Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Eve
Waking abruptly, air caught in my lungs, my body is pulled upright of its own volition, like an exorcism. The room is pitch black, and my heart is pounding. I glance around, but my anxiety is only heightened when I don’t recognize my surroundings.
Then it begins to slowly trickle back. I’m in Rush House. And after Sara came to my room with the hamburger, I couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up for hours, studying. It helped to have something to focus on…
What time is it now? It’s dark outside, so it must still be early…or maybe it’s late? Man, I’m so disoriented.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I remember it was never given back to me. The security guy still has it. Or maybe one of the Sacred Sons…
Throwing the covers off, I push out a long sigh and twist to get off the bed. Something shifts in the darkness. I freeze, breath held. What the fuck? I don’t move, waiting to see if it happens again.
My mind races. Is it one of the guys from downstairs, finally come to “claim” me? Sara’s warning floods my mind— the guys at Rush House are horny, rabid beasts on a good day…
Long seconds pass and nothing happens, but there’s a heaviness in the air that I just can’t shake. “Is someone there?” I whisper, praying there’s no response.
More silence.
Thank God.
My muscles are just starting to loosen when a familiar baritone fills the room. “No one here but the big bad wolf…”
My heart jumps into my throat.
Christian.
Sitting up, I pull one of the pillows into my lap to use as a shield. A shitty shield, but still. It’s something. “Is this what you do for fun—sit in the dark like a fucking creep and scare women?”
He chuckles, my insult rolling right off the scales on his back. Does anything bother this guy? “I’m here to get you ready for the hunt.”
What? I’m super confused. “That’s tomorrow. How long was I asleep?”
“All day,” he responds.
How? Never in my life have I slept all day. Not that my aunt would have let me. She always insisted I be “useful,” which meant being pulled out of bed at seven in the morning, even on a weekend. How else would the housework get done? She sure as fuck wasn’t doing it.
“I don’t do that,” I say. “I don’t sleep all day.” But even as I say that, I notice the muscles in my shoulders are less tense and I feel more rested than usual. Oddly energized.
“You needed it.”
Something in the way he says that trips an alarm in my brain. Did he slip me a sleeping pill somehow? Would he do that? Yes, my mind immediately supplies. He would absolutely do that.
But how? When? Then I remember—when Sara brought my food, she also brought me water from a refillable bottle. The water was probably laced with something.
“You drugged me,” I say, a statement of fact.
“You needed it,” he repeats.
The motherfucker. He doesn’t even attempt to deny it. My teeth clench, anger burning in my chest. “What if I were allergic to the drug you gave me? You could have killed me.”
“And yet, here you are—alive and well-rested.”
Ugh , this guy is infuriating. He doesn’t see anything wrong with just randomly drugging me, which is Exhibit A of how fucked up this place truly is. My brother was right, these guys just do whatever the hell they want, regardless of who might get hurt.
I’m fuming now, and I wish I could see his face, but he’s still cloaked in darkness. “Why do you care so much if I’m well-rested?” I ask, just barely keeping the reins on my anger.
“The hunt, obviously. A well-rested fox makes it more challenging.”
I want to launch myself at him so fucking badly… “You never told me what happens at a hunt. Tell me now, or I swear to God, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what? ” His sharp question cuts through my anger. “You’ll leave? I think you know what the consequence of that would be…”
There it is—the threat that hangs over my head like a guillotine, informing every decision I make. The last couple of weeks have been hellish, but for a few brief, fleeting moments, when I’m studying or walking across campus, I’m just another college student. Then reality snaps back at me like a rubber band, reminding me that my brother’s life hangs by a thread that I’m desperately trying not to break.
“You know what, never mind,” I say, hugging the pillow. No one wants to tell me what this event is, and I should probably take that as a sign from the universe that I don’t want to know. “I’ll find out soon, anyway, right? I might as well enjoy the last few minutes of ignorance.”
His shadow moves as he walks over to the nightstand and switches the lamp on. One side of his face is bathed in light, the other side hidden in shadow, making the angles on his face look even more severe. “Consider it a welcoming party.”
A welcoming party. I laugh at that. He makes it sound so pleasant, like there’ll be cookies and balloons. I know better than that. I know whatever a Fox Hunt is, it can’t be good. I just want to prepare myself for whatever’s coming.
I swallow. “What’s going to happen?”
He’s wearing a black T-shirt that hugs his muscular torso, and when he leans forward to place his palms on the mattress, his biceps strain against the material, threatening to pop the seams.
Good God.
Why do all the evil guys have to be so fucking hot? If the guy is attractive, he’s a monster. Universally. No exceptions. I’ve grown up around pretty fuckboys, so I know something about how evil they can be.
Christian pushes forward, and I jerk back, but with the headboard directly behind me, I have nowhere to go.
Shit. Okay.
His clean, pine scent clouds my senses, his proximity scrambling my brain. The best I can do is swat at him, but that does absolutely nothing. The mattress dips as he prowls forward. Light catches his wavy blond hair and casts a halo around that freakishly beautiful face.
My God.
My heart is beating so fast, I’m starting to feel dizzy, air settling in my lungs like cement. It’s hard to pull in a breath.
Fuck Christian for this. Fuck him for making me feel this way. And the worst part? I know this is exactly what he wants—me, trapped, afraid, weak —and I hate that I’m giving him that.
“What’s wrong, Little Fox?” His breath is warm on my face. “You aren’t afraid of the big bad wolf, are you?”
What’s his obsession with Little Red Riding Hood ? He calls me “Little Fox” mockingly, and maybe that’s all it is—just another way to point out how weak I am.
Well, for the millionth time… fuck him .
I don’t answer his question. Instead, I twist my head to the side and close my eyes. I’m trying to flatten myself against the headboard as much as possible, but there’s only so far I can retreat.
He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. His fingers touch my face—gently—and it’s so at odds with his sinister vibe that I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, his gaze brushing over every detail of my face. I blink, confused.
What the hell is happening?
For some weird reason, this tenderness is more frightening than his mockery or anger. I can deal with anger. But this… it has to be another one of his games. A manipulation.
“I made a mistake coming here,” I whisper. “I’m starting to think I can’t do this.”
Especially if he’s going to dedicate every waking moment to tormenting me. It’s clear he’s trying to intimidate me into calling this whole thing off. So what if I do? I’ll be honest, Sara’s warning makes me wonder if there’s any point in my staying, anyway. These guys are going to eat me alive long before my three months are up.
Christian slides the tip of his finger down my jaw, to the underside of my chin, and tilts it up. “Oh, baby, it’s far too late for that now. You’ve already given yourself to us. Consent, remember?”
My stomach tightens. “Maybe I want to rescind my consent.”
His mouth is close to mine, and I pull in a trembling breath. His face is so close, I can’t see his smile, but I can hear it in his voice. “Ah-ah.” He rips the pillow out of my hands and throws it out of my reach. “You had your chance to back out and you didn’t take it.”
“So, I’m your hostage now, is that it?”
He gently strokes my bottom lip.
“Tell me what you want, and it’s yours,” I say, trying a new strategy.
He pulls back, and I can see that wicked smile now. It stretches across his beautiful face, making him look cocky. Arrogant. And just seeing that lights something inside me— defiance . Before I can think better of it, I lift my hand and slap him. His head moves slightly, but his smile only widens. “ Nice . I like my girls spicy.”
Ugh . Gross.
Grabbing my arm, he steps off the bed, yanking me with him. The second my feet land on the rug, I pull back and use my full weight as leverage to twist my arm out of his grip. Finally, I’m free.
“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” I bite out, holding my arm. It feels bruised.
He chuckles again and heads into the closet. He’s only gone for a second before he emerges with a swath of lacy material draped over his arm. He tosses it onto the bed. “Put that on.”
I take a closer look and notice the fabric is completely transparent. I might as well wear nothing.
“I’m not putting that on.”
He lifts a pale brow. “It wasn’t a question.”
I stare back at him and consider whether or not it’s worth the argument. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—almost like he’s hoping I challenge him so he has reason to put me back in my place.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
With a huff, I snatch the lacy thing off the bed and walk to the bathroom with it. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me. I shut the door and strip down to my panties. The fabric is so flimsy, it takes me a minute to untangle it and sort out which way is the front and which is the back.
Once I get it sorted, I realize it’s a robe, actually. I slip my arms into the wispy sleeves and pull the bodice closed, wrapping the thin belt around my waist. It barely covers my heavy breasts. There’s a lot of nipple action happening.
Turning, I glance in the huge mirror over the his and her sinks. Wow, fuck. My dark hair is a tangled mess, and it’s obvious I’ve been neglecting my skin care. Stress is bad for the skin, and I’ve been nothing but stressed lately.
Opening a drawer, I sift around and find a stray hair tie I can use to gather my hair into a messy bun, securing it low to get it out of my face.
Once that’s done, I push out a long, slow breath and tilt my head back. I’m just over two weeks into this and I’m already tired of being yanked around by these assholes. And I’m sick as fuck of being afraid.
Don’t let know you’re afraid.
It’s my brother’s voice, whispering in the shadowed recesses of my mind. Between the two of us, he’s always been the brave one. I suppose he had to be—after Mom’s death, we were essentially orphaned, so he had to step up for both of us. But having to do that at such a young age changed him. Over the years, he became more and more protective of me. More controlling—of everything and everyone around us.
Vulnerability is a big thing with him, and he’d hate that I’d shown the Sacred Sons even a fraction of the fear I’m feeling. Don’t show fear. No matter what. That’s what he always tells me.
My throat tightens at the thought of my brother. He’s going to flip the fuck out when he eventually finds out I’m here. I’ve managed to put him off for the past two weeks, but that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll figure out where I am, and when he does, God help anyone standing between him and me.
Sucking in a tight breath, I shove thoughts of my brother out of my head. I can’t feel guilty about Sin and survive this hellhole at the same time. It’s one or the other, and right now, I need to focus on surviving the night…