Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eve
It’s chaos outside. Everyone attending the hunt is now crowded on the porch, straining to see what’s happening. I push past them, a tight fist of panic squeezing my windpipe as I stumble off the front steps and onto the walkway.
Up ahead, the security guys have guns drawn on Sin while Christian, Jackson, and Ash stand back. They’re all yelling, their voices carrying over the crackling flames.
“Where the fuck is she?” Sin yells, while at the same time, Christian and Jackson are screaming for him to leave.
It’s a total shitshow.
Rushing forward, I put myself between the guns and my brother, looking between Christian and Sin, addressing them both. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Sin looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. “Eve, fuck . Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Sin.” I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His face goes stone cold. “Get in the truck.”
I knew this would happen. I knew if he came to Rush House, shit would get out of hand quickly—my brother doesn’t shrink from anything, especially when it involves someone he loves.
“Eve, get in the fucking truck,” he repeats.
“She stays,” Christian says, stepping between Sin and me. “She made a deal with the Burning Crown.”
Sin’s eyes narrow, and his gaze shifts from Christian to me. “What the fuck is he talking about?”
“It’s true,” I tell Sin, emotion clogging my throat. I hate having to do this to him. But Sin’s way of “resolving” this thing with the Burning Crown will get him killed, and I can’t let that happen.”I can’t go with you.”
“Eve—”
“Sin,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m fine, I swear. You need to leave.”
Seriously, if he doesn’t leave now, I know something serious is going to happen. Something we can’t come back from. And whether they want to admit it or not, Sin and Christian are a lot alike—ruthless and stubborn. Neither is going to back down.
“I’m not leaving without you,” Sin says, his tattooed hands flexing.
“Sin, please —” I plead. “Don’t fuck this up. You have to trust me.”
Jackson leans over and whispers something to Christian. Christian nods and addresses my brother. “I get it. You’re worried. Tell you what, we’ll give her access to a phone and you can have a nice brother and sister chat tomorrow.”
I have a feeling Christian’s offer has more to do with wanting to get my brother off his front lawn and less about some newfound empathy. But, whatever. If it means I can talk to my brother, then I’m not saying a damn thing.
Sin’s calculating gaze shifts from me to Christian to the guns pointed at him and his guys. He’s not going to win this fight, and he has to know that. Still, Sin doesn’t like giving up ground. But for me, he might.
After several tense moments, Sin takes a step back. “I’ll talk to her tonight. I’ll expect a call in twenty minutes. One minute over, and I swear to God, I’ll put my fist through someone’s skull—” He looks directly at Christian. “Starting with yours.”
Christian doesn’t say anything, and neither do the other Sacred Sons.
As Sin and his guys back away, he jabs a finger into the air at Christian. “You think you won?” A deadly smile cuts across his face. “I’m just getting warmed up. Next time, you won’t even see it coming until you’re already bleeding out.”
Trucks and motorcycles peel out of the driveway in a din of chaos, and I finally release the air that’s been trapped in my lungs. Thank God no blood was shed. That went way better than I thought it would.
Christian tells a couple of people to grab a hose and put out the fires, then he tugs me toward the house. As we step inside, he flicks his chin at Jackson, who’s walking in with us. “Grab her phone, will you? We’ll be upstairs.”
“You got it.”
An awkward silence trails us as we head up to Christian’s bedroom. There’s food from my favorite restaurant sitting in front of the door. He snatches it up and ushers me inside.
He’s pissed.
“I didn’t know he’d show up like that,” I say defensively.
Actually, I knew it was a possibility. Sin isn’t the type of guy who’ll sit back and wait to see what happens. He’s impatient. He lashes out first and asks questions never.
“He came by earlier,” Christian says, setting the food down on his desk.
“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” Okay, now I’m the one who’s pissed.
He opens the paper bag and starts pulling the food out, bringing it over to me. “No nuts.”
There’s a sticker on the container that says “guaranteed nut-free,” which is exactly why I like this restaurant. It was opened by a woman whose son has allergies like mine. It’s one of the only places I can eat without stressing about dying.
Sitting on the bed, I immediately dig into the falafel and nut-free hummus. I’m so hungry that it feels like the acid in my stomach is starting to eat its way through the lining.
Christian grabs his own container and leans against the desk. “I didn’t tell you about your brother’s visit, because I was going to let you see him tomorrow. I guess that wasn’t early enough for him.”
I shove an entire falafel into my mouth, not bothering to be graceful about it. “Patience isn’t Sin’s strongest quality,” I say between bites. “And, besides that, he has some pretty serious trust issues.”
“No joke,” he says, biting into a beef kabob. “Your brother is fucking unhinged. He should talk to someone about that.”
I lift a brow. “Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black?”
He shrugs a shoulder, conceding that point without saying anything.
“This is what gets me, though—” he says, using his fork to point at me. “I can see it in the way you look at us—you condemn the brutality of the Burning Crown, and yet, Shadow and Ash is just as fucked up, if not more so.”
More so?
I practically choke on a bite of falafel. “They’re more brutal than the Burning Crown? Is that what you just said?”
He can’t be serious.
“We’ve never gone to someone’s house and killed them on their front lawn.” His voice is even, not arguing, just making a point.
“You keep coming back to that,” I say. “But you’re forgetting one crucial point—you killed our cousin. How was Sin supposed to respond to that?”
Instead of reaching for his usual “it was Burning Crown business” argument, he says, “So Shadow and Ash is a saintly group of activists, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He sets his food aside and crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his back T-shirt straining against his biceps. “Then what are you saying?”
What am I trying to say? Pinned down by that crystal-blue gaze, I can barely string a coherent sentence together.
When I don’t answer, he pushes off the desk and walks over to me. “This is what I do know,” he says. “Any society that’s going to survive needs strong leadership, and strong leadership means making tough choices. Choices no one else wants to make.”
I blink up at him. “Is ‘tough choices’ code for murdering people?”
“We protect our own, whatever the cost.”
When he says that, Lucas’s most recent troubles with the police come to mind. A few weeks ago, he was accused of killing some random guy by pushing him in front of an oncoming train. The worst part, though? Lucas thought the guy was his cousin. And for once, there was indisputable evidence that would have convicted him, until that evidence conveniently went missing. No doubt disappeared by the massive Burning Crown machine.
It’s just one more example of how the Burning Crown does whatever the fuck it wants with zero consequences.
“Is that what your brother was doing when he shoved a random man into the path of an oncoming train? Who was he protecting then?”
Christian’s eyes widen. He’s surprised I know about that. Yeah, turns out, you can dig up a lot of shit on the dark web. Shit that certain people would like to keep hidden.
Christian’s jaw tightens. “Your brother manipulated Gabriel—our own flesh and blood—turning him against everything we stand for. Then Sin had the audacity to show up here, murder Gabriel in cold blood, and nearly take Lucas from us, too. And you still have the nerve to look me in the eyes and tell me we’re nothing alike? After all the bloodshed? Seriously?”
“They’re different,” I say, and maybe I’m an idiot for pushing this, but I can’t help it. Christian can try to justify the Burning Crown’s violence until he’s blue in the face, but I know the truth. “Shadow and Ash would never kill an innocent person. Never.”
Christian laughs to himself and shakes his head. “They’ve really indoctrinated you, haven’t they?”
I stand up, bristling at the insult. Is he implying that I can’t think for myself? “I’m not a member, but I’ve grown up around Shadow and Ash. I know everything there is to know about them.”
“Ah, so you know Shadow and Ash dabbles in sex trafficking?”
We’re toe-to-toe, and I blink up at him, waiting for him to say he’s joking. He doesn’t. He stares down at me, his face blank and infuriatingly unreadable. He’s fucking with me, which is absolutely on brand for him.
“I see what you’re doing,” I say. “And it’s not going to work. If you think you can just feed me bullshit and I’ll swallow it without question, then you’ve mistaken me for one of your spineless worshipers.”
His large body looms over mine. “Delusional,” he repeats with a smirk. “You don’t believe me, sure. Makes sense. Why don’t you ask your brother? As the leader, I’m sure he knows all about it.”
There’s a knock on the door.
“It’s open,” Christian calls out, his eyes never leaving mine.
Jackson walks in and holds my phone out to me—I recognize the sparkly teal case. Grabbing it, I immediately swipe to unlock it, but it’s already unlocked. Then I remember, I gave the security guy my code when I got here.
My jaw clenches at the invasion of privacy, but whatever. This is what the Burning Crown does, right? Manipulation. Intimidation. Control. That’s their game.
“Thanks, man,” Christian says to Jackson.
With a nod, Jackson leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Christian nods down at the phone. “Call your brother. We don’t want him getting his panties in a twist again, now, do we?”
Swiping through my contacts, I notice I now only have three—Christian, Sin, and a contact labeled “Rush House.”
“Where the fuck are all my contacts?” I glance through the rest of my phone, fuming. “You deleted all my photos and apps, too!”
He’s leaning back against the wall, watching me. “You had two fuck-me apps on your phone and you were getting a shit-ton of messages from guys wanting to hook up. Obviously, that shit had to go.”
The “fuck-me” apps, as he calls them, are dating apps that I downloaded on a whim a few weeks ago, after that incident with Christian in the hallway. That moment between us—if we’re calling it that—highlighted just how much I needed to get laid. I was never brave enough to message any of the guys back, though.
So, really, it’s Christian’s fault I downloaded those apps.
“What do you care, Christian? I mean, really? I’m not your fucking girlfriend. Once I leave this house, you’ll never see my face again.”
I’ve already decided, after getting the blackmail I need, I’m transferring somewhere far, far away. This shit is too much. ExU may have the best psych program on the West Coast, but nothing is worth getting roped into pretty-boy drama like this, especially since I seem to have a weakness for one pretty-boy in particular.
“You’re not my fucking girlfriend?” he repeats with a laugh. “Sure. But you’re mine, Eve. That’s a fucking fact. And I won’t tolerate guys messaging you, asking if you want to fuck.”
With a sigh, I shake my head. Whatever. Why argue with him? With any luck, in a few days, this will all be a moot point, anyway.
Steeling myself, I pull up my brother’s contact and call him. The phone barely completes a single ring before Sin answers. “Have they hurt you?” he asks, tension straining his voice. This whole thing has to be killing him.
“No,” I say. “I’m fine, Sin. I swear.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
Christian watches me carefully as I spend the next fifteen minutes talking my brother out of starting an all-out war against the Burning Crown. And, honestly, by the time we hang up, I’m not one-hundred-percent sure I’ve been successful.
I toss the phone on the bed. “He’s satisfied. For now.”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“Probably,” I reply. “You know, you two are more alike than you realize—impulsive, violent, blinded by revenge. If you guys could get past wanting to kill each other, you might actually be friends.”
“Blinded by revenge? We were minding our own goddamn business before you guys popped up.”
I step up to him. “First of all, there’s no ‘you guys.’ I’m not in Shadow and Ash. I’ve told you that several times now. I’m here for my brother and only my brother. Second—setting the Tyler thing aside—do you really expect me to believe that you and the other Sacred Sons were just ‘minding your own business’ before Sin showed up? You guys have a hand in everything that happens on this campus. Hell, in the whole town.”
“There’s no order without violence,” he says simply, like that justifies everything.
“There’s no order without leadership, ” I counter. “We’re not all living in the Game of Thrones, for fuck’s sake. Hurting people isn’t the only way to get shit done.”
Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even wasting my breath. This is the same argument I have with my brother, which always ends up falling on deaf ears. In my brother’s case, our family ties to the mafia have always reinforced the idea that violence is the only way to maintain control, so yeah, it was ingrained in him. And I don’t know, maybe it’s ingrained in Christian, too.
He smirks down at me, his large body too close to mine. When he lifts his hand and reaches for my face, I flinch. But he doesn’t grab my chin like usual. Instead, he brushes his knuckles down my cheek softly.
“I know it seems strange.” His eyes are fixed on his hand as he strokes my face. “But most people are fascinated by violence. They’re drawn to it. Turned on by it, even.”
Swallowing, I try to control my physical response to his touch, but my heart is already fluttering behind my ribs like a trapped bird. My palms are already sweating. And the fun part? I’m powerless to stop any of it.
“Not everyone,” I reply.
He clicks his tongue at me and shakes his head. “Professor Cannon would agree with me. There was a whole chapter on it last week—but of course you wouldn’t know that, because you dropped that class after our little encounter in the hallway…”
“I couldn’t risk you finding out who I was…” I say defensively.
He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts my face up, so I’m looking at him. “See, I don’t think that’s the real reason. It’s the lie you’ve been telling yourself. But you know what I think…?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think…” I say quietly.
“ I think it’s because you enjoyed the thrill, the uncertainty, and it scared you…” His finger leaves my chin and trails down my throat. “You pretend to be such a good girl—hiding in the shadows, only stepping into the light to protect your brother…But you and I come from similar worlds. We were born in blood, grew up surrounded by brutality...” He pushes the tip of his finger into my breastbone. “And I know there’s something in here that craves violence—Just. Like. Me.”
I scoff at his statement. He’s so sure of himself, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about Shadow and Ash, or how I was brought up. Was there violence? Sure, but it was necessary and far removed from the savagery that Christian and the Sacred Sons revel in on a daily basis.
My teeth clamp down on the inside of my cheek. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure.” He smirks. “You don’t think I recognize that flicker in your eyes when I’m rough? Huh, Eve? You don’t think I see that shameful secret you bury deep, deep inside?”
Part of me wants to retreat behind anger or dismissal, but something about the certainty in his eyes keeps me from denying his statement outright. And even if there were some small kernel of truth to what he’s saying—which there isn’t—there’s no way in hell I’d ever admit it to him.
I shake my head. “You don’t know me.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Oh, I don’t? Is that a challenge?”
“A challenge? No,” I say quickly realizing I’ve fucked up. The last thing I want to do is issue an outright challenge to Christian West. He’s the kind of guy who’d go to great lengths to prove his point, simply to avoid being wrong.
His hand slips down and covers my breast through the fabric of my shirt. My bra is still downstairs, on the floor of the study, so there’s only a thin layer of fabric separating his large hand from my bare skin. He squeezes, and the pinch of pain makes my jaw clench.
“So, what? You’re going to tell me violence doesn’t make your pussy wet?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Okay,” he says with a smile. “Let’s see if that’s true…” He brings his face in close, “...and remember, I hate liars, Eve. So…if I catch you lying to me, I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”