Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ava
I wish I could see his face, but it’s masked by darkness—just like his fucking soul—so all I can see is the outline of his muscular frame. He just stands there and says nothing, which makes me even angrier. Usually, he won’t fucking shut up, and now, suddenly, he has nothing to say?
“What, no snarky response?” I snap, desperate for him to say something, anything, so I can justify ripping into him again.
“You’re right.” His voice is so low, I can barely hear him. “I’m a selfish cunt.”
I purse my lips, beyond irritated that he agrees with me. How can I argue with that? Ugh. Fucking annoying.
“Exactly,” I say, the word blunt. Clipped. “At least we agree on one thing.”
He goes quiet again, and I wonder if I’ve somehow managed to find a chink in that emotional armor he wears like a second skin.
For a split second, I feel bad. I know I shouldn’t. I know he doesn’t deserve my sympathy. But I’m not a heartless asshole, so…yeah, occasionally, I feel things I shouldn’t. Like guilt, or sympathy for monsters.
“Whatever,” I say, more to break the awkward silence than anything. “I’m going to bed.” I turn toward the party, but then snap back as a thought strikes me. “And, you know what, none of this really matters, anyway. I’m getting an annulment the literal second I’m free of this place.”
“Fine.”
That one word—flat, and detached—stops me cold. He says it like he doesn’t care. Like losing me means nothing. And that hurts more than it should.
I whirl back around. “Fine?” I spit. “That’s all you’ve got?”
He just shrugs lazily. It’s infuriating. “What do you want me to say, Ava?”
His indifference slices through me. I cross the space between us before I know what I’m doing. “You could start by acting like you give a damn!”
And then—snap. My palm connects with his cheek before my brain can catch up to my body. The sound splits the air. His head jerks sideways.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Finally, he drags his gaze back to mine, slow and dangerous. “Feel better?”
“No.” My voice shakes. “Not even close.”
“You really want to do this right now, Ava?”
“You’re hiding something,” I throw back. “You always are.”
He scoffs, the sound bitter. “You’re the fourth person to accuse me of that in two days.”
“Because it’s true,” I snap. “You’re a closed book. Everything about you screams secrets.”
I can’t see his face, but I imagine his lips twist into something cold. “And what about you, Doe-eyes? You’re seriously going to stand there and say you’ve got nothing to hide?”
My heart slithers up my throat and lodges there. I suddenly feel sick.
“No,” I blurt, too fast. “I mean—what would I even be hiding?”
He takes a step closer, voice dropping to a near-growl. “You tell me.”
Despite the cold air, the heat between us turns suffocating. I can’t breathe around it. So I turn on my heel and stomp back toward the glow of the bonfire, pretending I don’t feel his gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades. He’s smart enough not to follow me this time.
I told him I was going to bed, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. Instead, I plant myself near one of the bonfires and let the heat spread across my skin. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he grabs a beer and melts back into the crowd, like nothing happened.
“Hey. How are you holding up?”
The voice drags me back to the present, and I glance up to see Eve standing beside me, with another girl lingering a step behind her. I don’t recognize her.
I flash Eve a tight smile. “I was just thinking about walking into the ocean and letting it swallow me whole. Other than that, I’m doing great.”
“Yeah, the Sacred Sons can have that effect,” she says, turning to the girl next to her. “This is Wyn. She’s with Lucas.”
I have no idea which one is Lucas, but honestly, I’m not going to be at Rush House long enough for it to matter, anyway. Two weeks. That’s what Jackson promised me, and I’m holding onto that deadline with white knuckles.
“Cocktail?” Wyn asks, holding a can out to me. “I grabbed it for Lux, but she already has a drink.”
Sure, why not? What’s one more mystery drink added to the mix of toxic sludge I’ve swallowed over the last couple of days?
“Thanks.” I pop the can open and take a drink without bothering to check the label. It’s good—coconut with a hint of pineapple to cut through the bite of alcohol. Perfect. I inhale half the can in one gulp.
“You might want to slow down,” Wyn says with a laugh. “Those drinks are strong.”
“I’m good,” I say unapologetically. “In fact, the faster I blackout, the better. Then I won’t have to remember this shitshow of a night.”
“Uh, yeah,” Wyn says. “I can’t say I blame you. Burning Crown initiations are always brutal. Especially for us girls.”
I’m guessing her comment is supposed to comfort me, or make me feel less alone, but it doesn’t. It only proves just how fucked-up this place is, and now, whether I like it or not, I’m a part of it.
Love that for me.
“And you guys don’t see a problem with that?” I ask, trying not to sound too critical. They’re just trying to be nice. But, damn, it’s hard to hold the judgment in. Because, at the end of the day, they chose this. I didn’t.
“Well, usually, the initiates come willingly, so it’s less…forced…” Wyn says, glancing at Eve for help.
“Yeah, um, your situation was obviously an exception…” Eve says, her tone apologetic. “It’s not really supposed to happen like that.”
“Lucky me,” I say, taking another long pull from the pina colada. “Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. This whole thing is just another way for Jackson to control me.”
Wyn clucks her tongue. “To be fair, it’s not just him. All the Sacred Sons have serious control issues. It’s part of their charm–”
“Let’s not do that—” I say, cutting her off. Rudely, I’ll admit. “Let’s not romanticize brutal, selfish men and their weak excuses for being cruel.”
Wyn immediately sobers. “Oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Ugh, shit. Guilt instantly knots in my stomach. Eve and Wyn are just trying to be nice, and here I am, going off on them.
“No, I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “None of this is on you. Jackson is the asshole here.” I push out a breath and force a smile. “I’m usually a lot more fun, I swear.”
“No worries. I get it,” Wyn says. See, she’s so nice. “You’ve had a really fucked up day.”
“Yeah,” I say.
My gaze sweeps across the party until it snags on Jackson like a fishhook.
There he is, stretched across a blanket, all muscle, flashing that charming smile that used to undo me.
The firelight casts molten shadows across his chest, and he lounges there with a beer in hand like he owns the entire beach.
A cluster of girls crowd around him, hanging on his every word.
Then he throws his head back at something his buddy says, and that deep laugh carries across the beach.
Damn, he looks so powerful, so perfectly at ease in his own skin, like what just happened between us is already gone and forgotten.
I can’t stand how unbothered he is.
Eve and Wyn glance in the direction I’m looking.
“Well, Jackson is hot as fuck. So there’s that, at least,” Wyn says, watching him appreciatively.
Eve swats her. “Wyn, not helpful. Read the room. She hates him…”
“What? It’s true!” Wyn says defensively.
“Don’t listen to her,” Eve says. “All she thinks about is sex.”
“Oh, puh-lease.” Wyn’s eyebrow arches. “Like you and Christian don’t devour each other every second you get. I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t dragged you off to some dark corner of the beach already.” She glances around. “Give it five minutes.”
Eve rolls her eyes. “He’s probably hiding from Lucas.”
Wyn’s brow pinches. “We’ve got to do something about those two. Them not talking—it’s killing Lucas. He’d never admit it, but he’s not okay.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Why are they so angry at each other?”
“Lucas tried to kill me,” Eve says flatly.
“Oh.” God, I wasn’t expecting that answer. “Right. That…sucks.”
Wyn shakes her head. “It wasn’t personal. He thought…well, it doesn’t matter what he thought.” She’s looking at Eve. “The point is, you’re a part of the family now, so…”
Eve pushes out a breath. “Yeah. It’s killing Christian, too.”
“So, how do we fix it?” Wyn’s eyes light up with an idea. “Maybe a fake emergency? Lock them in a room together until they work their shit out…?”
“...Or murder each other,” Eve mutters. “But either way, we win.”
Their laughter drifts through the briny air, but I barely hear it.
My attention is locked on Jackson across the beach.
I can see the hesitation in his smile and the way his muscles tense when someone gets too close.
His boisterous laugh rings hollow, practiced—a sound he’s perfected for occasions like this when he needs to be someone else entirely.
But I know him. I know his tells. The way his jaw ticks when he’s forcing conversation. How his fingers drum against his thigh when he’d rather be anywhere else. The mask is flawless to everyone else, but to me? It’s as transparent as glass.
He catches my stare across the fire, and for just a heartbeat, the facade slips. The real him bleeds through—raw, unguarded, and achingly familiar. My heart skips a beat.
But his gaze is torn away from me when someone kneels down next to him and speaks directly in his ear. The smile on Jackson’s face fades as he glances up at Rush House. Whatever is being said is alarming enough for Jackson to get up and follow the guy back to the house.
“That was weird,” I say. “What do you suppose that was about?”
Eve and Wyn are deep in their own conversation, but when I speak, they follow my line of sight, where Jackson is crossing the beach.
“Maybe it has something to do with the article everyone’s been whispering about?” Wyn muses.
Eve glances at her phone. “What could come up at four in the morning?”
“Well, I’m finding out,” I say, heading off after Jackson. Wyn and Lux follow.
“Guys, slow down. Jesus,” Eve says, her breath heavy from trudging through the cold sand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Someone probably just puked in the living room again.”
No, that look on Jackson’s face was serious. Whatever that guy told him, it wasn’t good.
Inside the house, things look pretty normal.
People are hanging out in the kitchen, smoking, drinking, making out…
whatever. Eve and I follow Wyn down the hall, past the foyer, and down the hallway.
Raised voices echo off the walls. Well, one voice.
It’s Jackson, and he’s really pissed about something.
As we’re walking, Eve twists to flash me a look, like, What the fuck?
My heart kicks up a notch as Wyn stops in front of a set of familiar double doors—the library with a dressing room and a secret door into hell.
Wyn hesitates, so I step past her and push one of the doors open. Christian stands off to the side as Jackson unleashes hell on two people—one guy, a cop, and a woman in a sleek-looking pantsuit. She’s staring down at a piece of paper in her hands, completely unmoved by Jackson’s fury.
“...she’s my fucking wife,” Jackson fumes, jabbing at the paper.
I step into the room with Wyn and Eve right behind me. Everyone turns to look at us, and even Jackson’s fury stutters as his gaze collides with mine. The anger in his eyes quickly shifts to confusion.
For a second, no one speaks. No one moves. Then the woman in the blazer steps forward. “Miss Ava Baldwin?” she says smoothly, hand extended. “I’m Special Agent Silverman with the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of Senator Davis.”
I blink. Given Jackson’s reaction to her being here, this can’t be good…