Chapter 24 Evie
EVIE
“Here we are,” Tempest breaths, arching her neck to peer up at the brown crisscrossing beams that formed a hollowed, artistic structure above the entrance. She takes off her sunglasses before turning her excited gaze my way. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
I stare at the building’s facade, marveling at the way modern art mingles with intricate stone and brick designs from another time. “Yes,” I reply, letting Tempest link her arm with mine and lead us through the doors.
I glance at the science center before us, following where she points.
When Tempest first mentioned L.A., I assumed she wanted to go on a shopping trip or wear triangle bikinis on the beach, and eye-fuck volleyball players.
But her biochemistry professor offered extra credit to anyone who attended the exhibit featuring real human bodies—skinned, with muscles exposed.
Turns out, it was just as unnerving as I thought it would be.
The preserved remains were set up in various poses, most in athletic displays.
There were dancers and football players, both of which Tempest found fascinating.
Even I could appreciate the intricate network of muscles and tendons linking together, admire the power and ingenuity of the human body, but then there were other displays.
Like the wall featuring a human stomach, liver, and other bits of the digestive system strung up. Gross.
Tempest typed notes furiously as we sat through a film about medical marvels before we ventured through other parts of the museum, including photo galleries featuring microscopic creatures in bright colors.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the iced coffee from beneath a large umbrella.
Retreating to the shade in the garden, I pick a bench near the roses and fountain, waiting for Tempest to get her drink.
My phone buzzes for the tenth time today, and I already know who it is.
I silence it and toss it into my purse, ignoring the dozens of texts and handful of messages.
There will be time to deal with all of that later, after Tempest and I finish up at the museum.
“That was actually fun,” I say, sipping my coffee as Tempest sits. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, lifting my cheeks to the sun as the sounds of water trickling over stone soothes me.
“Told you.” Tempest nudges my shoulder with a smirk before glancing at my purse. My phone’s flashing again with another notification. “Everything all right?”
“Not really,” I reply, surprising myself.
Tempest doesn’t push, though. She sits quietly, posture relaxed, coffee loosely held in her hand until I’m ready.
A heavy weight settles across my shoulders as I drop her gaze, choosing instead to focus on the bright pink blossoms framing the base of the fountain.
“I’m missing a family lunch today, and my brother’s a little upset about it. ”
Tempest lifts a perfectly sculpted brow as the inside of my purse lights up again. I tug it open, finding the screen flashing with an incoming call. “Did you tell him we had plans?”
“Yep,” I say around a long gulp, letting the sweet taste of caramel roll over my tongue. “But he’s probably using my absence to convince my father I’m ‘slipping into sin.’”
A sharp snort escapes from Tempest before she realizes I’m not being sarcastic. “Holy fuck, Evie. All that over one day out? What happens when you have midterms? Or if you just don’t want to go?”
“Nothing good,” I mutter, crossing then uncrossing my ankles. “At best, my family views college as a distraction. At worst, it’s a place of ‘brainwashing.’ As a woman, I’m meant to do whatever my husband needs. College only promotes the idea that I could live independently.”
“You can,” she snaps. “You can be a whole, happy fucking person without ever getting married and ripping your body apart for babies. Jesus fucking Christ, I knew they were a little off after lunch the other day, but this is starting to sound unsafe.”
I flinch as my stomach clenches, because Tempest is right. I don’t feel safe at home—or rather, the place I’ve been forced to call home. I’m not sure what would happen if Jonathan found out about Silas and all the filthy things I’ve let him do to me, but I know it would be bad. Honestly, it is bad.
I hate the rhetoric my family pushes. That I’m somehow lacking because I was born with breasts.
It’s exhausting to feel like speaking, thinking—fucking breathing—is an inconvenience for the people around me.
And then they take all of that guilt and self-loathing and weave it into a religion that tells me I’m going to hell if I even consider an existence outside of their abuse.
No. I won’t go back into the asylum my family raised me in, but that doesn’t mean I need to throw myself at the first man I meet either. Though, technically, Mark was the first guy I met—and he’s dead, so… Silas could be a possibility, right?
Get it together, Evie, I think, groaning inwardly. I don’t need a boyfriend—or whatever Silas is. Was. Tempest is my friend, my first and only. It’s only been a few months, but I know I can trust her with anything.
“You’re right,” I finally say, picking at my fingers. I grin, thinking of Mother’s face if she saw the state of my chipped nail polish. “The house I’ve been raised in isn’t safe. I’m only just starting to realize all the ways, but going back at the end of the semester might just kill me.”
“Then don’t go.” Tempest holds my gaze this time, her deep brown eyes searching mine. “I meant what I said about the financial stuff. There are scholarships too. And we’re roomies now.”
“Okay,” I say, relief washing through me the moment I make the decision. “If you really mean that. But can you and Silas afford rent on your own? I’ll pay you back every cent. I swear.”
Tempest holds up a hand, her face going serious. “I’m not supposed to say anything, because the Seven like to keep things close to the chest, but money isn’t a problem. Besides, I know something happened between you and Silas.”
My pulse spikes as I try and fail to keep my breathing even. Tempest nods slowly, as if I’ve just confirmed something, and grips my hand with hers.
“Did you know Silas and I had an older sister?”
I pause, my cup half lifted as I catch the hitch in her voice. Had not have. Not sure what to say, I lower my coffee and shake my head.
“Our mother was a drug addict and prostitute. I don’t think she knew who our father was.
Or fathers, I guess.” With a long sigh, Tempest continues.
“Now that I’m older, I know our mother probably had an even shittier childhood than we did, but I’ll never forgive her for letting them take Morana.
Or for what Silas had to do to stop her from selling me. ”
“Oh my god,” I breathe as horrific understanding dawns. “Your own mother tried to traffick you?”
“I’m not sure how Silas stopped them.” Tempest weaves her fingers through mine, looking like she needs the contact to stay grounded. Her eyes are unfocused, voice nearly inaudible. “One of them grabbed me. He said a pair of sisters would fetch a higher price.”
Bile sears the back of my throat, but I clutch her hand, offering what little support I can.
“Silas was thrashing—hitting and screaming—but he was too small to take on grown men. The one I was struggling against hit me. I must’ve been knocked unconscious because the next thing I remember is waking up to a room covered in blood.
It was everywhere. Great arcs of it across the walls, puddles on the floor, and the ceiling—I remember thinking a pipe had burst, but the droplets raining down around us were scarlet. ”
Tempest straightens, blinking her eyes back to the present. “Silas believes Morana is still alive. For the past seven years, he’s been following leads, convinced he’ll be able to rescue her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, hating how trivial the phrase sounds.
“I’m telling you this so you’ll understand.” Tempest lifts her chin, watching for my reaction. “The people my brother and the Seven get involved with aren’t good. If they… dispose of a few of them, I’m not sorry about it.”
I meet her gaze, refusing to look away. Because hadn’t I thought the same thing when I watched Silas put a bullet in Mark’s skull?
He killed a man in front of me without so much as blinking, and then I let him hold me by the throat and finger fuck me.
The death of a man like Mark—of someone who would use, exploit, and abuse other humans—is nothing to mourn.
On the contrary, ridding the world of true evil like that should be celebrated.
“Mark said I’d do well if Silas was looking to sell,” I say, proud of how even my voice is.
Tempest flexes her jaw but waits for me to speak—for me to decide if I’m in this with her and the Seven or not. She doesn’t realize I made my choice long ago.
“I felt safer with your brother after watching him kill a man than I have my entire childhood.”
The harsh intake of breath is Tempest’s only reply, but the silence that settles over us feels less like a noose and more like a comforting embrace. Dipping her chin toward my purse that’s flashing once more, Tempest says, “Whenever you want to talk about that, I’ll be here. No judgment.”
There are so many pieces to work out—finances, school, my parents, my disgrace of a half-brother. But for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like I’m drowning.