Chapter 12
The Prey
T here’s an almost unnatural pep in my step as I step out of the classroom, doing my best to shake off the intensity of Valentine’s class. It’s like shedding a second skin, one that’s too tight and restrictive. I know it’s the role play I shed, but with the way he looks at me, it’s easy to forget it’s not real.
My steps quicken as I walk through the hallway, and my pulse picks up. I’m excited, happy even. Jack’s finally out of the hospital, and I can’t wait to see him.
A smile spreads across my face, one I don’t have to fake or control. I rush through the building, my movements quick and purposeful. The only thing I care about is getting out of here to be with Jack.
As I push the door open and step outside, the cold air hits me, and I greedily breathe it in. The busy sounds of people talking and walking and the sounds of the campus are becoming my new favorite soundtrack.
Every day I’m here, I’m thankful to be away from the oppressive atmosphere of Michael’s house. The only sounds there are my screams, the sound of my body hitting the floor or the wall, and the sound of my heart breaking a little more every day. Or the sound of the TV when he isn’ t home.
Right now, none of that matters. My smile stays in place as I rush down the steps, heading for the car, waiting for me as always. I’m sure the excitement and happiness I feel are clear for anyone to see, and for once, I don’t want to hide how I’m feeling.
Luckily, traffic isn’t as bad as it is some days, and it barely takes an hour before I step into the high-rise building, my reflection rippling in the polished surfaces around me. Every time I’m here, I’m impressed by the polished, sleek exterior. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was normal for a bachelor pad to look like this. I know better, though.
The doorman gives me a nod in recognition, even dipping his head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Simmons.”
I smile. “Good afternoon.” When he turns like he’s considering escorting me over to the elevators and waiting with me, I shake my head, and he dips his head again, staying put as I make my way over to the elevators.
Jack’s apartment is on the thirtieth floor, so there’s plenty of time for my anticipation to climb in sync with the elevator. The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway of muted grays and blacks.
I approach his door, noting the lack of personal touches—no welcome mat, no decorations. Just sleek minimalism that whispers of danger. I knock, three sharp raps that echo in the silence. There’s a pause, then the sound of multiple locks disengaging. The door swings open, revealing Jack’s familiar grin.
“Took you long enough, Rubes,” he teases, pulling me into a hug. I melt into his embrace, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly Jack.
“Some of us have actual obligations,” I retort, but there’s no bite to my words.
I step inside, immediately noticing how the heavy curtains are drawn tight despite the afternoon sun outside. Where Jack always used to keep the curtains open, saying he loved looking over the city at night, they’re now closed.
Noticing my gaze, he shrugs. “Yeah, well.” For a moment, he looks like he’s struggling with himself, but then he moves over to the closest window and draws the curtains back. He doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t need him to.
Our dad tried to have him killed, so it makes sense that he’s skittish now that he’s home. Even if our dad is worm food by now, betrayal like that lingers. I should know. Every time I think about the man who sired us, my heartbeat quickens and my palms become clammy while anger burns through my veins.
Yeah, his death hasn’t erased that natural reaction.
Wanting to shake the thoughts of him out of my head, I look around. The space is immaculate, but not in a good way.
There’s a coldness I’ve never felt here before. Despite how beautiful the place is, it feels wrong. Somehow devoid of Jack in a way that has nothing to do with the fact he’s been gone since before Christmas. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s as though he doesn’t live here, but simply exists.
Jack moves to the kitchen, the soft clink of glasses reaching my ears. “Drink?” he calls.
“Please,” I respond, sinking onto the plush leather couch. My eyes drift to a small table near the window, where a single framed photo sits. It’s of Nick, me, and Jack; the three of us as children, before everything went to hell. Before responsibilities and the family curse became our reality.
As Jack returns, handing me a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid, I scrutinize each movement he makes. He looks better, and when he moves, he doesn’t look to be in pain. I guess the doctors and Nick were right to insist on keeping him there until he was completely healed. Or at least mostly healed.
Seeing Jack in the hospital wasn’t just a shock to the system, it was a shock to my damn soul. My larger-than-life brother lying there with tubes sticking out of him… his sickly pale skin, and… nope. Not going there again.
He settles beside me, his tall frame dwarfing mine. “So,” he says, green eyes twinkling with mischief, “tell me all about these obligations of yours that are keeping you so busy.”
I choke on my drink, heat rising to my cheeks. “Umm…” I stammer, caught off guard by the question. “Michael wanted me to enroll at Holloway University.”
“He what?” Jack’s tone is filled with incredulity. “To do what? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shrugging, I try to pretend it’s no big deal, which is beyond stupid. My brother knows that if I keep something from him, it’s because it means more than I want anyone to know. “It’s no big deal. Seriously, Jack, you were recovering from being shot. Academics pale compared to that.”
He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Okay, how about you tell me the real reason?”
As I said, he knows me too well. “I don’t know,” I say, worrying my bottom lip. “It honestly didn’t seem that important.”
“Right.” His tone makes it perfectly clear he doesn’t believe me. “So, what are you studying?”
“Criminology,” I rush out. “With Professor Grant.”
To my surprise, Jack throws his head back and laughs boisterously. “But of course,” he smirks obnoxiously. “Trophy wives all over the world are doing just that. Nothing screams criminology like—”
“Stop it,” I hiss. “Look, I don’t know why Michael wants me there, but it doesn’t matter. It is what it is, so just leave it alone.”
“Rubes—”
I hold up my hand to silence him. “Leave it, Jack.”
He stops laughing as abruptly as he started. His eyes narrow as he tilts his head to the side. “What or who are you protecting, Ruby?”
I gulp.
Raking a hand down his face, he exhales loudly. “Fine, I’ll leave it for now. But only because I’m too exhausted to continue arguing with you.”
I give my brother a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“Tell me about you. How are you feeling?”
Jack’s expression softens, and he reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m okay, Ruby. Really. You don’t need to worry about me.”
His words trigger a memory, and suddenly I’m transported back to a summer day when I was eight years old.
I’m standing in our backyard, tears streaming down my face after fallin g off my bike. Jack, barely a teenager himself, kneels beside me.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, examining my scraped knee. “You’re tougher than you think, Ruby. Here, let me show you something.”
He gently helps me up and guides me through a series of defensive stances. “If anyone ever tries to hurt you,” he explains, “you use these moves. But more importantly, you remember that you’re strong. You’re a Knight.”
Back in the present, I blink away the moisture in my eyes. “You’ve always protected me,” I murmur.
Jack’s smile is bittersweet. “Someone has to. God knows our family isn’t exactly normal.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its lightness. “Understatement of the century.”
As we talk, I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease. I kick off my heels, curling my feet under me on the couch. It’s a small gesture, but it feels significant.
“Remember that time we snuck out to that concert?” Jack asks, grinning.
I groan, covering my face. “Don’t remind me. I thought Michael was going to lose his mind when he found out.”
“Yeah, well, Michael can go to hell,” Jack says, his tone suddenly sharp.
I look up, meeting his intense gaze. For a moment, I see a flash of the dangerous world we inhabit in his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual warmth.
“Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “I just… I wish things were different for you, Ruby.”
I swallow hard, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “Me too,” I whisper.
As the afternoon wears on, I find myself laughing more than I have in months. With Jack, I can be myself—not the perfect wife, not the brilliant student, just Ruby. It’s liberating and terrifying all at once.
But as the shadows lengthen and the city lights flicker to life outside, a familiar dread starts to creep in. Soon, I’ll have to leave this sanctuary and return to the gilded cage of my married life.
Jac k seems to sense my shift in mood. “Hey,” he says softly, “you know you can always come here, right? Anytime. Day or night.”
I nod, trying to ignore the question that burns on the tip of my tongue. But I hesitate, unsure if I want to know the answer. Finally, I look at Jack. “The curse,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you ever think about which two of us it’ll be?”
The words hang heavy in the air between us, and I immediately regret asking as Jack’s face tightens, his green eyes darkening. “Rubes,” he begins, his voice low and rough. “I don’t—”
But I cut him off, desperate to change the subject. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Why don’t I cook us some dinner?”
Before he can protest, I’m already heading for his barely used kitchen. The familiar motions of cooking soothe me, and soon the apartment is filled with the rich aroma of sauteing garlic and herbs.
Jack leans against the counter, watching me with a mixture of amusement and something else—concern, maybe. “You seem different when you cook,” he observes. “Happier.”
I pause, the wooden spoon hovering over the pan. “I guess I am,” I admit softly. “It’s… freeing, in a way. When I’m cooking, I’m not thinking about anything else. I’m just here.”
The unspoken contrast hangs between us. Here, in Jack’s kitchen, cooking is a joy. At home, with Michael, it’s just another duty, another way to try to please him.
As we sit down to eat, Jack takes a bite and groans appreciatively. “God, Rubes, this is amazing. You should be teaching cooking classes, not suffering through whatever boring crap they’ve got you doing at Holloway. Why don’t you talk to Nick? He’d get you out of it right away.”
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. “It’s not boring,” I say, perhaps a bit too quickly, and perhaps a bit too defensively. “Actually, I… I kind of love it.”
The moment the word leaves my mouth, I know I’ve said too much. Jack’s eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes me squirm. “Love the class or Valentine Grant?”
When I don’t answer, he rests his elbows on the table and buries his face i n his hands. Knowing that he’s trying to rein in his temper, I remain quiet.
“Rubes,” he sighs, lifting his face so he can look at me. “Don’t tell me you have the hots for teacher.”
I press my lips together, stubbornly refusing to say anything.
“You’re aware that I know Valentine, right?”
“Yeah,” I squeak.
“He’s not a good person, Ruby.” When I arch an eyebrow, he chuckles. “Okay, okay, none of us are good people. But even by our standards, he’s bad… no, scratch that. He’s the person even the devil fears.”
Feeling like I need to say something, I swallow thickly. “He’s not so bad, actually. He challenges me, makes me think. It’s exciting.”
“Exciting, huh?” he says slowly. “That’s an interesting way to describe a professor.”
I busy myself with my food, avoiding his gaze. “I just meant academically,” I mutter, but even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.
Jack leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Is there something you want to tell me about Professor Valentine?”
My heart pounds in my chest as I struggle to find the right words. How can I explain something I barely understand myself?
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. “It’s nothing, Jack. Really. He’s just different from other professors I’ve had.”
Jack’s eyes don’t leave my face as he asks, “Different how?”
I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation as I begin to tell him about Valentine. “He’s intense,” I admit, fidgeting with my fork. “Brilliant, but also… I don’t know. There’s something about him that’s hard to explain.” As the words spill out, I realize with startling clarity that my fascination with my enigmatic professor goes far beyond academic admiration.
Sure, I’ve suspected since I considered getting myself off to thoughts about him while I was soaking in the bathtub. But I didn’t, and I somehow thought that proved differently. That’s a lame excuse since the real reason I didn’t is because it takes more than some clit rubbing to get me off . A lot more.
I’ve also tried to tell myself that I only let him touch me at the restaurant because of Michael’s orders, that’s a lie, though. I wanted it, a lot.
Jack leans forward, his expression darkening. “Ruby, listen to me carefully. Men like that, the ones who are hard to explain? They’re usually the most dangerous.”
A chill runs down my spine at his words, but it’s not from fear. No, it’s excitement. “What do you mean?” I ask, eager to hear more.
“I’ve dealt with a lot of people in our line of work,” Jack says, his voice low and serious. “The ones who are truly dangerous are the ones who can charm you, challenge you, make you feel alive. But underneath? They’re cold, calculating. They’ll use you and discard you without a second thought.”
I swallow hard, trying to reconcile Jack’s words with the image of Valentine in my mind. “He’s not like that,” I protest weakly, but doubt creeps in.
Jack reaches across the table, taking my hand. “Just be careful, okay? You don’t want to give Michael any reason to invoke the contract.”
Where I never confided in Nick about the damn marital contract, Jack knows everything about it. And to say it covers almost every base of my existence, from what I can eat to what happens if… well, let’s just say it covers everything.
Realizing I never answered Jack, I say, “I am being careful, and I haven’t done anything.”
Jack sighs audibly. “You asked me about the curse, Rubes. And the truth is, it’s all I fucking think about.” He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Maybe my death meant I’ll die a second time and that you and Nick are in the clear—”
I barely register I’ve moved until I’m standing, the chair I just vacated now lying on the floor. “Or maybe it means you’re safe, and I’m…” I can’t finish the thought.
Jack stands, coming to wrap me in a tight hug. “Hey, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up. We’re all still here, right?”
I n od against his chest, but the weight of the curse settles over me like a shroud. As I pull away, I catch sight of my reflection in the window—pale, haunted, a woman marked by fate.
Pulling back, I rub my hands against my jeans, trying to dispel my nerves. “Wow,” Jack whistles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear jeans.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, well,” I quip, repeating his words from earlier. I don’t want to tell him that it’s all because of Valentine and the way he liked me in them at the charity meeting. I also don’t mention that I’m now changing clothes at Holloway, since Michael doesn’t want me wearing jeans.
As Jack bends to retrieve the chair, I move so fast I beat him to it. “Nuh-uh,” I snap as I shift it back to standing and sit down. “You’re not meant to lift anything or move or even bend more than you need to.”
Jack just scoffs, but I don’t miss the small smile playing on his lips as he sits down and immediately serves himself some more food.
“Well,” he says, not bothering to finish chewing. “I guess I’ll get to re-meet Valentine in a couple of days.” He says it like he’s picking up our conversation where we left off rather than starting a new one.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, not sure what else to say.
He nods. “Yeah, at the charity for goldfish that are about to be extinct. Or maybe it’s a flower no one’s ever heard of. Can’t say I remember.”
Laughing softly, I lean back in the chair and fold my arms across my chest. Ignoring his words, I focus on watching him. I like watching him eat something I’ve cooked; it makes me feel like I’m good for more than whatever my life has become.
And that’s exactly how Valentine makes me feel as well.
The curse may claim me, Michael may control me, but this—these feelings, this connection with Valentine—it’s mine. And I’m going to chase it because I want to. Not because Michael said so.