Chapter Fourteen
Our destination isa ways past the harbor, in the quieter part of town. It’s been a while since I last visited The Hunt and the Hare, but it looks just how I remember it: black-painted walls, gold awning, name plate embossed in plain silver lettering. I pull up to the sidewalk and kill the bike’s engine, then flip down the kickstand with a tap of my boot.
“You gonna let me go?” I ask, glancing down to where Lia’s hands are still knotted together at my midriff. They loosen in unsteady increments until her arms finally drop to her sides.
“Wow,” she murmurs as I dismount. “That was… something.”
She looks invigorated—her hair is a mussed golden cloud, and two spots of rosy color sit high on her cheeks. Her chest heaves with weighty breaths beneath her scant black top; I already miss the feeling of her heat trapped against me, the way our lungs and pulses thrummed in tandem.
“Can I have a hand?” she asks, not quite meeting my eyes.
I give her more than that, sliding my hands around her waist and lifting her off the seat. My touch lingers after I set her on the ground, one thumb cresting the hem of her jeans. Just a tease, a taste.
“This… this place looks nice.”
She’s breathless. Good. I don’t reply, just lead her towards the restaurant’s front door. When I hold it open, she gives me an uncertain glance. “Go on,” I instruct.
“We just walk right in?”
“What do you normally do at a restaurant?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I’ve never been.”
Surely that doesn’t mean what it sounds like. “You’ve never been to a restaurant?”
She shakes her head.
Jesus fucking Christ. If this girl’s never even been out to eat, there’s no way she knows how it feels to be fucked—or even what it means to be fucked, for that matter. No wonder she screams of such innocence. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if she still believes in the goddamn stork.
“Then I’ll show you what to do. Go ahead.”
She obeys me this time, taking the smallest of steps into the dimly lit restaurant. Her eyes are wide as she takes in her surroundings—velvet-lined booths, flickering tea lights, silver and glassware arranged atop white tablecloths. Soft classical strings thrum from hidden speakers, playing a melody that I almost recognize.
“Table for two?” the mustached maitre d’ asks from behind his podium.
“A booth,” I say. “By the window.”
He dips his head. “Follow me.”
“I’m underdressed,” Lia whispers as we follow his fresh-pressed tuxedo across the dining floor. “We both are.”
“I’m the one paying; I’ll wear whatever the hell I please.”
She looks up at me, concern tenting her brow. “Do I look bad?”
I swallow the urge to laugh. Look bad? Does she have any idea what a knockout she is? The only way she could look better would be if she ditched the tank top and jeans entirely. Now that would be underdressed—not that I’d complain.
The maitre d’ seats us at a small two-person booth, promises that a waiter will be by soon, and returns to his podium at the front of the restaurant. I lean forward, settling my arms on the table. Lia keeps her hands folded in her lap, almost as though she’s afraid to touch anything.
“Well?” I prompt.
“It’s a nice place.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
“Do you come here often, or…?”
“Used to. Don’t get off campus much these days.” I wonder how she would react if I told her the reason for that—how I’m too busy managing the college chapter of the Order of the Crimson Stone. Not much time for visits to the city when you’ve got your hands full executing your father’s often murderous will.
“That makes sense—it seems like there’s so much to do on campus; I don’t even know where to start.” She clears her throat. “Sorry. I’m bad with small talk.”
“Anyone who’s good at small talk is insufferable. Fucking nightmare of a social norm. Most things are.”
“Wine list, sir?”
I glance up to find that our waitress is a girl who can’t be much older than Lia. Her bob cut and deep plum lipstick reek of forced sophistication. She wants to look high-class, but she’s just another desperate nobody scrambling to pay her rent.
“I’ll take a double bourbon, neat.”
She scribbles a note. “And you, ma’am?”
Lia accepts the list and probes it carefully, teeth worrying her lower lip. “Um… a glass of the chianti classico, please.” Her pronunciation is perfect—she uses her mouth well, I note with a flicker of excitement.
“Of course. May I see an ID?”
Lia’s expression falters. “Oh…”
“Here.” I retrieve a tightly folded hundred from the pocket of my jacket and set it on the table, sliding it in the waitress’s direction without looking up at her. “This should work.”
Her muted gasp grates like nails on a chalkboard. “Sir, I really can’t?—”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take this and not make a fuss. Understood?”
“…Yes, sir.” She seems to do a double take then, really taking me in—and when her voice comes next, it’s far lower, sweetened with the unmistakable purr of flirtation. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a moment, sir.”
She hurries off, leaving me as the sole recipient of Lia’s narrow-eyed stare.
“You just bribed her, didn’t you?”
She sounds… off. Judgmental, if that’s even possible. Like I didn’t just do her a favor that would have any other Crimson Elite girl swooning on the spot. “Yeah? You’re welcome.”
“And she’s… into you.”
“Most people are.”
Lia leans back in her chair, brow raised. “Huh… guess what I’ve heard about you is true.”
“What do you mean?”
She clicks her tongue, then darts it across her teeth in a lightning-quick display of smug satisfaction. “You’re a guy that everyone wants.”
I don’t quite understand why the comment sparks irritation within me. It isn’t a secret that girls fall all over themselves every year trying to get me in bed, but hearing her say it out loud—bothers me, somehow.
“Just because they want me doesn’t mean they get me,” I mutter.
“But does anyone really get you?”
Stunned into silence, I stare at her in disbelief. No one has ever asked me that before.
“Anyway—I would’ve been fine without the drink,” she continues conversationally, as though her last words didn’t just pierce me to my core.. “You don’t need to break the law for me.”
“The law?” I echo. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously concerned with something as trivial as the law.”
“If I get in any trouble, my father will drag me back home.”
Sharp, sudden anger rears in my chest, shocking in its severity. I shouldn’t be reacting like this—I have no reason to care—but the prospect of her being torn away from me before I’m done with her is unbearable. Her father? Fuck her fucking father; no pathetic cunt of an old man is going to take her away from me. “You don’t need to worry about him.”
She sighs. “I wish that were true, but…”
“But?”
Something like panic fills her eyes—but then the waitress is back, setting two glasses and a pair of gold foil-lined menus on our table. Fine. Fine. I’ll let the matter slide—for now. I sip my bourbon, glancing over the menu without really taking any of it in. I’m not hungry. Not for food, anyway.
“So we can just choose whatever we want from this list?” Lia asks, scrutinizing her own menu like it’s a cipher that needs to be cracked. “Can we get more than one thing?”
“As much as you want.”
“Right, okay… the lobster gnudi sounds incredible. Or the truffle risotto…”
I say nothing, just watch her think. Her neck and shoulders are entrancing under the kiss of the candlelight. My eyes trace the line of her collarbone. Flawless for now, practically begging to be broken up with the wine-purple echoes of my mouth on her skin. I’ll give her a collar of them if I have to. Whatever’s necessary to show the world that she’s mine, marked and claimed.
I don’t know why the fuck I’m thinking like this, but I don’t think I can stop—I don’t think I want to stop.
“What about you, Ryker?”
“Rare sirloin.” If I don’t eat it, the guys at the frat will. They’re no better than a bunch of feral fucking dogs sometimes.
“I think I have to go with the lobster. Since they say it’s fresh-caught and everything.” She tucks the menu aside and takes a slow sip of her wine. “Oh, this is delicious.”
Delicious. I’ll teach her a new meaning of that word?—
But not yet; not yet. Winding myself up this way is physically painful, like a hot wire tightening around my core, tighter and tighter with every breath that I watch her take. Does she have any idea what I’ve got in store for her? I sense caution, but not fear. Maybe she’s too stupid to understand the threat that I pose… but I can’t quite get myself to believe that. She may be naive—that’s obvious—but she’s also smart. Smarter than I could have expected.
I set my menu facedown on the table. The waitress, catching my cue, steps up to us with her notepad at the ready.
“For you, sir?”
“The beef sirloin. As rare as your chef will make it.”
She looks a bit dubious, but writes the order down regardless. “And for the young lady?”
Lia opts for the lobster, and our menus are whisked away. My bourbon is half-gone; I set it aside from now. I don’t want to dull my wits.
“Well…” She toys with the edge of her dark silk napkin, watching me from beneath her long, dark lashes. “If we’re skipping the small talk, will you tell me why you wanted to take me out tonight?”
“I already did.” I give a slight shrug and lean lazily back in my chair, fighting to keep my face neutral. I may not feel anywhere nonchalant, but I can put on a decent act. “I like how you dance.”
She raises her eyebrows. “That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” I give my head the slightest of tilts in her direction—nothing so overt as a wink, but still a signal of something unspoken: For now.
Her nose wrinkles, but at the same time, I could swear I see the barest trace of a smile along her soft lips. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
Fair? What does fairness have to do with anything? “Nothing in the real world is fair. You’re going to figure that out sooner or later. Everyone does.”
“Do they?” Before I get the chance to respond, she leans forward, and I find myself mirroring the movement, until her candle-lit face is only inches away from mine. “Tell me this, at least. Is this going to become something real? Or are you going to act like you don’t know me when we’re back on campus?”
Fuck, she smells amazing. I could drown myself in that rosewater aroma.
“What do you think?”
I watch her carefully as she evaluates her answer. That fucking lip bite of hers is enough to drive a guy insane.
“I think… that you’re trying to tease me,” she says at last. “And I don’t know if it’s because you like me, or because you think I’m easy to mess with.”
“Are you easy to mess with?”
Something steely glints in her eyes. “Not as easy as you think.”
Yeah. I’m starting to realize that, though I’d never admit it aloud. I don’t?—
“Can I top off your wine, ma’am?”
I jerk upright. Lia does the same, embarrassment coloring her face. The fucking waitress just stands there, wine bottle in hand, flaunting a false smile.
“Apologies if I was interrupting. Shall I?”
“Leave the bottle.” Ruffled as I am, my words are clipped, and she’s quick to scurry off.
I reach for the wine, only for Lia to snatch it first. She fills her glass halfway, aiming a light scowl at me over the rim.
“You didn’t have to snap at her like that. She’s just doing her job.”
I don’t answer, just toss back another swill of bourbon.
Lia goes quiet for a while, eyes dropping to the tablecloth. Fuck—was I really harsh enough to turn her off? Come on, little dove, you can be tougher than that. This girl’s like a fucking puzzle box, with hidden mechanisms springing off at the slightest of triggers, locking me out one layer after another. When I’m too cold, she puts up an icy front of her own. If I try to be gentler, she almost laughs me off. And despite it all, I can’t fucking bring myself to give up. I’m too drawn to something about her, something that makes her more than just another body to fuck, and I still don’t even know what that is.
The frustration compounds with each passing second, and by the time a plate is set in front of me, I couldn’t feel less hungry.
“It’s good,” Lia murmurs after a few bites of her lobster pasta—but she pushes it aside shortly after. Despite her earlier protests, her wine glass is almost empty again, and its ruby hue has passed into her cheeks. Her eyes gleam bright, almost feverish. “I guess I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“I told you to come hungry,” I remind her.
“I did. I was. Just…” Her voice trails off as she gazes out the window. The sun has set by now, and city lights flicker white and amber against the stark black of the asphalt streets. “The food’s rich. And my stomach is a little upset.”
She reaches for the wine bottle again, but I stop her with a hand around her wrist. My touch is firm, bordering on harsh, and I can feel her pulse pounding beneath my fingertips.
“You’ll get drunk if you don’t eat more. I don’t want you falling off the motorcycle on the way back.”
She withdraws, another one of those ever-so-slight smirks playing around the edges of her cupid’s-bow mouth. “Now you’re concerned about me?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Do I sound surprised?” she counters.
Fuck that—I’ve lingered long enough. I don’t need to keep playing games like this—if there’s anything more off-putting than Lia’s defiant nature, it’s the fact that I’m actually enjoying it. I just need to get with her already, flush these tangled feelings out of my system for good. “If you aren’t going to touch the food, I’ll have it boxed up. We don’t need to waste our time here.”
“Are you going to bring me home?” She sounds disappointed. Good.
“Not yet. I told you that there was something I wanted to show you.”
“I thought you meant the city.”
“Carnadon?” I scoff. “There’s nothing special about this place. Not as far as you’re concerned. The island, on the other hand….”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
Probably some bullshit about how GODs suck babies’ blood and sacrifice virgins to Satan. The whispers used to make me laugh, but nowadays they’re more of a pain in the ass than anything else. Makes it hard to get anything actually done in the Order. Including my portion of the invite distribution—the other reason why I need to get back to campus before it’s too late. Freddie promised he and my dad’s enforcers had it covered, but I’m not keen to rely on him after he fucked up the coffee this morning—and I’m never happy about my father’s sycophantic bastards mulling around campus when I’m not there to keep an eye out.
I don’t tell her any of that. Don’t give her any response at all aside from a small, disinterested grunt.
“Not that I believe any of it,” she adds quickly, her words tripping up slightly—the wine’s catching up with her; she’s already said more than she meant to.
“That’s a good call. It’s all a bunch of bullshit.”
“All of it?” she challenges, eyes glinting.
Interesting. How much does she suspect about Crimson Elite? About the GODs—about me?
The last of the bourbon burns my throat when I swallow.
“We’re ready for our check,” I say when our waitress returns, not giving her the chance to speak. “And we’ll take two boxes to go.”
It’s time to get the hell out of here. The most important part of the night is yet to come—and I’m done fucking waiting.