’m standing in front of Sylvan as he sits, his arms hooked around the back of the couch, casual and arrogant as he gazes coolly up at me.
I checked my phone on our way over here after I apologized to Tas and told her I’d be right back, but Faust hadn’t texted me.
So I sent him a message, literally behind Sylvan’s back.
Sylvan says you want something with me. At Castle’s off King.
“Why don’t you sit down, Ice Queen?”
“You either tell me what he wants, or I’m walking back out there.”
“To get back to your public fuck?” The bite in his words surprises me. Some of his relaxed arrogance seems to slip away.
“Yes.” I smile as I say it, only to watch Sylvan scowl.
But that expression lasts seconds, then he smooths his features again, and his light eyes spark with amusement.
He licks his bottom lip as he glances away for a heartbeat, then he’s focused on me again. I like how he has to look up at me, his throat elongated, that blue vein stark under his skin. There’s no denying how attractive he is, if I happened to be into psychopaths who can skate.
“Did you hear the news?” His question makes me feel uneasy, but I don’t show it. I’m positive he’s full of shit and he only wanted to get me alone, but there has to be a reason for that, and I want to find out what it is.
I don’t look away from him because I don’t want him to know he’s unnerved me. “No.” That’s the only word I give him.
His lips tip up, dimples forming in his handsome face. “Ask me what it is.”
Unreal. “Absolutely not.” I return his cocky smile for one of my own and start to step back.
Tasia needs an explanation if I have any hopes of staying friends with her—I’m indifferent, but since she’s in our friend group now, better to stay cordial—and Cynthia will be looking for me soon, too, no matter what lucky boy has distracted her attention tonight.
We stick together, and if we don’t physically, we’re keeping tabs on each other.
But before I can get away, in a motion so fast I don’t realize until he’s touching me, Sylvan has leaned up and placed both his huge hands on the backs of my thighs. He pulls me toward him and I get thrown off by the unexpected motion. I shoot my arms out and grab hold of his hair.
Thick, nearly white, soft.
Annoyance burns under my skin even as I think it, and I pull, hard, but he just tips his head up to stare at me, a ring of black around his silver-blue eyes, his nose perfect at this angle, cheekbones lethal.
His fingers knead my flesh, just below my ass.
I part my lips to scold him, but all that comes out is a breathy sort of exhale.
I don’t stop pulling at his hair though.
His chin is level with my chest and considering I’m in four-inch heels, it’s just another reminder of how big he is, even though he’s leaner than Faust.
“Ask me.” It’s a low command.
The music is lower here, but the bass still thuds. I can hear it and all the people beyond the closed door, laughing and squealing and having fun.
Sylvan’s scent of mint and leather seems to surround me, and the feel of his hair between my fingers, his hands on my thighs, it all unsteadies me.
I tug harder on his hair, trying to find my calm amid the worry for my friends, the alcohol in my veins, and wondering what it is, exactly, Sylvan actually wants to say to me.
“I don’t play these games, Sylvan Connor.”
His nostrils flare as he inhales, and I wonder what kind of effect I’m having on him and if it’s the same he’s having on me.
“I don’t usually need to beg, Neve.” His voice is cold but throaty.
“You usually make them beg, right?” The condescension is clear in my tone.
His throat rolls as he swallows and he’s digging his fingers so deeply against my thighs that I’m sure he’ll leave a mark.
“Sit on my lap, Vee.”
Vee.
No one has ever given me a nickname, and I don’t know if I like it, but coming from his pouty lips, it’s sexy as hell.
“Please,” he adds, his eyes searching mine.
It’s a show, the openness he seems to switch on. Based on what Tasia told me, and what I’ve seen myself, even how he plays on the ice, every move Sylvan Connor makes is calculated.
But it doesn’t make it less hot.
Still, as fond as I am of sleeping with strangers, I’m not adding a psychopath to my list. The last two were relatively normal—at first—and look where that got me.
Got us, because Sylvan is as involved in Jackson’s death as I am, if not more so.
“Tell me what it is you want to tell me or let me go.” I keep my voice strong, commanding, but my heart is a thrashing butterfly inside my chest.
He clenches his teeth. I can see it in the way his jaw moves.
A smile comes to my mouth. “Am I making you mad, Sylvan Connor?” I tug harder on his hair and his brows pull together but he doesn’t release me.
“Are you not used to meeting your match? You thought you could lie about me, about the privilege of fucking me, and get away with it?” I yank harder, loving the sensation of control.
He blinks. It’s a subtle thing, but it’s the only change to his facial expression I see before he tugs me down on top of him with a forceful pull. A low exhale leaves my lips as my knees unwillingly come down on either side of him.
My hands drop from his hair to his broad shoulders so I can keep my balance, and he jerks me close to him, hands on my ass now, gripping my flesh so hard, I really don’t think I could get away. My center is over his groin and he’s hard, his cock thick between us.
I push back, trying to create distance, but he bands an arm around my spine and tugs me close, then slides his hand to the back of my skull, forcing my temple down to his.
“Don’t fight me, Vee,” he whispers, his breath between us, clean like he’s just brushed his teeth. No minted scent, just fresh.
“Let me go, or I’ll ruin your life.” My nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, but he seems completely unaffected despite the fact I’ve accidentally punctured through gloves thanks to how long my nails are.
He nudges his nose against mine and my heart feels as if it’s going to fly out of my fucking chest. “Are you?” he whispers. “Going to ruin me?”
“Seriously, fuck off.” I try to push away from him again but he tightens his grip on the back of my head and keeps me still, his other hand still holding my ass in place.
He lifts his chin and his lips ghost over mine.
The action makes me go completely still.
It’s too intimate. Too… much.
“I don’t want to, Vee.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
“You spit in my face last night.”
My face grows warm at the memory, but I don’t apologize. I’m not fucking sorry. And now I’m wondering again if, despite the fact it seems to make zero sense in terms of a timeline, he was involved with Jackson’s death.
Something is very wrong with Sylvan Connor. That much is clear.
“You deserved it,” I snarl, trying to mask my apprehension with anger. And before I can wait for whatever smug reply he might have next, I shift one hand from his chest to his throat, the wool of his coat grazing my knuckles as I squeeze.
His skin is warm and I can feel his pulse beneath my touch.
“Now let me go,” I snap. “Or I’m going to fucking hurt you.”
He tilts his head, causing his lips to brush against mine again, a low laugh leaving his mouth, warm on my own. “Please, baby girl,” he begs. “No one ever does anymore.”
Anymore.
It sounds like a confession, and it throws me off.
I curl my fingers tighter around his neck but my mind is spinning with his nearness, his words, the fact we’re alone and it’s loud inside this place. If I did scream for help, he could easily put his hand over my mouth before anyone heard me.
Slut D. It echoes above all the other thoughts inside my head. Would anyone even believe I didn’t want him?
I mean, do I want him?
“Why did you say that to Faust?” I want to know. I don’t clarify, but he knows what I’m talking about.
His eyes are unreadable, his expression stoic. One second, he’s temptation with a black and red bow, the next, he’s iced me out.
I’m worried he’ll give me nothing, and I’m annoyed I care being empty-handed as far as Sylvan’s psyche is concerned.
Then he says, his voice soft as he overenunciates, “I wanted him to know he can have everything, but he can’t have you.”
Shock steals through me.
It’s not what I expected. Arrogant, yes, brave, maybe, but it sounded oddly confessional. True.
That’s his trick though, isn’t it? He betrays you once, twice, every time he opens his mouth, and it all blurs together, impossible to pick any truth from his fiction.
Before I can decide what to do next, the door to the room opens.
I snap my head up as much as I can with Sylvan’s hand on my skull, and a moment later, Faust Darling stands in the doorway, his eyes on mine.
“Did you come to deliver the news, Captain?” Sylvan asks without looking up. I feel his eyes burn against my skin as his breath mingles with mine.
Slowly, Faust closes the door at his back.
He’s dressed in a black hoodie, black pants, those chains around his throat.
It’s too cold for just a hoodie, and I have no idea how long it would take him to get here, but I think he might have driven.
Because of my text?
I watch him drag his gaze over me, straddling his teammate, then the devil himself, his pulse calm beneath my grip on his throat.
Faust’s eyes seem to linger where we connect.
Our mouths so close, our bodies pressed into one another.
His brows pull together and he walks closer.
There’s a lull from the noise outside and I can hear the hardwood creak beneath his Jordan’s.
His hands are in the pocket of his hoodie and his chin is dipped as he stares down at me.
Sylvan has suddenly gone very still underneath me.
It seems as if Faust is likely the only person in the world he’s afraid of, and I can’t figure out if it’s solely because he’s Sylvan’s captain, or if there’s something else to fear. Or maybe, as Sylvan does, he’s faking it all.
“They found another body.” Faust’s words as he stands at the back of the couch.
I’m watching him. Sylvan is watching me. But he’s lost all of his smugness. None of his erection. And instead of gripping my skull so tight I can’t get up, he starts to stroke my hair.
“What?” It’s the only word that comes to my mind.
Another body? Like Jackson was just part of a chain of them? Like there’s a fucking serial killer? That can’t be true.
This will be impossible to hide.
And I should be ashamed that’s my first thought, but I’m not.
Faust’s gaze tangles with Sylvan’s fingers in my hair. His focus stays there when he keeps talking.
“On campus. In the dark behind some bushes. By House Memorial.”
The library.
I’ve spent many nights there as the sun went down and came up again writing an essay last minute. I always seem to ace them that way.
“Who?” I ask, like Faust will have the answer.
But how does he know a body was found anyway?
And is that what Sylvan wanted to tell me?
Was he telling the truth all along? I thought it was some ploy to get me alone for reasons I didn’t understand but did Faust really want to tell me this himself and Sylvan was the bait to draw me in?
But that begs the question… Why wouldn’t Faust just text me the news? Unless he doesn’t want to look guilty? But why would he be worried about that unless he was? Then again, I never Googled these two boys for fear of the same. We don’t know the protocol for “potential murder suspect,” do we?
Are we both overly paranoid, afraid to put much in writing, or is one of us hiding something more?
I think of those ominous texts on my phone before Will came into my house. The ones I thought were from him, but he said he lost his cell. I never told anyone about those. I don’t know why it matters now, but for some reason, it’s at the forefront of my mind.
Faust’s focus slowly finds me again.
The music is loud once more, beyond the closed door to the private room, but it doesn’t really touch us.
Like we’re in our own nightmare bubble that’s getting ready to burst. I can tell, because of the look on Faust Darling’s face. His brows together, his lips pressed tight.
“Tell her.” Sylvan murmurs the words, and I feel them on my mouth.
Faust shifts his weight. Stares back at me.
Then he says, “Jackson’s friend. Will Barbour.”
My body freezes.
I don’t think I’m breathing.
Because I remember what the man underneath me said before. After he broke Will’s nose.
You can consider Will Barbour gone, Neve. He’ll never bother you or cross your path again.