Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eve
I’m only vaguely aware of Christian removing himself from my body, adjusting and zipping his fly. I’m lying on the pool table, staring up at the chandelier as shame slowly creeps in and hot tears stream down my face.
I gave myself to the devil. Willingly.
In fact, I practically fucking begged for it.
Christian tugs my skirt down and pulls me up off the pool table. Someone has turned the music back on, but everyone is looking at us—at me —silently judging as Christian leads me out of the room.
We’re in his bedroom when he starts tugging at my clothes, undressing me. I’m dazed, my mind churning with self-loathing as tears silently stream down my cheeks. I don’t resist, because why bother? He knows exactly how to manipulate me into getting what he wants anyway.
Is he going to fuck me again?
Does it matter?
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask me what’s wrong—maybe he doesn’t care—as he silently strips my clothes off, then disappears into the bathroom. Minutes later, I hear the bath running, and I’m sinking into the tub, hot water swirling around me.
Christian drops to his knees beside the tub, soaps up a washcloth, and uses it to wash between my legs. When he brings the washcloth back up, bright red blood stains the crisp white terry cloth.
It’s too early for my period. That blood is from him forcing his way into my body. He said he wanted to punish me for lying to him, and he did—just not in the way he thinks. The pain, the blood, I can handle all that. What I can’t handle is the knowledge that I broke. I allowed him to use my body—and what’s worse, I enjoyed it.
I’m so fucking weak.
Christian says nothing, expression blank as he wrings the washcloth out, soaps it up again, and drags it over the rest of my body. Little tingles prickle my skin in the wake of the washcloth, which just proves how powerless I am against Christian West.
“Why are you being so gentle?” I ask, blinking back the tears. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing has to be just another one of his games—cruelty chased by kindness to keep me from rebelling.
His eyes meet mine. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”
“No,” I say, trying to reconcile this version of him with the guy who’d claimed me so brutally downstairs. “...I just didn’t think you could be.”
He’s always had such a hard edge to him that it’s odd to see him so…normal.
A few awkward seconds of silence stretch between us until he finally says, “Neither did I.”
That softly spoken comment gives me pause. Is he serious?
“When was the last time you were gentle with anyone?” I ask.
He continues to wash me, and I struggle to ignore the effect it has on my exhausted body. “I don’t remember,” he says.
“Not even with…” I hesitate, my mind straying to Sara and the countless others. “Not with anyone?”
“My parents are cold, selfish people. Tenderness wasn’t something I learned as a kid,” he says, a thread of pain stitched through his words. “And you know what they say—you can’t give what you never received.”
“Was it really bad?”
“When I was ten, I got super sick with the flu or something. My parents were completely checked out. Always rushing to some gala or business thing. The staff was supposed to look after me, but they were busy, and my brother was off at school. I was basically alone for days. I stopped eating, stopped drinking. And then things got really bad—my kidneys started to shut down…” He pauses, swallows. “And when my parents were called, they told one of the security guys to take me to the hospital. I was there for, I don’t know, a week, maybe. My dad showed up once to sign something, then left without even seeing me.”
My chest tightens, imagining ten-year-old Christian in such a scary situation, completely alone. I may have been surrounded by chaos as a kid, but my mom would have walked through fire to be by my side if I were sick. “Christian…”
He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off the memory of that hospital. “So, yeah, when the people who made you don’t give a fuck if you live or die, you learn that vulnerability is just another opportunity to get hurt, you know?”
I think about my aunt, about the years after my mom died, when I learned that same lesson. “Yeah, I do.”
“But, I don’t know…” he continues, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the risk.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my pulse suddenly racing. Is he talking about being vulnerable? With me? Am I…imagining that?
Dropping the washcloth, he rises to his feet. “Never mind.” He holds his hand out to me. “The water is getting cold.”
I take his hand, and he hauls me up. As I step onto the plush bathmat, he grabs a nearby towel and begins drying me, moving the soft towel over my body quickly and efficiently.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, reaching for the towel in his hand. I’m not a toddler. I can dry myself. “What’s worth the risk?”
He narrows his eyes when I take the towel, but he lets me. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Seriously.”
Something passes between us—a mutual understanding, maybe, I don’t know. But there’s a shift, for sure. Something that wasn’t there before—a small sign that there’s an actual human somewhere behind the mask Christian wears for the rest of the world.
“Christian Aaron West!” a female voice calls out from the bedroom, and just like that, our quiet moment evaporates.
Christian tilts his head back with a groan, like he doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with whoever this is. Sara, maybe? She’s the only one who’d have permission to come upstairs and waltz into his room unannounced.
I quickly wrap the towel around my body, hair still dripping.
He cuts me a sidelong glance. “I’ll take care of this. Wait here.”
Then he leaves and walks back into the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Through the wood, I can hear him ask, “What are you doing here?”
I don’t dare move. I’m rooted to the bathmat, clutching the towel, straining to hear what they’re saying. The answering voice is faint, so the only two words I can make out are “texted me.”
Christian responds and I can’t really hear him, so I move closer to the door like the nosey bitch I am. I mean, if there’s drama between Christian and another girl, then I’m entitled to know about it, right?
“You fucked her,” the girl yells loudly. “In front of everyone, Christian. How is that supposed to make me feel?”
Okay, well, it’s definitely Sara, and she’s definitely talking about me.
Great. Now, I can toss guilt onto the mountain of shame I’m already feeling. Sara was nice to me when very few people were—well, unless I count the time she drugged me with the water. But there’s a chance she didn’t know about that, so...
Christian must be closer to the door than Sara, because I can hear him sigh and say, “Sara, I’m fucking busy. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“Busy?” she squeaks loudly. “Is she still here?”
Oh, no.
Before I can even reach out to lock the door, it’s wrenched open, a burst of cold air washing over me like a gust of wind. Sara stands in the doorway, fury flashing in her bright green eyes as her gaze sweeps over me, naked and dripping wet under the towel.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and my heart rate kicks up about a thousand notches. I hate confrontation, especially like this, with me in a towel, feeling like I’ve done something worth confronting.
I haven’t, and I know that logically, but tell that to my racing heart.
Sara is standing in front of me, wearing a sports bra and leggings, her light brown hair gathered up into a messy bun, like she was in bed when she got the text and flew over here…
“We’re talking about this now, ” she says to him while looking at me.
Honestly, I’m impressed with her lady balls. I haven’t seen anyone talk to Christian—or any of the Sacred Sons—with this much authority since I’ve been here. I can’t help but silently applaud her.
“Sara,” Christian says, his tone snapping like a rubber band. “You need to fucking leave. Now.”
Sara twists around angrily, gesturing to me. “Ever since this chick got here, you’ve been obsessed with her. Admit it. Just say it.”
Oh, God. I pull the towel tighter and shift on my feet. The awkwardness of this entire scenario is killing me. Literally, I can’t breathe.
“This is bullshit,” Christian says with a growl. He grabs her arm and pulls her across the bedroom to the open door.
“Someone also said you found her during the hunt,” she says, yanking her arm out of Christian’s grip, fury pulsing around her. “I’m sure that was no accident.”
Whaaat?
Finding me was no accident? What’s that supposed to mean?
I’m leaning out of the bathroom doorway now, drawn like a magnet to the drama playing out between Christian and Sara. And honestly, I’m rooting for Sara, because I get it. I do. She probably worked her ass off to get Christian’s attention and now that she’s finally gotten it, I come along and fuck it all up.
Christian looks down at her with so much derision, I wonder why he even chose her as his consort in the first place. It’s clear he doesn’t have any real affection for her. “Sara, you’re overstepping. Go downstairs, enjoy the party or go home, I don’t really give a fuck. Either way, we’re not talking about this now.”
Sara sucks in a sharp breath and reels back, like she’d just been physically slapped. “So you did fuck her. I mean, that’s clear—she’s in your bathroom naked. But wow. Okay. That’s how this is going to be.”
“This is always how it’s been.”
“I’m your Consort ,” she spits back.
“Okay, and? ” He practically laughs at her. “So we fuck occasionally, and you get special privileges. That doesn’t mean you can dictate where I put my cock.”
Sara nods slowly, then turns her head to look at me from across the room, like I’m supposed to jump in and help her out. And truthfully, if I thought he’d listen to me, I would. Instead, I just shake my head helplessly and shrug.
Sara is still looking at me, her eyes pleading. “Can you hide again, and let another guy find you?”
Yeah, I’ve already tried that—Aidan—and look how well that turned out. He’s downstairs, bleeding profusely with a possible concussion.
“Ah, ah.” Christian steps between her and me, casting a large shadow over Sara’s smaller frame. He grabs her face, and I catch a flash of excitement in Sara’s eyes, but it’s quickly extinguished by his next statement.
“Eve is mine now.” He dips his head, so he’s speaking directly in her ear, but loud enough for me to hear, too. “And if I want her filled with my cum 24/7, then that’s what is going to happen—and no one is going to stop me. Not you, not my brothers, fuck , not even Eve...”
What the fuck?
Sara swallows, her cheeks flushed, chin trembling.
I can’t stay silent anymore. I storm across the room and grab Christian’s arm, my fingertips sinking into his rock-hard bicep. I yank hard, but it’s like trying to move a brick house with my bare hands. “Let go of her,” I say through clenched teeth.
He laughs at my attempts, but does eventually release her. Sara steps back, holding her face. “Fine,” she seethes, her tone razor-sharp. “If we’re not exclusive, then maybe I’ll go downstairs and find someone who’ll give me what I need. This house is filled with stiff cocks.”
Amen, sister.
“Great. Have fun.” With a sneer, he hauls her into the hallway, releasing her abruptly. She staggers back, catching herself on the wall. When he turns to walk back into the bedroom, she glares at me over his shoulder, humiliation and hatred burning in her eyes for a split second before the door snaps shut and cuts off my view of her.
Another enemy. Perfect. Because I didn’t have enough of those.