Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Eve
I awake with a start, panic gripping me by the throat before I’m even aware of my surroundings. Sitting up, I pull in several gulps of air, beads of sweat trickling down my temples. I push back a strand of hair that’s stuck to my face and glance around. The faint glow of pinkish light seeps through the windows, which means it must be morning.
My first thought is that I must’ve had a nightmare. But as my brain slowly starts making sense of my surroundings, I remember I’m living the nightmare. I’m in the ninth ring of hell—otherwise known as Rush House—and the devil himself has decided to make me his own personal plaything.
So that’s fun for me.
With a groan, I shift under the mountain of covers and subtly feel the spot next to me on the bed, breath held. The sheets are cold, empty. I’m alone.
Pushing out a sigh of relief, I lie there for a second. My muscles ache, and my brain feels sluggish.
I need to pee.
Ugh.
I wonder if I could hold it, so I don’t have to get up?
Nope. My bladder is way too full.
One. Two. Three.
With a quick jerk of my hand, I fling the covers off, and cold air rushes over my skin, making me shiver. I kick at the rest of the blankets, which end up in a tangled heap at the bottom of the bed.
As I’m lying there, trying to motivate myself to get up, I realize I’m naked. Blinking, I search my memory, trying to piece the events of last night together. Then I remember: the Fox Hunt, the fight with Aidan, Christian fucking me, drugging me…
God.
The fucking asshole.
I suck in a deep breath and try to talk myself into getting up, when my hand absently drifts downward. My fingers brush against something stiff, matted in the patch of curls between my legs…
What the…?
Last night, when we had sex, Christian came inside me—thank God for my NuvaRing—then he gave me a bath, so what the hell is this? Did that motherfucker cum on me after I passed out?
What a fucking psycho.
My bladder is about to burst, so I roll to the edge of the mattress and melt off the bed, my bare feet finding the floor. My legs are a little wobbly, so I move slowly to the bathroom. But as I’m walking, the sensitive skin right above my hip bone starts to sting. I touch my fingers to the spot and notice there’s a bandage there—I’d been so distracted by the cum a few minutes ago, I hadn’t even noticed it.
In the bathroom, under the bright white lights, I pull the bandage away from my skin and gasp. There are two letters crudely carved into my skin, a large “C” and a smaller “W.”
As I blink down at the two letters, white-hot anger burns in my chest. He had the audacity to mark me like a child might mark a toy. Which is obviously how he sees me. A toy, a thing he owns.
The Sacred Sons are brutal, cold-blooded monsters— my aunt’s words, murmured in the darkest moments of her grief. As a kid, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Now I know.
Grabbing a washcloth, I soap it up and scrub Christian West off my body. I’d take a shower, but I don’t have the energy, so I settle for a quick sponge bath.
Sitting on the counter is a new toothbrush still in its packaging and an unopened stick of deodorant—thoughtful gestures if they’d come from anyone other than Christian. But knowing him, the items are completely self-serving. He wants me to be clean. For him.
Once I’ve used the toilet and brushed my teeth, I head back into the bedroom and sift through my duffel bag for something to wear. I find a pair of underwear, gray leggings, and a black tank top with a bra built in. I’d originally brought a hoodie, but a couple of weeks ago, I set it down somewhere and I haven’t seen it since. So I grab one of Christian’s hoodies from his closet and pull it on. It’s several sizes too big, and I swim in it, but that’s perfect. The absolute last thing I want today is to be perceived. By anyone. For any reason.
Fuck every single person in this house.
Except Skye, I guess.
My stomach growls, and as I’m walking out of the closet, I see a tray sitting on the desk with coffee, pastries, and fruit on it. I hadn’t noticed it before. And it’s far too fancy to be something Christian put together himself, so he must have ordered it.
I’m impressed. The asshole actually thought about someone else for once.
Still, I consider refusing the food in protest—I hate the idea of accepting anything from him—but I’m starving, so I grab the mug of coffee and take a sip, biting back the groan that bubbles up in my throat. It’s a vanilla latte, and it’s in one of those smart mugs, so it’s still hot.
Sweet Mother of Jesus. Goddamn. I gulp down half the latte, then pick up the egg and bacon croissant sandwich. On the plate, under the sandwich, there’s a folded piece of paper.
Unfolding the paper, I read the short message. It’s in code.
My heart stops, like actually ceases beating for a full ten seconds. Does someone know I have the decoder? I’d grabbed it from the study last night and slipped it into the pocket…
In a frenzy, I search the room for my skirt, finally finding it discarded next to the bed. I shove my fingers into the pocket and breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the hard edge of the folded paper. Thank God, Christian didn’t search my pockets.
I quickly find a pen, so I can translate the message, which is tricky, because it’s not a letter-for-letter code. Finally, I have it decoded.
I know your game, and I play it better. Checkmate.
My game? The note is obviously about my snooping, because it was written in the Burning Crown’s secret code, which means whoever wrote this note knows I stole the decoder. What I don’t get is the “checkmate” part. What’s that supposed to mean?
Before Christian or someone catches me, I stash the decoder in an empty vase on one of the bookshelves, then go back to studying the original note. As I’m analyzing the handwriting, the inside of my throat suddenly starts to itch, and a wave of dizziness makes me feel wobbly.
Something’s wrong.
My stomach knots up, but not from anxiety. This is something more physical. It isn’t until my scalp starts to itch that I realize what’s happening. Panic grips me.
I pull in one shaky breath. Two.
It’s getting harder to swallow, and my mind scrabbles. The latte. It must have had nuts in it. I didn’t taste any, but fuck…it’s already getting hard to breathe.
Adrenaline pumps through my body, and I tremble as I make my way over to my duffel bag. I unzip the side pocket, looking for my EpiPen. It’s not there. Where the fuck is it?
Oh, my God. The dizziness intensifies, and my heart pumps hard and fast in my chest. My palms are sweaty, my throat squeezing tighter by the second. I’m on my knees, hot tears streaming down my face as I upend my duffel bag and pour everything out onto the floor, frantically pushing things aside, searching….
It’s not here.
It’s. Not. Here.
Oh, my God.
I try to swallow, try to suck in a gulp of air, but only tiny wisps get through. Not enough. I try to push myself up, so I can get into the hallway where someone might find me when I pass out, but I’m so weak, so dizzy, I can’t even stand…
A sense of doom washes over me, heavy and suffocating. The feeling of helplessness is the worst part, though. My body is shutting down, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.
My vision tunnels, and I reach out for something, anything, to catch me as I start to go down, but I never feel the fall…because I’m dead before I even hit the ground...