Chapter Fifteen
Athens
Ever since Josie dropped the truth on me, that she’s my mother, my life has spiraled into a fever dream of blood, betrayal, and bone-deep truths I wasn’t ready to face.
Wyck told me he loved me and asked me to move in.
Bash threatened to slit my throat if I didn’t crawl back to him.
I found out I’m married, fucking married , to the monster who locked me in a gilded cage and called it protection.
The rest? A kaleidoscope of fucked-up revelations I can't even keep straight anymore.
I should be locked in a padded room by now, drooling into a cup and whispering about masks and monsters to the fucking wallpaper.
The journal entries didn’t help. Each one is a needle straight to the vein. I haven’t even gone through the entire box, just bounced between them like a masochist playing roulette. What I’ve read so far has been enough to make my skin itch from the inside out.
I’ve broken down more times than I can count. Snapped at students. Snarled at the Devils. I’ve turned into some twisted version of myself, less Cruella, more Medea.
And yet, they still come to me. Still guard me. Still hold me like I’m sacred when all I feel is soiled .
I moved in with them. Into the den of Devils.
It’s safer than the lies I used to call home.
Bash has gone radio silent since Wyck promised he’d feed him his teeth if he so much as breathed in my direction again. Josie’s vanished. Gaia hasn’t called. Everything I thought I knew is ashes at my feet.
So instead of facing the fire… I hide.
Right now, I’m curled into the corner of the teacher’s lounge like a ghost wearing my own skin. Palms wrapped around a too-hot mug of tea, pretending it’s enough to burn the truth out of me.
The door creaks.
“Long time no see,” a voice cuts through the fog.
I blink slowly, lift my head.
Crew.
Security detail. Golden boy smile. Doesn’t belong in this world of monsters, which makes me instantly suspicious.
“Crew,” I murmur, voice flat and hollow. “Hi.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and casual, like we’re old friends and not two strangers with nothing but a hallway bump-in and forced charm between us. “How are you doing?”
He slides into the seat next to me and nudges my leg like we’re on some teen rom-com lunch break. I scoot over, more out of reflex than desire, and give him a weak attempt at a smile.
“You never showed for our lunch,” he adds with that same disarming charm. “I waited.”
I blink at him. “I forgot.”
It’s the truth. My mind has been a battlefield. And Crew? He’s a footnote in a horror novel.
He’s not a student. He’s head of campus security. We met when I crashed into him running to class. He laughed. I apologized. And now, apparently, we’re friendly.
“I get it,” he says with a sigh that sounds rehearsed. “How about that lunch today?”
I sigh, too. Just to match the performance. “Sure. I guess I could eat.”
He beams like I just agreed to marry him. “Great. Looks like you’re on break.”
“Just sat down. Was aiming for tea and silence.”
“Well,” he grins, “maybe a friend’s what you need instead.”
He watches me too closely. Like he’s studying the cracks in my mask.
I force a brighter smile. “Maybe.”
He leans back. I really look at him now, trying to remember why I ever trusted him.
His eyes, dark chocolate and something colder underneath.
Sandy blond hair. Clean cut. Those glasses add just enough nerdy innocence to make you forget that security guards carry guns.
He’s handsome. Probably dangerous. That’s the kind of world I live in now.
He catches me looking and arches an eyebrow.
“See something you like, Professor?”
I laugh, soft and jaded. It feels alien.
“My apologies. I was staring.”
He grabs my hand before I can pull back. Stands, pulling me with him. I slam into his chest, firm and warm.
“You’re only human,” he says, too gently. “Come on. Before your lunch break’s over. Or before you ghost again.”
I let him guide me out of the lounge, down the hallway, out into the open air. It’s too bright. Too loud.
“Where are we going?”
“Cafeteria,” he says casually. “I know someone in the kitchen. I’ll make us something.”
I stop walking. “We’re not supposed to be back there.”
He leans in. “I’m not supposed to break bones either, but I do what needs doing.”
That gets my attention.
“Relax,” he adds with a smirk. “I know people.”
Right.
I should walk away. Run back to the Devils. To Wyck. To the darkness I know .
But instead, I walk.
Because Crew might be sweet on the surface, but there’s something in the way he talks, in the ease with which he pulls strings and breaks rules, that tells me he’s not as harmless as he seems.
“You’re one of the few women who doesn’t shut me down when I try to do something nice,” he says, glancing sideways. “It’s refreshing.”
“I’m trying something new,” I admit, eyes scanning the quad. “Trying not to run from everything.”
“Like coming to the kitchen with a maybe-sociopath?”
“Exactly.” I smirk.
We walk in silence for a second before he murmurs, “Well, thank God for the small things.”
I nod, but there’s a knot in my stomach I can’t ignore.
Because small things become big things.
And in Cliffside , nothing, nothing , is ever what it seems.
The moment he slid something across the metal prep table, the sound scraped like a blade drawn against bone.
“You can open your eyes now,” Crew says, voice low, soothing in the way soft things can be when they’re meant to disarm.
I blink slowly, lashes sticky from the heat of the kitchen and the stale sting of fluorescent light. A sandwich sits before me, obscene in size, stacked high with thick cuts of meat, crimson tomatoes, and some kind of aioli that looks like it might bite back.
“A sandwich?” I ask, skeptical.
“Not just any sandwich,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Go ahead. Try it.”
I pick it up with both hands, it’s massive, heavy, weighted like a trap disguised as a gift. I sink my teeth in, and a rush of flavors hits me like heat to nerve endings. Salty. Sweet. Spiced. It’s fucking good.
I moan, low and unthinking, as I chew. “Shit… this is incredible.”
Crew watches me too closely.
“No need to thank me,” he says with a wink, “but don’t ask for the recipe. Some things are better left… unspoken.”
I snort. “Sure. Totally normal behavior. Just a man with mystery mayo and secrets in his back pocket.”
His smile twists. “You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, licking stray sauce off my fingers.
His eyes track my tongue like it’s something sacrilegious. “Make sounds like that. Not in front of a man who’s sworn off… indulgences.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you really just refer to sex as indulgences ?”
“I did.” He straightens his glasses like they’re armor. “I took a vow.”
I laugh, harder than I meant to. It startles me, the sound. I haven’t laughed like that in… days? Weeks?
“Okay, Mr. Celibate. When was your last indulgence?”
He goes quiet. The smile fades. “She died. Years ago. My girlfriend.”
The mood shifts, like the temperature dropped ten degrees.
“Crew…” My voice softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t have.” He shrugs, but it’s too tight. “Haven’t really looked at another woman the same way since.”
For a moment, the air between us sharpens. I don’t know if I want to comfort him or crawl back into the hole I’ve been living in.
He tears off a piece of sandwich. “Let’s talk about you.”
“Oh, God no. My life is a circus. Except all the animals have rabies and the ringmaster’s a corpse.”
He chuckles, but before I can say more, we both hear it, voices echoing down the hallway.
Laughter. Footsteps.
Crew shoots up, all business now. “Time to go.”
He’s moving fast, stuffing napkins, plates, and leftovers into a black duffel I swear wasn’t there two minutes ago.
“You liar,” I hiss. “You don’t know anyone in the kitchen, do you?”
His guilty expression says it all.
“I should report you.”
“Sure,” he smirks, grabbing my wrist. “After we make our escape.”
We bolt out the side door like a couple of kids breaking out of detention. I’m breathless. Giggling. It’s wrong. It’s reckless . And I can’t remember the last time I felt something other than hollow.
Adrenaline dances through my veins like static.
“I’ve never been caught like that,” I admit, heart hammering. “It was… thrilling.”
“You’re welcome?” he offers, unsure.
I nod. “Thank you. Really.”
He checks his watch like he’s memorized my schedule. “Your break’s almost over.”
Damn. “Yeah.”
His face dips low, almost sheepish as he kicks at a loose piece of gravel. “Maybe we do this again sometime?”
I hesitate, then nod. “Sure. I might even bring a friend next time. She’d like you.”
His brows lift, but the glimmer in his eyes dies almost as fast as it appears. “A friend, huh? Sounds harmless enough.”
“Trust me… she’s not.”
Crew gives me a lopsided grin. “Then I look forward to it.”
He turns and walks away, that black duffel swinging at his side like a body bag.
And me? I head back toward the building, past the quad, past the kids, past the noise.
A couple more classes and I’ll be back home with the Devils.
Back in their fortress.
Back to my wine, my journals, and my quiet war with the ghosts of my past.
Because there’s more to read.
More to remember.
And I already know… the next page will cut deeper.