Chapter 21
Kai
“Get inside before someone sees you,” Rooke says.
Haven’s hand tightens in mine, her pulse hammering against my palm.
The shadows inside the mausoleum merge seamlessly with the black granite. An oil lantern wedged into the niche of some future dead guy’s final resting place stretches Rooke’s shadow into a monster’s.
Fitting.
He’s wearing black—to match his soul—and a fucking wolf mask pushed up on his forehead.
“Cozy,” I mutter, glancing around.
One way in, one way out. Granite walls pressing close. A sarcophagus in the center, like an altar.
“I expect punctuality.” Rooke pulls the door shut behind us with a soft thud, the sound too loud in the hushed space.
And just like that, we’re trapped again.
“Forgiveness is going to cost you,” our professor says.
“Forgiveness?” Haven scoffs. “You’re one to speak.”
Rooke’s brows draw together. “Watch your tone with me, girl.” His dark eyes slide to me. “Or have you forgotten what’s at stake here?”
My skin prickles at the touch of his gaze, but I try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, despite my pulse kicking up, and cock twitching like the traitorous piece of shit it is.
“We got a party to get back to, Rooke.” I keep my voice flat and bored.
He circles us, fingers trailing along the edge of the sarcophagus before he slides the flat of his hand over the surface. It’s surprisingly clean, like he wiped everything down before we got here.
There was a severed chain dangling from the iron gate outside, but I don’t see any bolt cutters lying around. It would be just like him to come in here and prepare the place…but what the fuck for?
“What do you want?” I blurt out before my mind can start answering that question.
Rooke smiles.
“I want you. Both of you.” He pats the top of the sarcophagus, then carries on walking around the block of granite, head down, voice low. “Here. Now.”
Haven shifts beside me, crossing her arms tight across her chest, but I don’t look at her.
I can’t.
Because if I see fear in her eyes, I’ll do something stupid.
And if I see lust…Jesus.
“And if we say no?” she asks, voice shaking.
Rooke stops. Turns. The lantern light catches his face, carving shadows beneath his cheekbones that make him look more wolfish than his mask.
“Then Kai goes back to prison.”
Silence stretches. Cold seeps through my costume—the stupid, fucking Mad Hatter coat and no shirt that seemed clever three hours ago and now just makes me feel exposed.
Haven’s fingers flex against mine.
I should grab her and run. We can take our chances.
But we both know there’s nowhere to go.
Rooke holds the key to her future…and mine. His invisible web was so carefully spun that neither of us saw it until we were well and truly trapped.
“Then let’s get it over with.” I have to fight to speak, to push out the words. But anything’s better than the stifling dread, or the spiral of ugly thoughts filling my head.
Rooke’s smile widens, flashing teeth as he strips off his coat and lays it over the sarcophagus. “There’s my good boy.”
…being such a good boy…
A sliver of memory jolts through me at those words. An alley, the stench of weed, Rooke’s cologne, and—
It’s nothing. Just my imagination’s going haywire.
“First things first.” He closes the distance between us in three measured strides. “Lose the hat.”
He reaches up before I can stop him, plucking the top hat off my head and tossing it onto the sarcophagus like it’s a coat rack.
“Better.” His fingers brush my jaw. I jerk back, but there’s nowhere to go—the wall is right fucking there. “Now get on your knees.”
“Fuck you,” I blurt through a strangled laugh.
“Not yet, boy.” His thumb drags across my lower lip. “Not yet.”
He turns to Haven, snapping his fingers. “Come here.”
Haven lifts her chin, staring him down. “Make me.”
My heart gives a hard thump against my ribs.
Jesus, that mouth of hers is going to get us both killed…or worse.
But Rooke just lets out a low, dark laugh. “As you wish.”
He moves fast. One second he’s an arm’s length away, the next he’s got Haven by the throat, walking her backward until her shoulders hit the wall beside me.
“You’ve been running from me for weeks.” His voice drops to a murmur. “Hiding behind your boyfriend. Pretending you don’t want this.”
“I wasn’t—“
“Liar.” He leans in, his lips brushing her ear, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. “I can smell how wet you are from here.”
Haven’s breath catches. Her blue eyes find mine, fluttering when Rooke’s thumb slides over her bottom lip.
But I’ve seen Haven scared. This is not it.
She’s turned on.
Suddenly my cock is straining against my pants, my skin warming, my breath hitching.
I fucking hate how effortlessly he can do that to her.
To me.
“Get your hands off her,” I growl, but the words come out weaker than I want them to.
Rooke doesn’t even look at me. “I don’t think so.”
This close, his cologne mingles with the smell of Haven’s shampoo and the vanilla-scented body mist stuff she sprayed on herself before we left the Airbnb. Maybe that’s what triggers me. Or maybe it’s the way our professor dips down like he’s going to claim her mouth right in front of me.
I lunge.
Or try to.
His free hand shoots out, catching my throat and slamming me back against the wall hard enough to rattle my teeth. Now he’s got us both pinned, a large, veiny hand on our throats.
And he’s not even breaking a sweat.
“That’s more like it.” His thumbs press into our pulses, feeling…what? Our heartbeats, our fear, or our fucked-up arousal?
“Let go,” Haven gasps digging into his wrist.
He squeezes both our necks. As if we need a reminder of who’s in charge right now. “You came here because you wanted this.”
“We’re here because you fucking blackmailed us,” I spit.
“Semantics.” His grip loosens slightly, turning from restraint to caress. “The end result is the same. You’re here. I’m here.”
His hand slides from Haven’s throat to her jaw, tilting her face toward his.
“And you owe me an apology.”
“For what?” she breathes, sounding incredulous despite the hand on her throat.
“For not answering my call. For making me wait tonight.” He brushes his lips against hers, and a pump of blood makes my cock swell inside my pants. “For pretending you belonged to anyone but me.”
Then he’s kissing her.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It isn’t sweet.
Rooke devours her like Haven’s the only thing keeping him alive. His hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back to deepen the angle, and she fucking moans into him.
I can’t look away. With his hand still on my neck, I can’t move away either. Even distracted as he is, I know the consequences won’t be worth the brief freedom. Or maybe I just like the way his palm feels against my Adam’s apple. How his fingers twitch against the column of my throat.
My cock throbs against my zipper and I tell myself it’s because of the sounds Haven makes as Rooke’s mouth grinds against hers.
I should be angry. I should be ripping him off her, beating his face in, protecting what’s mine.
But when I grab his wrist, Rooke’s only response is a brief growl and a tightening of his fingers.
So I stay frozen, my cock leaking precum, my own lips tingling as I watch.
As I want.
When he finally pulls back, Haven’s lips are swollen and her eyes are glazed.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. Then his dark, ravenous gaze cuts to me. “Your turn, boy.”
I try to pull his hand off my throat, but my muscles have gone weak—those dark eyes pinning me in place as much as his strong fingers.
I huff out an incredulous, “I’m not—“
He doesn’t wait to hear the rest.
He just steps against me, into me, and kisses me.
Haven’s kiss was a chaste peck compared to mine. This is brutal. Punishing. His teeth catch my lower lip and pull, and the pain sparks through me like electricity.
I should bite him. Headbutt him. Something.
Instead, my mouth opens.
And he takes everything I give…and still insists on more.
His tongue sweeps against mine, claiming more territory than I’m willing to give. And I hate that my hands are gripping his coat instead of shoving him away, hate that I’m kissing him back like I’ve been waiting for this, like I’ve been craving it—
He breaks the kiss with a low laugh just as I lose myself in it.
“See?” His thumb swipes across my wet lower lip. “You’re as desperate and horny as she is.”
My face burns. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t be so impatient, boy.” He steps back, scanning us like we’re auction pieces, and he’s considering what his highest bid will be. “You two are going to fuck each other first. Get rid of some of that pent-up energy.”
Haven’s still pressed against the wall beside me, chest heaving. Her Alice dress is rumpled, apron crooked, one stocking slipping down her thigh.
She turns to look at me, a crease between her brows, like she’s asking me permission despite the glow in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest—
“Kiss her,” Rooke commands.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I grab Haven’s face and crush my mouth to hers, pouring every ounce of confusion and fear and lust into the kiss. She responds instantly, her fingers clawing at my open coat, pulling me closer.
This is familiar. This is safe. Just me and her, like it’s supposed to be.
Until a hand grips my shoulder, urging me away from the wall. I stay locked on Haven’s lips, refusing to break our kiss even as Rooke guides me to the center of the room, until my ass hits the edge of the sarcophagus.
Haven gasps into our kiss, and I flutter my eyes open to catch Rooke sliding his hands over her hair, drawing it away from her face, dropping down to trace his lips along the side of her neck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, losing myself in Haven’s tongue and taste.
“Good boy,” Rooke murmurs into my ear. “Now take off her dress.”
My knuckles graze Rooke’s stomach as I tug down Haven’s zipper, and when it sticks halfway, he grabs my hand and we both yank it hard enough to tear the fabric.
I don’t care.
He doesn’t care.