Chapter 13
WAR
A locked door awaits us at the top of the basement stairs, which gives me another satisfying opportunity to smash something. I slam my shoulder against the door, cracking the wood and breaking the housing so it pops open.
Emerging onto a kitchen landing, I squint at the pink light of dawn through the windows. Morning. Waking from being drugged and the lack of natural light underground left me with no sense of time.
“Daylight,” Ash says softly, exhibiting the same disorientation when she adds, “Were we down there just one night? Or—” Her question drops off when I reach back and pick her up to lift her over the splintered wood.
“Don’t know.”
The sheet covers her upper body, but one softly sculpted leg rests against mine until the sound of pounding footfalls causes me to set her on her bare feet so I can step in front of her.
“Stay behind me,” I order, turning to face the doorway as the footsteps grow closer .
The guy who appears looks like an ad for an American dynasty since he wears a monogrammed bathrobe over plaid designer pajamas. Despite the wheat-colored hair and outfit, his upturned nose makes him look like a porcine muppet to me.
“I’ve called the police,” he says, slowing his entry when he takes in the size of me. “How did you get in here?” Looking around wildly, his gaze stops at the broken basement door. “That basement is off-limits. How?—?”
“Hey,” Ashling says, tipping her head out from behind me. Her voice is as light and sweet as Agave syrup. “We had an ordeal. And had to come up through your basement. I’m?—”
I cut her off because I haven’t decided whether I’ll allow him to know her name. Putting my left arm back, I block his view. “We need to use a phone. Now. ” My eyes spot a wall phone near a back door. “Does that landline work?”
“It does,” the guy says. “But?—”
“Get me a coat for the girl. She’ll use it until our ride arrives.”
He stares at me for a moment.
“Go.” I reach back and take her arm, so I can keep her with me and shielded from view as I move to the corner where the phone is.
The house is a late 1800s mansion, so there are various installations from different points in time, including an intercom system.
If I were in his place, I’d summon any other frat brothers who are in the house to help him deal with me.
But he’s either not thinking clearly, or there’s no one to call.
Lambda Delta is on probation and in danger of being shuttered for good.
Many of the members were expelled or left voluntarily under a cloud of suspicion. So, maybe he is all alone in the place.
“Listen, I don’t know what this is about,” the guy says.
“Coat. Get it now,” I bark, setting the flashlight on the counter. My hand goes to the phone until I realize I don’t know J’s number. All my contacts are programmed into my missing cell .
“Whose number do you want?” Ash’s voice is slow and steady.
The girl— my girl—is far from the one I first met. Playing an overly cheerful aunt who can match the energy of three- and four-year-olds is just a guise, I realize. And thank God for that.
I glance over my shoulder. Big blue eyes stare up at me.
Mussed and makeup-less, with a berry-colored bruise on her upper lip, she looks like a fucking angel who sprang out of the brambles.
Her unearthly beauty hits me again, in the same way it did when she came to C’s after Christmas mass with her family.
She wore a champagne gold dress over skin the color of moonlight, looking as though she should be in a fucking Cabanel painting.
The urge to snatch her up and walk away with her was so powerful I nearly did it.
And that night I resented anyone else’s eyes being on her.
She should’ve been naked and chained to my bed, where only I could look at her.
From that night on, the feeling of wanting to own her has dogged my every step.
“Your cousin J’s,” I say in answer to her question.
She rattles off the phone number. When I stare at her, she glances away, adding softly, “Pretty good with numbers. I should call Scott after you call Jamie. We need to know what to say—or not say—to the police.”
My muscles flex. I don’t want her calling her brother. Or anyone. The only advice I want her interested in is mine.
Jealousy is a new emotion for me. I’m making room for it right next to rage.
I make the call, telling J the minimum necessary to communicate that we need clothes and a ride immediately. When I hang up the phone, she reaches for it, but I block her hand.
“We’ll call the bosses from a secure location,” I say.
“The police?”
“We’ll say as little as possible. Tell them you can’t remember anything. Effect of being drugged, you think. We woke in the tunnels. Just us. Alone. ”
Licking her pale lips, she nods. “Okay.”
I like when she listens to me. And when she looks up at me through her lashes with those gemstone eyes.
It was a gamble telling her I’ve been stalking her. Apparently, it paid off.