Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jackson
The next twenty minutes crawl by like hours.
The car is hot as fuck, so I’m outside, leaning against the hood, staring down at my phone, when the door of the front house swings open, and my mother storms out, her face a mask of fury.
She has a glass of wine in her hand, and it sloshes as she makes her way down the front steps to confront me.
She immediately starts in. “What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s Ember? Are you trying to take my daughter away from me now, too?” She’s practically screaming now, her voice raised as she makes her way toward me. “After everything you’ve already taken from me?”
Christ.
Mom doesn’t even let me finish the sentence before she lunges at me, the wine glass in her hand exploding against the cement in a shower of crystal and burgundy. I step back, but not fast enough; her nails rake across my cheek.
“You ungrateful piece of shit!” she screams. “How dare you show your face here?”
“I own the house,” I remind her.
I bought it when she moved back from Missouri, and discovered her dead husband wasn’t as wealthy as she’d been led to believe. Turns out, he wasn’t just a creep. He was a creep who left my mother buried in debt.
But if I’m being honest, buying the place was never just about helping my mom.
It was my way of keeping Ava close. I planted the seed with her dad.
I’d mentioned the guest house, how it was perfect for someone handy, quiet, steady.
Just like the setup he had back in Missouri.
I figured if he moved in, maybe Ava would stick around too.
Speak of the devil. Right then, Ava rounds the corner of the house, her eyes sliding from my mom to me. “Everything okay?”
My mom’s attention is pulled to Ava, and a flash of confusion crosses her face, before her eyes soften and all the vitriol miraculously fades.
“Ava? Hey, hon.” She steps over the shattered crystal and approaches Ava.
“I didn’t realize that was you—” She stops herself, swallows, then seems to suddenly remember my presence.
“What are you doing here with him?” she asks, pointing to me.
“You shouldn’t be hanging around him. He’s a liar. He’s dangerous. He’s no good for you.”
Well, for once, we agree on something.
“We’re here to see my dad,” Ava says cautiously, like she’s eyeing a bomb that’s liable to go off at any moment. “I just wanted to check in.”
Mom nods, her eyes glassy, her movements too loose. It’s only ten in the morning, and she’s already drunk off her ass. She reaches out to touch Ava’s face, but I step between them before she makes contact.
She scowls at me before her gaze slides to Ava. “You are such a good daughter,” she says in a thinly veiled jab at me. “I know your dad appreciates you.”
“Yeah, thanksss,” Ava replies awkwardly, then glances at me. “Ready?”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice.
We drive back to Rush House in silence, but I can feel her steal glances at me. Finally, she speaks up. “I had no idea things were so bad with your mom.”
That’s a surprise.
“Your dad hasn’t told you?” I ask.
She glances out the window. “Some families avoid talking about politics or religion. My dad and I avoid talking about the McKnight family.”
My jaw tightens, but I can’t say I blame them. I’d avoid my family, too, if I could. “Yeah.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “What happened back there was really fucked up. Do you…want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okayyy,” she whispers under her breath. “It’s just that—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” I interrupt, gripping the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. “For fuck’s sake, just leave it alone, Ava.”
She does, thank God, but I can still feel her watching me. And, deep down, I know the anger and avoidance about my mother is just a deflection, a clumsy way to distract myself from the one thought that’s been humming beneath the surface since I talked to Christian: Ava and I are both fucked.
But then again, I accepted that the night I found out the article about the senator’s death had gone live. And if Ava’s pissed at me now, she’s going to hate me even more when she learns what I have planned—a fate I’ve already made peace with.
Truth be told, when I first set eyes on her years ago, it was like a cyclone had torn through my fucking brain.
I knew with bone-deep certainty that my life would never be the same.
It felt like falling, like that split second of absolute knowing before you hit the pavement—this is going to hurt like hell, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop it.
That’s Ava-fucking-Baldwin in a nutshell. She’s my madness. My obsession. My prison.
She thinks she knows the truth about me, but she doesn’t even know half of it. And even if she’s blind to what really happened that morning in Missouri, she isn’t wrong. I am the reason. I’d dragged her into my chaos and failed her when it mattered most.
But, fuck, when she pushed me away three years ago, it gutted me. The memory comes crashing back…
“I can’t do this,” she whispers, eyes filled with unshed tears. “I can’t be with someone who’s capable of—” She stops herself. She can’t even say it.
I was numb. I couldn’t breathe. Her words sliced into me with precision, cutting away that beating organ that gave me life. She was my heart. She gave me life. And when she was gone, I spiraled into a dark pit I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
But here she is now, close enough that I can smell the soap on her skin, close enough to see the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her eyes flash when she’s trying to prove a point.
I pull into Rush House’s long driveway, kill the engine, then turn to face her. “The Burning Crown is hosting a ceremony tonight,” I say. “I want you there.”
“But I’m not a member.”
She knows the basic rules. When we were dating, she was so curious about the Burning Crown.
Our rules, our tenets, our rituals. Every secret was a spark to her, and she leaned closer to the fire with wide eyes and parted lips.
She wanted to know why we did the things we did, what it meant, what it cost. I fed her scraps of information and watched her soak up every word.
I shrug. “We’ve made exceptions in the past.”
Confusion sets into her green eyes. “Why me?”
“You’ve always been curious about what happens during a ritual.”
“That was years ago,” she says. “I’ve gotten over my curiosity.”
I lift a brow. “Have you?”
Silence. I already know I’ve hooked her. Curiosity sparks in her eyes.
“You really think the other Sacred Sons will allow me to watch?” she asks cautiously, like she doesn’t want to seem too interested.
“I’m allowing it, Ava. They wouldn’t dare challenge me.”
And that’s the truth. The Sacred Sons might rule as equals, but there are lines we don’t cross, uncharted waters we don’t wade into. And Ava? She’s mine.
“Well, okay, then. But I’m just watching. I’m not participating.”
“Obviously,” I say, knowing she’ll never forgive me for what’s about to happen next. But some things are more important than forgiveness...