Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Eve
He’s bluffing. Well, I pray he’s bluffing, because I already know the effect he has on my body and it’s fucked up. Downstairs, I wanted to push him away, but couldn’t. It’s like he knew exactly where my kill switch was, and that’s probably the scariest part of all this—Christian West knows my body better than I do. In what universe is that a thing?
And even now, with him so close, my nipples strain against the tight bodice of the robe and my clit tingles, ready for more.
I’m so pathetic.
But one thing that scene in the closet just made crystal clear: I need a good fuck. Seriously. And not with Christian. If I could just take the edge off this insane energy that courses through me whenever he’s around, then maybe I could actually think straight, strategize, get what I need, and leave Rush House.
Because if the past day has shown me anything, it’s that there’s no way in hell I’m staying here for the entire three months. Sara’s right. I won’t survive it.
He’s still holding my face, and my eyes shift to his. I look up at him with boredom, even though my entire body is lit like a fuse. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since this morning,” I say.
Searching my face, he eventually releases me and takes a step back. “Austin is bringing something up for you.”
I notice he says Austin is bringing food up for me, not for us.
“Are you leaving?” I tell myself I don’t actually care. I’m just asking so I know what’s happening. But if I’m being honest, there’s a nagging worry in my gut that he’s going downstairs to hunt again. Maybe to find Sara or some other girl who’s less mouthy and problematic than me.
Why do I care? I should be glad that he’ll be distracted.
“I’m the host of tonight’s festivities, so I’m going back downstairs,” he says. “You, however, won’t be leaving this room.”
I heft a breath, but don’t answer, because I’m not promising anything.
He notices my evasion, though, and he narrows those ice blue eyes at me. “Maybe I should tie you to the bed.”
“No,” I say quickly. “There’s no reason to. I’m staying here, Jesus. But tell Austin to leave the food outside the door. I’m exhausted. I might be sleeping.”
I’m not sure if he believes me or not. Eventually, he nods once, and the air that was trapped in my lungs finally escapes. I told him I’d “stay here,” but in my book, Rush House as a whole counts as “here.” So, technically, even if I leave the room, I’m not lying.
“I’ll be back up to check on you,” he says before leaving.
Asshole. I might appreciate the sentiment of him “checking” on me if it were coming from literally anyone else. On the surface, it’s a nice gesture. But from Christian’s mouth, it’s anything but nice. It’s a threat.
When he leaves, I lock the door and fall onto the bed. I grab one of the pillows, shove it against my face, and scream into it until my throat is raw. Only when I’m completely exhausted do I shove the pillow aside and roll over onto my back.
Blinking up at the ceiling, my mind wanders to Christian, and that scene downstairs in the closet, the way he ate me up like a fucking buffet. Then that thing he did with the candlestick…
Ugh, I can’t think about him. Not now. What I need to be thinking about is how the hell I’m going to find incriminating evidence against the Sacred Sons. I need something big. Only something blackmail-worthy is going to keep a force like the Burning Crown in line after this is all over.
My thoughts drift to that diagram I found downstairs in the study. If I can just find something written in code, then I’m golden—because, if someone went to the trouble of encoding something, it must be valuable, right?
I blow out a breath. I should get back down to the study so I can look around again. If there’s a hidden closet in the dining room, then there must be more hidden areas throughout the house. And now that I know what I’m looking for, finding them should be easy…
The only problem—there’s currently a horde of sex-hungry guys prowling around the ground floor, so sneaking down there now isn’t a great idea…
But Christian said more girls were coming. If I wait until they get here, then the guys will be distracted, and I can sneak into the study without being noticed. I mean, hopefully. I have to try. I honestly don’t know when I’ll get another chance.
First order of business, though, is getting out of this porn-star robe. My initial thought is to grab one of Christian’s hoodies, but on my way to the closet, I spot my duffel bag in a heap by the door.
I blink down at it, confused.
Christian must have asked someone to move it here while we were downstairs. Unzipping it, I riffle through and find a pair of panties, a bra, my white, long-sleeved crop top, and a short denim skirt. I leave the necklace on, because why tempt Christian’s anger by removing it?
Once I’m dressed, I wander around Christian’s bedroom–opening drawers, pulling books off shelves, looking for hidden compartments. I’m pushing on everything, the walls, the molding around the bookcase, the mantel on the fireplace, hoping for something to pop open, when, finally…it does.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe, stepping back. The mantel is obviously very old, made of intricately carved wood, and when I pushed on the front, a panel flipped down to reveal a small hidden compartment.
Stepping closer, I peer inside. It’s mostly empty, except for two keys that are attached by a single loop, resting on a bed of dust. I pick them up and study them.
They’re building keys. All campus keys look exactly the same—long and skinny—except for codes etched into the yellowish metal that tell the Key Office which building or office they open.
Do these keys open the office where the Sacred Sons keep their records?
Dare I hope?
It’s clear they open an office somewhere on campus, but where? There’s no way for me to know, unless I ask someone at the Key Office, and who knows if they’ll tell me.
Laughter floats up from the lawn outside, drawing my attention. I toss the keys back into the hidey hole and close it back up, then lean over and peek out the window. A couple of dozen girls are cutting across the manicured lawn from the direction of campus, all wearing fox masks that cover the top halves of their faces. As I watch them make their way to the house, I wonder if Skye is with them. But it’s dark, and with the masks, it’s hard to tell.
Turning away from the window, I continue with my exploration of Christian’s room. Unsurprisingly, in his nightstand, he has an entire drawer filled with random pill bottles and condoms. Honestly, I’m impressed. He might be a manwhore, but at least he’s a safe manwhore. Small miracles, I guess.
I tuck one of the foil packets into the pocket of my skirt, because after I explore the study, I’m one-hundred percent looking for some anonymous dick downstairs. One hundred percent.
I wait about thirty minutes before dipping out of the bedroom and tiptoeing my way downstairs. The hunt is in full swing. Music blares from the living room, and shadows dart across my path, excited squeals echoing through the dark hallways. I pop my head into the livingroom, just to see what’s going on, and several masked people are already fucking on the couch— gag —or pressed up against the wall.
Turning down the hallway, I head toward the study, walking carefully so I don’t trip. In the dim candlelight, I can barely see anything. To my point, right then, my foot bumps into something soft and I stumble.
“What the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” someone hisses from the ground. Two faint shadows shift beneath my feet.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” I mumble, jumping aside and quickly moving on. I can guess what they’re doing—the sound of lips on skin and fabric rustling makes it obvious. Which…whatever.
As I move further down the hall, I see a fox mask dangling from a wall sconce, and I snatch it up. It probably belongs to the girl on the floor, but too bad, so sad. It’s mine now.
Slipping the mask on, I push the study doors open and step inside. Like the rest of the house, the room is dimly lit, candles flickering on the mantel and in wall sconces around the room. Thankfully, the room is empty.
I quickly find the book with the diagram, then I pull the paper out and slip it into my pocket with the condom. Then slowly, methodically, I make my way around the room, scrutinizing the walls, looking for a crack or seam in the wallpaper…
“You’re not hiding,” someone says from behind me, his voice distinctly lighter, friendlier than Christian’s. “Is it fair to say I’ve caught you?”
Swallowing, I turn and face the stranger. He’s halfway across the room— huge, broad-shouldered with dark hair, and like the other guys, he’s wearing a black mask that covers his face.
“I came in here to find a place to hide,” I lie. “But I got distracted.”
He approaches me slowly, and I’m rooted to the spot, watching as he draws closer. I’d run, but I’m afraid if I do that, it’ll only encourage him to give chase. So, instead, I remain perfectly still…
When he gets within a foot of me, he stops. “Now what?”
He’s asking me?
“Um, I don’t know. This is my first hunt.”
Without stepping closer, he reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers down my arm, his dark gaze glued to my face, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction. “I think this is the part where I claim you.”
Oh. Shit. I know I said I was looking for some anonymous dick, but I hadn’t mentally prepared myself for it happening this quickly. Ask and you shall receive , I guess.
“ Um , I’ve never done this before,” I say again, my voice wobbly.
Stepping forward, he moves one hand to the small of my back and pulls me close. He smells nice, like shampoo, and yet, there’s a heaviness in my chest that shouldn’t be there. It feels—I don’t know— wrong , I guess. Like I’m cheating on Christian or something, which is absurd, now that I think about it. It’s not like we’re together or anything. In fact, he’s probably fucking some other girl right now, as we speak.
It’s that infuriating thought that settles it—I’m letting this guy fuck me, if only to prove to myself that I don’t care what Christian does.
“What’s your name?” the guy asks.
My mind scrambles for a second before I remember, “Isn’t this supposed to be anonymous?”
He pulls his mask off, tosses it aside. Candlelight flickers across his handsome face, and he flashes me a perfect row of white teeth. I’ve seen him around the house, but I don’t remember his name.
“Aidan,” he says.
Oh, okay. So not anonymous. “ Um , I’m Skye,” I reply, reaching for the only name I know I can use. She won’t mind, right?
He reaches for my mask, but I flinch, and he drops his hand. It’s funny because Christian would never stand for me denying him like that. My resistance would only make him more determined to see my face, but Aidan seems to accept my refusal without question.
“Okay, then,” he laughs, leaning in to kiss me.
His lips collide with mine, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I’m stiff as a board, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He deepens the kiss, coaxing my mouth open wider, a satisfied moan bubbling up from his throat.
“You taste nice,” he mumbles against my lips.
“Thanks,” I reply.
Guiding me back against a bookcase, his hand roves over my body, pulling my shirt up, so he can palm my breast through my bra. He squeezes gently— too gently — as his mouth leaves mine and moves down my neck to my shoulder blade.
“You like that?” he asks.
“Sure,” I breathe, trying to talk myself into enjoying it. “Yeah.”
Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. But his whole vibe is far too chill. He’s kissing me like we’re in a PG-13 rom-com. It’s the polar opposite of Christian’s aggressive, all-consuming energy, and it’s really fucking with me. Why, though? Seriously. Why am I thinking about that asshole right now?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to focus on Aidan’s mouth as it moves slowly across my collarbone, the pressure of his hand squeezing my breast.
After a few minutes of that, I finally push out a frustrated breath, and remove my bra from under my shirt—a skill I perfected in the high-school locker room—dropping it on the floor next to us. Then I lift my shirt and place Aidan’s hand on my naked breast. “Pinch my nipple,” I instruct.
He may not have Christian’s natural instinct when it comes to my body, but most guys can be trained, right?
Aidan laughs. “Oh, you like it rough. Okay, I gotchu. I gotchu.”
He rolls my nipple between his fingertips. “You like that?” he asks again, and I’m starting to suspect that’s his only sexy line.
I can barely feel the twinge, but it’s something, so I’m not going to complain. “That’s good,” I say, sinking back against the bookcase and allowing him to take the lead.
He returns to kissing my neck while he fumbles with my breast, pinching, squeezing...but it’s not enough. Not even close. And two minutes in, I’m already starting to get bored, so my mind naturally wanders back to Christian. What’s he doing right now? Who’s he doing it with? And why does anger start building in my chest when I think about the possible answer to that question…?
“Aidan, hold on…” I pull the condom out of my pocket and hold it up between us. “Put this on and fuck me.”
There’s a moment of silence, and before Aidan can grab the condom, a hand reaches between us and clamps around my wrist like an animal trap springing shut.
A familiar voice fills the darkness. “You won’t be doing that, Aidan.”
It’s Christian.
Shit. I’ve really fucked up now…