17. Lilah
17
LILAH
I went to my room after we got home from dinner with Jude’s parents. I doubted Nolan and Rafe had anything new to report on the hard drive — Gage and Storm would need time to break into it — and I needed some space to process the weird night.
The dinner had been hard for Jude. I could tell, even though he’d tried to act unfazed when we’d left. I’d asked if he wanted to talk about it on the drive home, but he’d said no. Then he’d reached for my hand and I’d been distracted by the sensation of his warm skin, the stroke of his thumb.
Jude’s dad was a real dick. And his brother wasn’t exactly a prize either.
Luke’s use of the word “mark” to describe me had stung, like I was some kind of gold digger looking to fleece Jude for money, but I was surprised to find I was more hurt by the way he and his dad had treated Jude.
He and Nolan and Rafe had saved my life. And yeah, I knew not all of their work was altruistic. They hadn’t tried to hide that fact. I knew they stole and did god knows what else, but somehow I thought there was more even to that part of the story.
I thought about the tattoo on Nolan’s chest: Do No Harm .
I’d already accepted the fact that Jude — and Nolan for that matter — weren’t the devils I’d thought they were. I would never give them a pass for what they’d done to me, even though I’d worked my way around to forgiving Nolan and Jude, but I couldn’t help feeling that they’d been trying to make up for it ever since.
How dare Jude’s dad — a pompous white-collar asshole who’d probably never done a single thing in his entire life that wasn’t self-serving — call Jude’s work “foolishness”?
Still, I’d been surprised by my response, by the words that had erupted so easily from my mouth in a situation where I once would have been afraid to say single a word. It hadn’t really been my place to say anything, but in the moment, my brain — or maybe my heart — had disagreed.
I’d been prepared for Jude’s anger when we’d left his parents’ house, but instead he’d pulled me into his arms next to the car and kissed me hard and fast on the lips with two words: thank you .
We’d driven home in silence and Jude had gone down to the gym while I retreated to my room to change my clothes. I couldn’t believe I’d worn that stupid dress for those assholes who treated Jude like shit. Except for Jude’s mom, of course. She’d been nice, and I felt bad that she had to deal with those two jerks all the time.
It was a relief to be in boxer shorts and a hoodie, to be home, which was, dangerously, how I’d started to think of the mountain house.
My savings account was almost empty, which meant I’d either have to give up my apartment or find another job or three. The future felt overwhelming, a shadow on the horizon without shape or color.
I had no idea what it held.
I used the bathroom, then put my hair in a ponytail. I avoided looking at the bandage on the back of my neck and started for the bedroom.
It was reflex to head to my computer even though I had no idea what to do with it now. Before Greece, I’d spent all my time trying to figure out Imperium Fratrum and research the missing girls from Blackwell. Now I didn’t dare log on to the dark web. Besides, what more was there to do? I’d gotten the invitation code, had cracked the website and almost disappeared off the face of the earth because of it.
Turned out, I didn’t get a chance to think more about it, because when I approached the desk, I saw there was a box sitting on top of my laptop.
I approached it cautiously, taking in the slim black velvet box, tied with a green satin ribbon. It was about the size of a paperback, and I looked around instinctively, like whoever had left it on my computer would appear out of thin air.
The velvet box looked innocent enough — pretty, even — but after what had happened in Greece I wasn’t taking anything for granted.
I sat in my chair and reached for the box, then hesitated. Should I take it to the Bastards? Maybe it contained a bomb or anthrax or something.
But that didn’t make sense. The house was as secure as Fort Knox, the security system elaborate, with cameras covering every side of the exterior, plus the long driveway leading to the house. Security was kind of the Bastards’ thing. No way had someone gotten into the house, into my room, without Nolan, Jude, and Rafe knowing about it.
I took a deep breath and untied the silky green ribbon, then set it aside. The hinges on the box were tight, like a jeweler’s box, but when I opened the lid it wasn’t a necklace or bracelet or earrings that sat on the black velvet, but a knife with a shimmering blade.
I knew immediately it was a Mini Osborne because I’d coveted one forever. It had been way too rich for my blood, so I’d resigned myself to pining after it whenever I went to Noble Knives, a specialty knife shop two towns over. Now it was right here, glimmering in the velvet box.
I removed it carefully, admiring the satin finish of the reverse stainless-steel blade. It was perfectly weighted, the green-scaled handle dotted with purple spacers, a double-thumb stud opener that could be opened with my right or left hand.
I held it in my hand like I’d held my old cheap knife and felt my shoulders settle with relief. I felt more like myself with it in my hand.
Capable. Strong.
“Will it work?”
I jumped as the voice sounded from the doorway of my room. When I turned around in my chair, I saw that Rafe was standing there, leaning against the doorframe.
My pulse quickened — and not because he’d startled me. He stood like a king casually surveying his kingdom, and in that moment, I would willingly have pledged my fealty. His arms strained the fabric of his black long-sleeve T-shirt and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of well-worn jeans that did nothing to hide the bulge between his muscled thighs.
His dark hair was damp and I caught a whiff of soap mingled with the musk of his skin that did all kinds of unspeakable things to my body.
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” I said.
He held my gaze. “I know you lost your other one.”
I nodded and the moment grew heavy between us. I was aware of the quiet house, aware that he was in my bedroom, my bed only feet away from us both.
I knew if I went to him — pulled him into the room, shut the door — he would let me lead him to the bed.
Would let me do whatever I wanted to do to him.
Would do whatever I asked him to do to me.
I was in danger of falling into the storm in his eyes, in danger of forgetting what he’d done.
I swallowed hard, forced my voice steady. “Is this your way of saying you’re sorry?”
I wasn’t letting my body call the shots here.
His eyes hardened. “No.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, giving him my back as I turned toward my desk. “Thanks for the knife.”
I held my breath, waited for the verbal barbs I was sure would come, but when I turned around a minute later, he was gone.