Chapter 30 Eris
Jace pulls his SUV into their garage, and again, I’m surprised to see my car sitting pretty two bays down. The sight makes me snort, but I frown when Jace groans in annoyance.
Their ex is parked outside the loft, posing in the driver’s seat of a Porsche something. I don’t really care for cars, so it doesn’t make a fuck to me what it’s called.
She doesn’t even allow the garage door time to close us safely away from the outside world. It’s about a fourth of the way down when she pops inside, and the closure stops immediately.
Jace cuts the engine, but he doesn’t acknowledge she’s here at all. He gets out first, calm and deliberate, then opens my door like it’s instinct. As if he’s done this a hundred times and always will.
Heels click against the concrete like a scream cutting through the silence. She walks through the garage as if she owns it, eyes locked on Jace, until they flick to me and harden.
The look she gives me isn’t surprise.
It’s an assessment.
Again…
I’m too tired to put up with her bullshit.
Kieran and Silas appear from the interior door a second later, both of them stopping short when they clock her attention on me.
I’m not watching her; I’m watching them.
Silas moves first, wordless, lifting my backpack and messenger bag from the backseat. Kieran grabs my duffels. They set everything down near the loft entrance, but they don’t go inside.
No.
They hover.
Not threatening, though they let their presence be known as they creep closer.
She doesn’t like that.
Her gaze snaps back to Jace. “You finally came home.”
He doesn’t answer.
But I do.
“What was your name again?” I ask pleasantly. “I didn’t catch it before.”
Her eyes flick back to me, cloudy with irritation. “I didn’t give it.”
I nod as if that explains everything.
“Funny,” I say, giving her a humorless smile. “You know so much about me. But I don’t know who you are. Hardly seems fair when you keep showing up unannounced.”
She rolls her tongue over her teeth.
And for just a second, my mind flashes to Roo’s text from this morning. Screenshots. Public records. Social circles mapped like constellations. A name attached to patterns, money, and a history of never being told no.
Callie St. James.
I let the knowledge sit quietly in the forefront of my mind and don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I have it.
She looks between the three men before bringing her attention back to me. “You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”
I roll my eyes and sigh at the dramatics. I hate that typical, basic bitch genre of women… But some of them just can’t help themselves. It’s the way they were raised.
Or all the pumpkin spice is melting their brain cells.
I can’t decide.
“Let me make something clear,” I announce gently, letting the mask slide to test the boundaries of everyone present. “You are not important to me. At all. I don’t care about your past with him. Or them. Or any version of this story you think you’re still part of.”
She opens her mouth, and I invade her personal space, pressing my index finger to her lips. Jace touches my arm, but I jerk away, undeterred by his silent warning.
“What’s wild…” I continue, “...is how much you clearly care about me. You know my name. You’ve done your homework. You’ve followed the rumors, sniffed out the secrets, and still… you can’t stop circling a door that won’t open.”
Her composure cracks, a hairline fracture that causes her cheeks to pink and her eyes to narrow. The corner of my lip curls into a smirk, and I risk letting the malevolence show on my face since the guys have a slightly different angle, only seeing my profile.
“It must drive you crazy,” I whisper, leaning in just enough for only her to hear me. “Knowing you can’t have what you want. And it’s me, of all people, standing in your way. Scum from the Bay with a gold-plated pussy and blood on my hands. Keep teasing me, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
She steps back as if I’ve slapped her, expression torn between outrage and fear.
Jace shifts then, just enough to place himself between us. He’s not aggressive toward either of us, but he gives me this apologetic look that makes me want to roll my eyes a second time.
I’m not mad at him. Her actions are her own.
Though I also get her obsession with them…
It’s a weird place to be… because if she doesn’t get over her obsession real fucking fast, I am most definitely going to kill her.
“Leave,” he says without looking at her. “We’re done. There is nothing left to talk about. Please leave before you piss me off.”
He turns with me, hand warm at my back, guiding me toward the door. Kieran reaches it first, pulling it open and grabbing my bags. Silas waits until I cross the threshold before glancing over his shoulder.
“You’re trespassing,” he informs her coldly. “Get the fuck out.”
Behind us, she screeches indignantly, the garage feeling too small for such delusional emotions.
As soon as she walks beyond the imaginary line Silas has memorized, the door shuts with a finality that echoes through the garage.
Silas grins at me, and it’s such an uncharacteristic look for him, I wonder if he has super hearing or some shit.
He taps the screen on a security panel, making the lock slide into place, keeping us away from the outside world. As the sound settles into the bones of the building, something settles deep in me too.
I’m not irritated or even rattled, really…
But I am indulging in the fantasy… Aware enough to know nothing stays simple for long. Patient enough to wait for the other shoe to drop.
“I should thank God I don’t have Roo’s temper,” I mutter as I slip my shoes off, kicking them toward the door. “Because if she’d been in the garage with us? That bitch would be in a trash bag by now. And not a fancy one.”
Kieran glances at me, one brow lifting. “You’re joking.”
Jace leans back against the kitchen counter, fidgeting with his phone. “Are you?”
I look between them, then at Silas, who’s watching me like he’s finally seeing the shape of the puzzle instead of just the pieces.
“You don’t know Roo,” I explain simply. “Not really.”
A beat passes before Silas says, “We know enough.”
I don’t argue. I just give a noncommittal smile and move to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.
My hand pauses on the cold plastic longer than it needs to, grounding myself as I contemplate pulling the mask fully back into place.
The aftershock hasn’t left my system yet, and I don’t feel like pretending otherwise.
“She’s not from here,” I speculate, twisting the cap off my bottle. “What’s her name?”
“Callie St. James,” Silas spits, like her name tastes vile in his mouth.
“I didn’t go to school with her. She’s not local. Not a transplant either. She’s too polished and practiced. Like she learned her version of charming from country club therapists and rejection letters.”
Jace snorts. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “I’d remember her. Crimson Bay is small. The important part of it anyway.”
“You mean the politics?” Kieran asks carefully.
I take a slow sip and lean against the island.
“No. I mean the power. Politicians don’t run this town.
They pose for newspaper articles and ribbon-cuttings.
But the people who make things move? You won’t see their names on donation plaques.
You’ll see them in the back of the courtroom when the guilty walk free. ”
The silence that follows isn’t from shock.
It’s an assessment of how and why I know these things.
Like I’ve just confirmed something they suspected but hadn’t tested yet.
Jace finally breaks it. “Running off nepo babies a pastime of yours?”
“I went to a private school,” I admit. “But Saint Carmen’s is the type of private school that teaches you how to slit a throat with a smile. She’s nothing compared to what I grew up with.”
“And if she was more dangerous?” Silas asks, brow raised in challenge. “What would you do then?”
“If her claws were knives,” I say coolly, my words slow. “I would’ve handled it differently. But she’s so far out of her depth, she can’t sense the sharks circling beneath her. And I won’t mention them. Her ignorance is her problem. Not mine or yours.”
Kieran’s gaze sharpens. “And what about Daniel?”
The feral beast inside me halts its pacing, mind calculating all the possibilities.
My good mood fractures, just a hairline crack running down the seam of my patience.
“He’s not from here either,” I inform them quietly. “And I’m tired of dodging him. Tired of looking over my shoulder. Of pretending my skin doesn’t crawl when I hear his name.”
I look down at the bottle in my hand, frowning at all my missed chances because I’ve been playing it too safe and too stupid at the same time.
“I want to stop dodging him. And I want him to stop breathing my air.”
No one corrects me.
Nor do they ask what I mean.
They don’t need to.
None of them is from Crimson Bay. That much I’m certain of now. But they understand the language of people who make things disappear. And they’re learning the dialect of this town quickly enough to know one thing…
The sweet girls are sirens with sharper teeth.
And I put all that blood into the water.