Chapter Fourteen
I f the night with LJ was about getting something out of my system or making sure I didn’t leave that particular stone unturned, then this was something else—something transformative, something I could never leave behind.
“Look at her,” Will says, rolling onto one arm and staring down at me, propped up on his elbow. “She’s supposed to be the one in charge, and she’s all tuckered out.”
The living room was just the start. Then we went to clean up and got a second wind in Will’s room. And part of a third. Finally, I had to tap out—for hydration, if for nothing else.
“Well, it’s tough to be the boss,” Rob says from my right, his hands behind his head. He’s staring up at the ceiling. “God, I wish I smoked. I could use a cigarette. Wore me out too.”
I press my lips together hard and clench my jaw against a giggle. I’m exhausted and yet strangely energized, reanimated in a way I never thought I’d feel again. Here I am, lying between the two of them on Will’s silk sheets, absolutely limp with satisfaction.
A horrifying thought crosses my mind—if my father could see me now—but I banish it. Not like he didn’t have his secrets too. Not like everyone doesn’t have layers. I was never going to be his sweet little girl forever, just like one day I realized he wasn’t the all-perfect, almighty hero I’d thought he was when I was a kid.
In a way, learning all this, being with Rob and the rest of them, it gave me something I never would have gotten otherwise. Not a good thing, not a bad thing—but the truth. A chance to see the world, and the people in it, for what they really are. And if that isn’t a goddamn gift...
My mind jumps ahead to another topic.
Another gift. Of sorts. Something else I never would’ve found out otherwise.
“Penny for your thoughts, greasemonkey?” Will asks, idly walking two fingers up my arm like a little mountain climber.
I shrug away and swat at him. “That’s below market rate,” I say. “Come back with a better offer.”
“You’re dealing with an heiress now, Scarlet,” Rob says, flopping over onto his stomach so he can stare at me, chin on his hands. “Anything out of that sweet little head is going to cost you a mint.”
“Then I’m going to need a loan,” Will says, lifting his eyebrows at Rob.
I can’t help it—I actually let out a giggle. “Here, I’ll give you a freebie,” I say, shuffling up a bit so I’m sitting. “I’m just thinking about all this...stuff. How we don’t ever really know our past, uncovering who people really are, blah blah blah.”
“Blah blah blah?” Rob says. “I pour my heart out to you, and that’s how you sum it up after the fact?”
“Come on, man. Every guy can be a poet when he’s trying to peel the pants off someone like this,” Will says.
I feel Rob stiffen next to me, and I worry he’s genuinely hurt—that Will’s gone too far. But after another heartbeat, Rob relaxes.
“Can you blame me?” Rob says, something quivering in his voice that makes my chest tighten. “I caught feelings pretty bad here.”
“Anyway,” I interrupt, trying to shift the focus. “It got me thinking about...you know, me. My power.” The words feel strange coming out of my mouth. “Is there a way to know what it is? Like, can we find that out?”
Will smirks and sinks back into his pillow, throwing a hand over his forehead. “Let a guy get the blood back to his brain first, greasemonkey. Jesus.”
“Lazy bones,” Rob mutters. He chews his lip and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, propping his chin on his other fist. “Yeah, we can figure it out. Probably. But the stuff we can do...it’s not like there’s a blood test or an aptitude screening or what have you. It’s more trial and error. And honestly, most of it’s on you, understanding yourself.”
“I... well, I don’t know about that.” I shiver involuntarily. “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” I say after a moment. If it never really manifests or whatever, it’s not like I can’t get along without it. I’ll be plenty independent, even without any kind of supernatural ability.
“Mmhmm,” Rob says, studying me.
No one says anything for a few moments after that. Being independent, I realize, is still what I want—or at least, I think so. But I don’t have long to ponder it, because the door bursts open and slams into the wall.
“Rob—” It’s Tuck, eyes wide, panting like he just sprinted upstairs from the office. “I checked, there’s—” He trails off, realizing what he’s walked in on.
He straightens up, swallows hard, and stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Did I miss something?” he asks politely.
“Oh, howdy,” Will says, smirking broadly again. “We had a little discussion, us and Maren, and, well... let’s just say we worked through our differences.”
“I... I see,” Tuck says, his eyes darting from Will to me to Rob, who’s now sitting on the side of the bed, pulling his pants back on.
“Looks like it took a lot of work,” Tuck says mildly, staring at the unmistakable ligatures around Rob’s wrists.
Rob glances down as casually as if he’s checking his watch. “Oh, these?” He shrugs, zipping his fly and standing. “I’ve had worse. Worse from her, even.”
I bite my lip, glancing at his shoulder. “Here,” I say, leaning forward and motioning for him. “Let me see.”
Rob sighs and rolls his eyes but obediently holds out his wrists. I skim a finger over the red, raw skin there.
“‘Tis but a scratch,” he says in a very bad English accent. “Don’t mind the feeling of you touching it, though.”
“You want her to kiss it and make it better?” Will says.
“Already? Woof.” Rob exhales and pulls away, gently shaking his head and rubbing his temples. “Are you familiar with the male refractory period, my friend? Because—”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Tuck says, waving his hands in the air. “I get the picture. Let me just... let me just finish my thought.”
I smile again, pulling back and draping the sheet around me like a strapless dress. “I’m listening,” I say for emphasis.
“Well, there’s not that much to finish,” Tuck admits. “Just that I really couldn’t find anything that puts Maren here at the house... or that puts her anywhere, to be honest. But there are plenty of news articles going up around you, Maren.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit.
“What kind of articles?” Rob asks.
“Just stuff from Gisbourne.” Tuck’s eyes slide to me before quickly looking straight ahead again. “He’s got a whole fairy tale narrative about the two of you,” he says, clearing his throat.
The three of them pause, shifting their weight, each in their own way. Then, like they planned it, they all look at me.
“You didn’t—”
“Y’all weren’t—”
“Did he—”
The realization of what they’re asking hits me like a smack in the face.
“No!” I say, eyes wide, pressing a hand to my heart. “Me and...and Guy? Oh God, no! I mean, he was nice to me and gave me stuff, but I never would have...” I cringe. “Honestly, I think he was into weird shit, and not in a good way,” I add, throwing a glance at Will.
Will relaxes with exaggerated relief. “Well, thank God for that.”
“Where the hell is everyone?” booms a voice from downstairs.
“We’re cuddling in the bedroom!” Rob calls back. “Come on up!”
I choke down the laugh that rises in my throat when I realize it’s LJ. He probably won’t like what he sees. Or maybe he will, but...
His dark form looms in the doorway, blocking out the light from the hall. “What,” he says sternly, “the hell is going on in here?”
It’s that same tone I recognized from the other night. Even though I’m exhausted, my body turns over on all cylinders when I hear it.
No, I tell myself, down, girl. At least get a glass of water before round...what, four?
“It’s not what it looks like,” Rob says, then shrugs. “Or maybe it is.”
“ Is it?” LJ barks. “The fuck did you do to—”
“They didn’t do anything to me!” I rush in, cutting him off. “Not that I didn’t want to. It’s...we’re fine. Better. It’s all good, I promise.”
I’m almost babbling, but I just want him to understand, to back down just a tiny bit.
LJ’s nostrils flare as he takes in a giant breath. “That’s the truth?” he asks, his voice calmer now as he looks at me.
I nod. “It is.”
Another exhale, then another. “Fine,” he says, swallowing.
Will cocks his head at LJ, still not getting out of bed. “You caught up with our friend, then?”
LJ folds his arms. “Followed him, but nothing unusual to report. Took a shortcut through the woods, but he just went back into town, headed to the barracks. He plopped down at a desk, filled out paperwork, and that’s basically all I saw. Had to get out of there when I realized a bear shouldn’t be hanging around Nottingham.”
“Not in the daylight, that’s for sure,” Rob adds. “Well, thank you. Guess there’s not too much to worry about. Not out of the ordinary anyway.”
“There’s plenty to worry about,” Will mutters. “I’m going to have an ulcer.”
“Really? Seems like you’ve been doing plenty of relaxing activities,” Tuck puts in mildly.
LJ snorts, which makes me smile.
“Hey, while we’re worrying,” I say, “could we maybe eat at the same time? Because I’m starving.”
THE SPREAD IN THE GAME room is the closest to a medieval feast I’ve ever seen in person—except, instead of roasted ducks and mince pies or whatever, it’s heaps of hot wings and every fried food you can imagine.
“I still can’t believe it,” Will says, rubbing his forehead. “Maren in pastels.”
I almost choke on my buffalo wing. Instead, I slam it onto the plate and aim a shove at him that misses, my sticky fingers smearing against the glossy surface of the game table instead.
“Hey, it was either that or the gross clothes I escaped in,” I retort. “I just wanted something clean. It could have been a sack for all I cared. Pastel pink wouldn’t have been my first choice.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with dressing girly if you want to,” Tuck says and fails to hide a little burp behind his hand.
“What he means to say is he’s into that shit,” Rob says, tipping his beer bottle at Tuck and putting a booted foot up on the edge of the table. “Frills, ruffles, bows—the whole nine.”
“I am not,” Tuck says, his face going pink.
“Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” LJ says, chewing. “She was a pretty sight the other night.”
Will leans forward and narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. The other night? Did you two...?” He points from me to LJ and back to me again.
Heat blossoms up my neck and all the way to my forehead, and it’s not just from the spicy wings.
“Can you blame me?” I say.
LJ, to his credit, reveals absolutely nothing, going stone-faced with an expressionlessness that a Buckingham Palace guard would envy. I, however, have much less chill.
Will looks LJ up and down. “I guess not,” he says. “Probably could have tempted me back in my experimental phase.” He shrugs.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” LJ says, “Don’t swing that way—not that I judge,” he adds quickly.
“Well, I just hope he treated you right,” Will says.
“Of course,” I say quickly, thinking of the almost faded bruises on my hips and shivering. I’ve changed, now, into some of my old clothes that were still here, and I peel back the waistband of my jeans to check on them—but to my surprise, there’s nothing there. Just skin. No marks.
Weird.
“Hey, fellas, it’s not a competition,” Tuck breaks in, ever the peacemaker. “I mean, I think we pretty explicitly agreed to that fact, right?”
“We did,” Rob confirms. He sits up, lowering his boot to the floor. “But you know what? You got me thinking. What do we say to a little wagering game? Just to liven up the night.”
“A game?” LJ arches a thick eyebrow.
“Sure,” Rob says, spreading his hands wide. “Why not? You really think we’re gonna do any detective work now? I mean, I’m three beers deep and contemplating a fourth. Tuck’s got us all stuffed like Cornish hens, and Will’s probably hard as a rock under this table thinking about Maren and her pretty little Southern Belle outfit.”
“Am not, you bastard,” Will retorts, but he does shift in his seat uncomfortably.
“So, I’m saying,” Rob continues, “I’m the fearless leader here, and I say we need a night off. Too much shit’s been going down—too intense. So what do you say?”
“I’m in,” Tuck says. “Why not?”
Will sighs. “Sure, fine, whatever.” He flips a hand in the air. “But I’m making another martini.”
“Just as long as it’s not one of those stupid board games,” LJ says. “I’m not eight years old.”
Rob gets to his feet and presses a button on the side of the table. With a low hiss of a hidden piston, the octagonal wood surface slides apart, revealing a few stacked decks of cards and neat rows of red, white, and blue chips tucked into cubbies for each of us.
“I was thinking poker,” Rob says. “That suit you, tough guy?”
LJ chuckles. “Sure.”
“Did anyone want to ask me?” I say. “Because I don’t even know how to play poker.”
“You can watch,” Rob says. “We’ll teach you.”
“It’s a thinking man’s game,” Will says, returning to the table with a fresh glass of gin and vermouth. He pops an olive into his mouth. “So I should have no problem beating these assholes.”
“Oh, please,” Tuck says. “You guys give me shit about being an egghead and then think you can beat me at poker?” He puffs out his chest. “I’m great at poker.”
“Yeah, online,” LJ snorts.
“I play against real people,” Tuck protests.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen,” Rob says. He’s grabbed a deck from the center of the table and started shuffling it in midair, at around hip level, without even looking at what he’s doing—which, I have to admit, is incredibly sexy. “Let the proof of the pudding be in the eating, shall we?”
No one objects, so Rob goes on, rapping a finger against the cards. “All right, pretty lady, here’s the drill,” he says. “Poker’s simple. You want the best five cards in your hand, and you want everyone else thinking you’ve got them whether you do or not. First thing’s the deal.” Rob continues, tossing a card to each of the guys. “Everyone gets two cards, keeps them to themselves. Then comes the flop”—he spins out three cards on the table—“which are for everyone to use to build their hand. After that, we get a turn and a river. Got it?”
I try not to laugh at how serious he’s taking himself. “Nope,” I say, and let out a laugh.
“Just let her watch,” Tuck says, then turns to me. “It’ll be easier to pick up once you see a round or two.”
Rob pauses, then nods, tapping the table for emphasis. “Fair enough. Wagering is where the real game is played, anyway.”
“Speaking of wagers, what are we playing with?” LJ asks, pushing aside his plate. “Because I’m not giving any of you idiots my money.”
“Nah, cash is too boring,” Rob agrees. “Gotta be something more interesting at stake.”
“Like what, truth or dare?” Will scoffs. “Loser has to jump in the pool naked?”
LJ snorts. “What is this, a frat house?”
Will pouts. “Well, you come up with an idea.”
My jaw aches with the effort not to smile broadly at all of them. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the leftover afterglow from this afternoon, but it feels damn good to be here.
Their voices pick up, chattering and overlapping as they argue about the stakes of the game. I decide to take the opportunity to get up for a refill. As soon as I stand, the rest of them do too, and fall silent. I laugh into my hand in spite of myself.
“You guys do not have to stand on ceremony for me,” I say.
“Literally force of habit,” Tuck says sheepishly, getting back into his seat.
“Agreed,” Will adds. “I didn’t do two torturous years of finishing school for nothing.”
LJ just grunts. “Whatever you say, Princess.”
I meander over to the minifridge and select another beverage as the four of them bicker around rules and bets and buy-ins, and then I take a seat on the edge of the pool table with a little hop, swinging my legs above the ground, my beer between my knees, as Rob spins out the last card into place.
“So we’re agreed?” He sits, grabs his hand and evens it against the table with a couple of taps. “Then let’s get a move on.”
For some reason, all four of their gazes go to me.
Then back to their hands.
“Like it, like it.” Rob flicks his cards up, surveys them, and smiles. The other three follow suit: Will frowns. LJ barely blinks at his, unfazed as always, and Tuck just nods, revealing nothing.
Rob leans back confidently. “ And I’m gonna clean the floor with you fellas, sorry to say. Ante up, gentlemen.”
It doesn’t take long for the first casualty to hit.
Will leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he surveys the cards on the table, then sighs dramatically.
“I’m out.”
“Five hands to tap out,” Rob says, grinning, and rakes the pot towards him. “Not your finest hour, Scarlet.”
“Must be some kind of record,” LJ agrees.
“It’s a stupid game anyway,” Will grumbles, loosening his collar and standing up for the bar.
I try to stifle a laugh as he leaves, looking like a kicked puppy in tailored clothes.
“See, what Will did wrong,” Tuck says helpfully as LJ deals the next hand, “is bluffed big early on. But his cards never backed it up, and it ended up, uh—”
“I believe the technical term is biting him in the ass, ” Rob says. “Pair of eights doesn’t exactly win you glory, my friend.”
From the bar, Will flips Rob a silent bird.
“Ante up,” LJ growls, and throws a glance my way. “I don’t want this to take all night.”
The three remaining players exchange glances, their focus sharpening, and I watch them take in their cards. LJ strokes his beard, which maybe is some kind of tell. Rob cracks his knuckles, his grin widening—but whether that’s genuine good cards or a bluff is impossible to tell. Tuck, with his easygoing smile, looks like he’s just along for the ride, though his steady hands say otherwise.
Rob leans forward, tossing chips into the pot with a flourish. “Call,” he says, his voice thick with bravado, clearly riding high off the last hand. He thinks he’s got this locked down. Typical Rob.
LJ and Tuck quietly follow suit, and the next few hands become a tense dance: no one speaking, brows furrowed, the only sound the occasional tap on the table or flick of a card turning over. Check, raise, fold—no one willing to give away too much even as chips move back and forth across the felt. Throughout, I start to pick up on their patterns. LJ’s conservative, folding more often than not even when it seems like he might have good cards. Tuck raises just enough to make them both think. Rob, ever the risk-taker, barrels forward with a hefty bet.
“I see you,” Rob declares, cocky as ever, pushing his chips in like it’s all but done. He flashes me a wink, and maybe it’s the fact that it’s his fourth beer, or the fact that his hot streak can’t continue forever, but somehow I can tell he’s overconfident.
LJ stays cool and calls, but Tuck’s brow furrows for the first time. He hesitates—just enough to make me wonder if he’s nervous—then folds.
LJ reveals his hand: a flush. Rob’s smirk vanishes as he flips over his cards—a measly pair of fives. He tries to laugh it off. “Ah, hell. Should’ve known better.”
“Yep,” LJ says simply, scooping up the pot. Rob throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I was bluffing,” he adds, as if that makes the loss sting less.
“What else is new?” mutters Will.
Now it’s just LJ and Tuck, and the table feels smaller, the stakes higher. LJ’s face is stone, his movements calculated. Tuck’s got that same easy smile, but his eyes are sharper now, watching every twitch in LJ’s stoic expression.
They trade a few hands, no clear winner emerging yet. LJ checks, then raises, his fingers tapping lightly on his chips, his poker face admirably blank. Tuck calls without hesitation, a smirk creeping across his lips as if he’s seeing something the rest of us aren’t—which, admittedly, I’m not, because I still barely follow the rules.
The final hand comes, and you can feel the weight of it. LJ makes a hefty bet—too much to be casual, too little to scream overconfidence. Tuck studies him. For a second, I think he’s going to fold and give LJ the win. But no. He pushes his entire stack forward. All in.
LJ’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Awfully confident, aren’t you there, pup?”
Tuck’s ears go red. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, not meeting LJ’s eyes.
“Hey,” Rob says, tipping his drink at Tuck. “I, for one, endorse a Tuck victory. God knows he’ll enjoy the jackpot.”
“Call.” LJ’s jaw tightens just enough for me to catch it. He’s good, but not invincible. With a curt nod, the cards hit the table.
Tuck’s got a full house—aces and tens. LJ’s hand is strong—a straight—but it’s not strong enough.
For the first time tonight, I see LJ crack. He exhales sharply through his nose and slumps his massive shoulders. “Well played,” he concedes, tipping his head toward Tuck.
Tuck stares down at his winning hand as if he can’t quite believe it. His smile stretches wider, and he lets out a low chuckle. “Damn, didn’t think I had it in me.”
Will ambles back to the table with his fresh martini and surveys the scene. “I leave for five minutes, and Tuck of all people takes the pot? The world’s upside down.”
Tuck grins, shrugging like he didn’t just pull off the biggest win of the night. He throws a look my way, but quickly glances away.
“Way to go, man,” Rob says, giving Tuck a playful shove in the shoulder. “You deserve it more than any of us.”
“Well, I...I don’t know about that.” Tuck swallows hard, licks his lips. Something feels off, a nervous energy I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Hey,” I say, feeling the need to come to Tuck’s defense. “You won, fair and square, right?” I gesture at the rest of them with my drink. “Go get him whatever he won. Stop being sore losers.”
Will laughs. Rob chuckles, glancing at Tuck. Even LJ rumbles out a short sound of amusement. All of them stand around a bit awkwardly, a beat too long, and I realize there’s something I’m missing here.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on here?”
Will recomposes himself with a cough. “Nothing, nothing,” he says, eyes flashing. “Just a very deserving winner, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?” I look from Will to Rob to LJ. “What did you guys—”
Before I can finish my thought, LJ grabs me by the waist and lifts me back up to where I was sitting. He turns to Tuck.
“Fair and square. Like she says.” He turns his deep gaze to me, then back to Tuck. “So long as she agrees, anyway.”
“What’s he talking about?” I turn to Tuck. “What did you just win?”
Tuck swallows, barely able to meet my eyes.
“You.”