Chapter 3 #2
“She didn't have to. The girl at the boutique has a big mouth. Rumor is the Vane empire is crumbling.” Jules narrowed her eyes at me.
“But she told me she was at a ‘spa’ for three days. Funny, because I called every spa in a fifty-mile radius looking for her when the power went out. None of them had a reservation for Vane.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“Where was she, Ezra?”
I stared at Jules. She was smart. Dangerous.
“Ask her,” I said.
I pushed off the counter, needing to move. Needing to intervene. Because across the room, Mads had just moved his hand from Amara’s back to her waist. He was pulling her toward the makeshift dance floor.
I moved through the crowd like a shark cutting through water. I didn't push people; they just moved out of my way when they felt the temperature drop.
I reached the edge of the dance floor just as the music shifted to something slow, heavy, and grinding. Mads had his hands on Amara’s hips. She was smiling up at him, but her eyes… her eyes looked vacant. Panicked. She was performing.
I caught her eye.
The moment our gazes locked, the performance shattered. Her smile dropped. The panic in her eyes sharpened into something else—awareness. She stopped moving.
Mads frowned, leaning down. “You okay, babe?”
I didn't wait for her answer. I stepped onto the dance floor.
“Mads,” I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the bass like a knife.
Mads looked up, startled. “Cap? What’s up?”
“Coach wants a word,” I lied. “ outside. Something about the curfew violation last week.”
Mads paled. “Now? Is he here?”
“Front porch. Don’t keep him waiting.”
Mads looked at Amara, then at me. He wasn't stupid enough to argue with me, and he certainly wasn't stupid enough to argue with the threat of Coach.
“Sorry, Amara. Raincheck?” He gave her a squeeze and bolted toward the door.
Amara stood there, alone in the crowd, swaying slightly. She looked up at me, her eyes flashing with defiance.
“You’re a terrible liar, Sterling,” she said, her voice tight. “Coach is in Florida for the recruitment drive.”
“Mads doesn't know that,” I said. I stepped closer, closing the space between us. I didn't touch her. I didn't have to. My presence was a physical weight. “And you look desperate.”
“I’m dancing,” she hissed. “It’s what people do at parties. You should try it sometime. It involves moving your body, not just standing in the corner brooding like Batman.”
“You’re not dancing,” I murmured, leaning down so only she could hear me over the music. “You’re flailing. You’re trying to make sure everyone sees you so they don’t realize you’re falling apart.”
“I am not falling apart,” she snapped.
“Your pulse is visible in your neck,” I pointed out. “You’re hyperventilating. And you hate Mads. You told me three days ago he smells like ‘wet dog and Axe body spray.’”
A reluctant, tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she suppressed it.
“He does,” she admitted. “But he buys the drinks.”
“I have water,” I said. “And I have a quiet car outside.”
“I can’t leave,” she whispered, looking around the room frantically. “Leo might show up. If I’m not here, he’ll ask questions.”
“If Leo shows up and sees you grinding on the fourth-string winger, he’s going to commit a felony. Do you want that?”
She bit her lip. The berry lipstick was smudged slightly. I had the irrational urge to fix it with my thumb.
“Come with me,” I commanded.
“Where?”
“Away from the noise.”
I didn't wait for her to agree. I turned and walked toward the back of the house, toward the mudroom that led to the garage. It was the only place in the Hive that was ever quiet.
I heard the click of her heels following me.
We stepped into the mudroom. It was dark, smelling of cold air and old hockey gear. I shut the heavy oak door, muffling the thumping bass until it was just a dull vibration in the floorboards.
Silence.
Amara leaned against the washing machine, crossing her arms over her chest. The small space forced us together. There was barely two feet between us.
“You blew my cover,” she accused, though there was no heat in it. She looked exhausted. The adrenaline of the performance had worn off.
“Your cover was thin,” I said. I leaned my hand against the dryer next to her head, boxing her in. It was a habit now. I needed to contain her. “Why are you doing this, Amara? Why are you pretending everything is fine?”
“Because it has to be,” she said, her voice trembling. She looked up at me, her eyes huge in the dim light. “If I admit it’s real… if I admit I have nothing… then I disappear. I become nobody.”
“You’re not nobody,” I said roughly.
“I’m Amara Vane. Without the money, without the status… I’m just a girl who failed out of design school.”
“You haven’t failed yet,” I reminded her. “You studied for six hours yesterday. You know the difference between a tort and a crime now.”
She let out a choked laugh. “Barely.”
She looked down at my chest. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach out and touch me, but she pulled it back.
“Why are you here, Ezra?” she whispered. “You hate parties. You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said. The truth hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.
I stepped closer. My thigh brushed against hers. The contact sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.
“I don’t like seeing you debase yourself for attention,” I said low. “You’re better than that. You’re better than Mads.”
“Who am I good enough for then?” she challenged, looking up. Her breath hitched.
The air between us changed. It shifted from argumentative to suffocatingly intimate. The scent of her—vanilla, sweat, and expensive perfume—filled my lungs.
I looked at her mouth. It was right there. Inches away.
“Amara,” I warned. My voice was a growl.
She didn't back down. She leaned in, just a fraction.
“Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me who I belong to, Ezra.”
It was a test. It was a plea.
My hand moved of its own accord. I reached out, my fingers wrapping around her throat—not to choke, but to hold. To claim. My thumb rested against her pulse point, feeling the frantic rabbit-kick of her heart.
She gasped, her head falling back against the washing machine, exposing her neck. A silent offering.
“You know the answer,” I murmured, leaning down until my lips were hovering over hers. I could feel her breath on my mouth. “You belong to the protocol. You belong to the penthouse. You belong to—”
The door swung open.
Light and noise flooded the small room, blinding us.
We sprang apart as if we’d been burned. I ripped my hand away from her neck, spinning toward the door, my body instinctively moving to shield her.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the party lights, was a massive figure. Broad shoulders. Wild hair.
Leo.
He was holding a duffel bag, still wearing his team track jacket, looking like he’d just walked in from the airport.
He blinked, his gaze darting between me and Amara. He saw the flush on her cheeks. He saw the tension in my shoulders. He saw the way we were standing—too close, too guilty.
The silence that followed was louder than the music.
“Amara?” Leo asked, his voice confused, then darkening with suspicion. “Ezra? What the hell is going on in here?”
Amara stepped out from behind me. Her face was pale, her mask completely gone.
“Leo,” she breathed. “You’re back.”
Leo dropped his bag. His eyes narrowed, fixing on me with a hatred that had been brewing for three years.
“Why were you cornering my sister?” he demanded, stepping into the room. The space instantly became too small for two alpha males and a secret that could burn the city down.
I looked at Amara. She looked at me.
The game had just changed.
“We were talking,” I said calmly, stepping forward to meet him. “About her grades.”
Leo scoffed. “Bullshit. You don’t talk to Vanes. You try to destroy them.”
He grabbed Amara’s arm, pulling her toward him.
“Come on, Mara. We’re leaving. You’re staying at my place tonight.”
Amara froze.
She couldn't go to his place. His place was a mess. His place didn't have a guest room. But more importantly, if she went to his place, she’d have to tell him she was broke.
She looked at me, panic flaring in her eyes. A silent beg. Help me.
I looked at Leo.
“She can’t,” I said.
Leo stopped. He turned slowly to look at me. “Excuse me?”
“She can’t stay with you,” I said, my voice steady, my eyes locked on his. “She has a… study group. Early in the morning. At the library.”
It was a weak lie. But it was all I had.
Leo looked at me, then at Amara. He saw the fear in her eyes and misinterpreted it. He thought she was afraid of me.
“Stay away from her, Sterling,” Leo spat. “If I see you near her again, we’re going to have a problem that the refs can’t fix.”
He dragged her out of the room.
Amara looked back at me over her shoulder one last time. Her eyes were wide, terrified, and filled with a longing that nearly brought me to my knees.
I watched them disappear into the crowd.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white.
Let him take her for tonight. Let him think he won.
She would be back. She had nowhere else to go. And now that I had touched her—now that I had felt her pulse under my thumb—I wasn't going to let anyone, not even her brother, keep her from me.
The hunt was on.