Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
GEMMA
“Are you planning on keeping me locked up here forever?” I yelled through the door. “I have certain responsibilities.”
I sighed and slid down the door. I’d been yelling on and off for hours to complete silence. Grim had locked the door when he left. The sun was rising now. A sliver of orange above the icy-blue ocean that lit the black sky iron blue.
I will memorize every part of you. Map your uncharted territory. Make it mine.
Last night Grim had been so different. So gentle. So…not us. My skin was still ablaze thinking about it.
But nothing ever changed between Grim and me, not really.
I watched the sun rise and light the rusted Ferris wheel a blinding, blazing copper.
The problem with our love story was there were no monsters, no villains and evildoers. There was no fate to fight or dragon to slay.
Because the problem with our story was us.
It had always been us.
We were the monsters, we were the villains, we were wrong for each other.
Poison.
The real reason Grim Reyes and I never got together? It had nothing to do with which side of town we lived on. Deep down, we knew the truth. Our lips were coated in the same venom.
We’re your monsters now.
I banged the back of my head against the door, Wraith’s words spinning around and around.
Back.
I’m not letting you go. Ever.
Forth.
It’s a game. It has to be a game.
Back.
Grim was only a dark fantasy that throbbed between my legs. A nightmare I fell asleep to. There was never a time I really thought we could end up together.
Forth.
I’m not sure what game they’re playing, but I know the minute I stop playing, I’ll lose.
Back—
I fell onto my back as the door swung open. Raze towered over me, shirtless, his black tattoos upside down from my view.
“Do you have a death wish?” he asked.
I sat up, rubbing the back of my skull. “Yes.”
He blinked, then frowned, suspicious. “Time to eat, Barbie.”
I followed him through the hallway and down the stairs. With his back to me, his tattoo was fully visible. It was a black horse just like Grim’s, but instead of a skull and scythe, the horse was surrounded by fire. The line work was amazing—but I wasn’t supposed to see this.
No one saw a Horseman’s tattoo and lived.
Downstairs, Raze led me back to the kitchen I’d caught a glimpse of the night before. With marbled checkerboard black-and-white flooring, a circular wood table, and appliances built into antique-looking wood counters and cabinets, it was both luxurious and oddly cozy.
Lock got something out of the antique black fridge, and Grim sat at the table across from Wraith, talking about something I couldn’t discern. I felt like a teenager again, back at boarding school and sneaking into the boys’ dormitory.
Upon my entrance, the conversation died, and all three turned to me. Grim’s eyes met mine, blazing. Raze pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. I looked at it, nonplussed. Since when did the Horsemen act like gentlemen?
“Sit,” Raze barked.
That was more like it.
I sat, more and more uncertain about the game they were playing. Grim hadn’t spoken to me, but neither had he stopped staring.
A quiet, discomforting possession radiated from him.
“If I’m going to be your prisoner,” I said, “I’m going to need access to certain things. I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Like what is the thread count in those sheets? Negative five?”
He tilted his head. “You don’t like my sheets?”
“I…”
His sheets?
That was his room?
But…of course it was. Somehow this felt more intimate than anything we’d done before. This was him without any pretense. The bed had been made by him. The book open on the nightstand—he was reading it.
“Is there a breakfast menu?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Here’s your menu.” Lock slammed down a box of off-brand cereal. I looked between all of them.
“Do you have any almond milk?”
“That shit’s terrible for the environment,” Lock said.
Lock turned away and I saw his tattoo. His Horseman had crystal blue eyes to match the owner, and instead of a scythe, Lock had a sword and crown. I shouldn’t see this, some distant self-preservation whispered. I shouldn’t have seen Grim’s, let alone all of theirs.
But I couldn’t stop staring.
Grim gripped my jaw, dragging my gaze from the tattoo and into his eyes.
“Eat.” He shoved his bowl of cereal in front of me.
“Not hungry,” I said. He said nothing, his eyes punishing. “I don’t eat breakfast,” I continued. “Let alone sugary treats disguised as breakfast—”
He shoved his thumb between my lips, forcing my mouth open, a hot weight on my tongue. A moment later he shoved a spoon in my mouth. A slow smile split his lips when I swallowed.
Grim pushed another spoonful into my mouth while the conversation continued around us. This shouldn’t be lighting me up. Want shouldn’t curl in my gut and drip down to my thighs. He pushed another spoon into my mouth, and I fought the urge to squirm.
His nostrils flared, like he knew.
“Someone forgot to replace the vegan butter.” Lock shut the fridge door. “Wasn’t me, Wraith. So kill one of these two.”
I blinked, nearly choking on my cereal. Wraith was a vegan?
“Not me.” Raze laughed. “Like I’m going to fuck with a guy who’d gut a man but won’t eat a steak.”
They started talking about all kinds of sundry things, like who used what video game and didn’t return it, if anyone noticed the shower was making a weird noise.
It was all so…normal.
Grim dragged my attention back to him with another bite of cereal. You could never say Grim was a tender person, but a softness smudged the feral possession in his eyes.
I get hot and twisty from it.
Grim set the metal spoon against the bowl with a clank, and horror spread through my limbs.
I’d eaten an entire bowl of cereal.
Before I could dwell on it, Grim stood up, holding out his hand for me to take. I took it. Without words, Grim pulled me up the stairs and back into the room—his room. Blood roared like the ocean in my ears.
The look he was giving was too intense. Too not what we are. By now he should pull away, do something to get control. Instead he just stared, sending shivers down my spine.
So I tried to break it.
“So what am I?” I asked. “Your fucking captive now?”
“No,” he said simply. “You’re mine.”
Another excruciatingly long minute of eye contact, and then he turned as if to leave.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Business,” he said without turning around, nearly at the door.
“Are you going to lock me in here again?”
He turned around, arms folded. “Depends, you gonna leave?”
No.
Yes.
I have to go, I can’t stay here.
A vicious smile split his lips, as if he could see the words in my hand. “You know what? Go ahead, leave, Rich Girl. Wherever you go, I’ll find you and drag you back.”
My lips parted, mouth suddenly dry. His eyes dropped to that, hunger darkening the irises, but he only turned back around. He paused in the doorway. “Good girls who stay get rewarded, though.” He tapped the doorframe, and without another word, left.
I could leave.
I could walk right out.
Good girls who stay get rewarded.
I shook my head. I was alone, in Grim’s room…and I wasn’t above snooping. That was the only reason I was staying.
His room was meticulous. I had cleaners morning and night, and even mine wasn’t this clean. The only thing messy was the bed. Shivers ran up my spine.
Fuck up my sheets.
I pulled out a dresser drawer and found clothes perfectly folded. Beyond me there was an open doorway that led to a walk-in. I headed over, then paused, a book on the nightstand catching my eyes.
What kind of reading was the Grim Reaper into?
Frankenstein?
The book was old and beat up. The insides had words scribbled in the margins. I was having a hard time picturing Grim annotating Frankenstein—
Wait.
I looked closer at the annotations, at a little purple heart drawn in the margin.
No way.
This was my fucking book. I lost it in high school.
No fucking way.
I noticed it was missing the day after…
The realization landed like rocks in my gut. I’d lost it the day I met Grim.
No way he’d kept it.
Why did he keep this?
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Big Brother Grim,” a soft voice called out. “Have you seen the—”
I turned to find a young girl frozen in the doorway. She stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. She was petite, with straight black hair. About sixteen or seventeen, she looked a little like Grim.
“Who are you?” she asked. “How did you get in here?”
“Who are you?” I countered.
“I’m Zabby.” She said it like I was supposed to know what that meant.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“I’m Grim’s sister.”
I paused. I knew Grim had a sister, but the idea of the Horsemen with families still felt wrong, like the sun out at midnight.
She stepped closer, peering at me. “You don’t look like a murderer. But…that would make you a good murderer.”
“I’m not a murderer. It’s not my fault they didn’t tell you I’d be here.”
She huffed an exhale. “They don’t tell me anything. I’m not a little girl anymore, but they all still treat me that way.” She tilted her head, taking me and the room in, then a second later her face split in joy. “Oh, oh, you’re her! You’re the one he claimed.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure what to say.
“I didn’t think they would do it,” she said. “Not after Vander.”
“Who is Vander—” I started to ask, but was cut off by a voice rough as nails.
“Sabrina,” Lock said. “Go.”
Lock stood behind Zabby—Sabrina—in the doorway.
Zabby spun. “You—”
“Go,” Lock repeated.
She clenched her jaw. “You guys don’t tell me anything.” With one last look at me, she turned and left. Lock watched her go down the hallway, only turning back when the footfalls faded down the stairs.
“So…” I said. “Who’s Vander?”
Lock visibly tensed, but only said, “Go change.”
“Change? For what? Into what?”
He nodded to the left, where an open archway led to a walk-in closet. Eyes narrowed, I walked toward it.
Rows and rows of pink met me, except for a small corner of black. Pink dresses, soft cashmere loungewear, and a small section of Gothic and lacy black dresses. All in my size. All brands I would wear. I knew these brands. This would have cost hundreds of thousands.
Was this entire closet for me?
Shivers peppered my skin. It was like Grim had been preparing for this.
“Hurry up, princess,” Lock called.
I grabbed a relatively simple pink A-line minidress. It had a corset with a semi-sheer lace bodice scalloping my breasts.
When I came out, Raze had joined Lock. They shared a look.
“We should make her change,” Raze said.
Lock shook his head. “We’re already late.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? This is couture.”
Lock’s blue eyes locked on me. “You look like bait, princess.”
Bait?
They stepped aside, making a clear path for me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
To my surprise, they answered. “The Underworld.”
It was barely ten in the morning. The Underworld didn’t open until eleven at night. With Raze at my back, I followed Lock down the stairs, and then down another set of stairs into a basement I didn’t know existed.
It was rare for a basement to exist so close to the beach, but this one appeared carved into stone. Inside was a plethora of cars. Expensive sports cars. Bikes. But the antique black one Grim used sat revving, metallic gas filling the air.
Lock opened the back door for me and I slid inside, sandwiched between him and Wraith, just like yesterday.
“We’re driving the two feet it takes to get to the club?”
They said nothing, pulling out of the garage and up into the bright, wintry day. I craned my neck, following the foggy pier until it disappeared in the rearview, stomach sinking.
Swallowing, I stared forward. “I thought you said we were going to the Underworld?”
Grim eyed me in the rearview but said nothing.
Minutes passed in silence. We drove past a blue-and-white painted wooden sign: Now Leaving Crowne Point. My throat tightened. We entered a forest, and trees whisked by. Soon an hour had passed, then another.
I must have fallen asleep. Suddenly the car jolted, and I woke up in the middle of trees—somewhere I didn’t recognize at all. The car was running, rumbling beneath me, gas filling the vehicle and burning my nostrils.
Maybe they’re going to kill me here.
Two flat knocks sounded on the window, and I nearly jumped.
Raze lowered the glass, and someone shone a light inside. It was so bright I felt it in the back of my skull.
I had a second to get a glimpse before Wraith gripped the back of my skull, pushing me forward so harshly the muscles in my upper back screamed. He’d been covered in tattoos—as in face, eyelids, lips. The color was different, maybe it was the night, but they glimmered—
I stilled as I felt someone, probably Lock, brush the hair at my nape aside.
They’re showing my tattoo—
The car jolted forward, and Wraith released me. I sat up with a jerk, hand flying to the back of my neck as if that would protect me. Wraith and Lock stared forward, as if nothing had happened, as if this was all fucking normal.
I crossed my arms. I’d act as if this were normal too.
We drove through inky black. I could barely see the shadows of the trees against the sky. How did the light from the city not reach here? It reached even Crowne Point.
I heard a creak—heavy wrought iron gates were opening. Then…it appeared.
I nearly gasped.
Crowne Hall had been called palatial, but this was like the castles our ancestors hoped to emulate. Grand obsidian towers and spires swept up into the shadowy sky. Stone gargoyles perched on ledges, the onyx in their eyes glittering.
Invitees streamed through pointed arches, their dresses better than any bespoke item I’d ever worn. Black diamonds glimmered on necks and wrists.
There was something off about everything. The shadows were velvet and every person was tattooed.
Even still, I knew this dance, even if it was more ominous. I’d been raised for this dance. Beauty is armor, that was a lesson my mother taught me early.
“Don’t look at anyone,” Raze growled. “Don’t speak, even if someone talks to you.”
“Where are we?”
“We already told you, princess,” Lock said. “The Underworld.”