Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Christian
I’m barely through the back door, fresh from class, when I’m confronted with a kitchen full of people. Fucking parasites—don’t these assholes ever go home? I could have them all barred from entering, but the fallout isn’t worth the headache. Members of the Burning Crown have always had access to leadership, and revoking that privilege would spark a rebellion I don’t have the patience to deal with right now.
Sara is among the people sitting around the breakfast table. I’ve been avoiding her since our argument in the bedroom, but the second she sees me, she stands up and approaches me with a smile that sets my teeth on edge. Instead of her usual skin-tight dress, she’s wearing one of my hoodies, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun.
“How was class?” Her voice drips with sweetness.
I glare at her, impatience bubbling beneath my skin. What the fuck is this? I was counting on her being pissed at me for longer than a goddamn day.
Rather than responding, I grunt and head toward the back staircase, eager to see Eve. She should be awake by now and, hopefully, fed. I’d asked Austin to take breakfast up to her while I was in class.
Sara steps directly into my path. “I know you’re angry about yesterday,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I don’t blame you. I was out of line. You can obviously do whatever you want. It’s not my place to question you.”
My patience is paper-thin. “Move.”
Emotion pools in her bright green eyes. “I’m sorry,” she pleads. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
My hands clench so tightly my fingernails cut into my palms. Blood pounds in my ears as I fight to maintain control. “Sara,” I say through clenched teeth. “Get out of my fucking way.”
Her mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly—a flash of calculation behind her mask of sweetness. Passive resistance. She’s trying to provoke me into punishing her. Her fatal miscalculation: to punish her, I’d have to give a fuck. And I don’t.
With a sigh, I step around her and continue up the staircase. I’m halfway up when a sound freezes my blood—a heavy thump followed by a crash , like something heavy hitting the floor.
Adrenaline explodes through my system. I take the remaining stairs three at a time and burst through my bedroom door to find Eve sprawled on the floor beside the bed, the contents of her bag scattered around her as if she’d been desperately searching for something.
I lunge for her, flipping her onto her back, stomach dropping to my feet. Red hives are scattered across every inch of her skin and her lips have turned a sickening shade of blue. A breakfast tray sits on the desk. Something must have contained nuts.
Pushing out a curse, I sprint to the bathroom and wrench open the bottom drawer of the vanity where I keep several EpiPens. I grab one, tearing the package open as I rush back to her, driving the needle into her thigh with enough force to bruise her.
Seconds crawl by like hours—time fractures as I pull out my phone and dial 911. By now, curious faces crowd the doorway. I toss my phone to the nearest person. “Talk to the dispatcher,” I bark, voice raw with both anger and fear.
Pulling Eve into my lap, I cradle her head and press my fingers against her throat. She has a pulse, thank God, but it’s fluttering and faint. Her skin feels cold and clammy, and the sight of her struggling to breathe ignites something murderous inside me. How did this fucking happen?
Minutes later, EMTs push their way through the door with their equipment, ordering me to give them space. Memories of my brother flood back, and suddenly my own lungs tighten. I stagger back, watching them work on her, feeling utterly fucking helpless.
The EMTs fire questions at me as they take her vitals. I answer mechanically, never taking my eyes off Eve. Gradually, she begins to stir, and relief crashes over me.
“We need to take her to the hospital for observation,” an EMT tells me.
“Yeah,” I reply in a daze. “I’ll follow you there.”
As they strap Eve to a stretcher and carry her downstairs, I notice a piece of paper where Eve was lying. I pick it up. It’s written in the Burning Crown’s coded language—the one created by our forefathers over a hundred years ago.
I know your game, and I play it better. Checkmate.
My mind races. Who wrote this? Most members know the code, and Austin was the only person authorized to handle her food—but I’d beaten her nut allergy into his skull repeatedly.
There’s no way this was an accident.
Someone wanted Eve dead.
I shove the note into my pocket and head downstairs. Jackson and Ash find me on the porch as Eve is loaded into the ambulance.
“We heard the commotion from the living room,” Ash says. “What the fuck happened?”
“Someone tried to kill her.” The words come out as a snarl. “Tell security that no one—and I mean fucking no one —leaves this house. Everyone gets questioned.”
“Questioned?” Jackson laughs like I’m overreacting. “You seriously think someone did this on purpose?”
I could show him the note, but at this point, I don’t know who I can trust, so I decide to keep that little piece of evidence to myself.
I step into Jackson’s space, my face inches from his. “I don’t know what to think,” I hiss. “But until I find out exactly what happened, we assume someone in this house wants Eve dead.”
“It was probably just an accident, man,” Ash says, backing up slightly. “People are idiots. Shit happens.”
My eyes are locked on the ambulance as they shut the doors. “This wasn’t an accident.” I tap Ash’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince, then I sprint across the lawn. “No one leaves the house until I get back,” I shout over my shoulder. “If anyone tries, break their fucking legs.”
When I get to the hospital, I’m relegated to the same sterile waiting room I paced while my brother fought for his life. The same stark white walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and cold plastic chairs. Every second that passes feeds the inferno building inside me.
Pacing, I check my phone obsessively, until finally a nurse calls my name and leads me through a maze of corridors to Eve’s room. Beeping machines fill the tense silence as I enter. She’s hooked to an IV, oxygen, and a heart monitor, but she’s sitting up, alert.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse says before wheeling her cart out.
“You look better,” I say, moving to her bedside. “How do you feel?”
She presses trembling fingers to her temple. “My head is pounding,” she says, voice raspy. “Everything aches.”
“That’s normal.” I looked it up while I was in the waiting room. “You had a severe allergic reaction.”
She blinks up at me. “What happened?”
I exhale slowly, fighting to maintain my composure. “I’m still piecing it together. You were alone when it happened. I had Austin bring breakfast up to you. Do you remember what you ate?”
She glances down at her hands, one finger tracing the tape that’s holding her IV down. “I don’t remember eating anything.” She pauses, her forehead creasing. “I drank some coffee...a vanilla latte, I think.”
I pull the note from my pocket and hold it up. “I found this in the bedroom where you fell. Do you know what it says?”
Why would someone write a threatening note in code unless they thought she could read it? What would be the point, otherwise?
Her eyes drift to the note, and she licks her bottom lip, brows pinched. She shakes her head. “All I see are a bunch of symbols.”
Shoving the note back in my pocket, I take her hand—it’s ice cold—and enfold it in mine. “I’ll find out what happened,” I say with a calm I don’t feel. But I don’t want to freak her out. “It was probably an accident.”
When she looks up at me, something shifts in my chest—a visceral, primal response. She looks so vulnerable in this massive hospital bed, and the thought of someone deliberately trying to harm her… fuck, it makes me want to tear Rush House apart brick by fucking brick until I find the asshole who did it.
“When I felt my throat closing, I searched for my EpiPen, but it wasn’t in my bag,” she says. “Did you take it?”
“No.” I can’t explain the implications of what that means, so I don’t even try.
“What happened after I passed out?”
“I heard you fall and found you on the floor.” I keep my voice deliberately controlled. “After you told me about your allergy, I stocked a few EpiPens in the bathroom. And thank God I did.”
Suspicion darkens her eyes. “So you knew this would happen…”
“No,” I say quickly. “But Rush House is infested with half-drunk idiots most days. I prepared for…contingencies.”
She exhales heavily and sinks back against the pillow. “I’m exhausted.”
“Your body has been through hell. Get some rest.” I brush my lips across her knuckles. “I’ll be back soon.”
Her eyelids, which had drifted closed, snap open. “No, don’t go.” The fear in her voice cuts through me like nothing else can.
“I need to handle something important.” I hesitate, swallowing hard. “Do you want me to call your brother?”
Bringing Sin into this would ignite an all-out war. He’d blame the Sacred Sons for attacking his sister, and claim it was retaliation for his stunt on the lawn. It’d be a bloodbath.
But I’d do anything to ease the fear on her face. Anything.
“No,” she murmurs, drowsy. “Sin would go insane if we tell him. I’m fine. Really. I just need a little sleep. But...please...stay.”
Machines beep in a steady rhythm as I watch her drift off, her features softening under the harsh hospital lights. Something in my chest constricts painfully as her face relaxes, all tension melting away. Sleeping, she looks nothing like the defiant girl who’s been challenging me for weeks. I can’t look away.
Christ. I’m so fucking gone for her.
Before Eve, I never gave a shit. Never kept a girl longer than absolutely necessary. Three months. Six, max. Then I’d get bored and move on. If a girl tried to recapture my attention by flirting with another guy, I’d cut her loose without a second thought…
But with Eve? The memory of finding her with Aidan makes my blood boil all over again. In my mind’s eye, I can still see his clumsy hands on her breast, his mouth against her ear, whispering some pathetic one-liner.
Eve is mine, and now, everyone knows it. Especially Aidan. I mean, damn, he’s probably lying in this same hospital.
Moving away from the bed, I text Andre and ask him to send one of his guys to the hospital to watch over her. I have no fucking clue who did this or why, but I’m not taking any chances.
Twenty minutes later, Lowe arrives—a mountain of muscle in his mid-forties who takes zero shit, even from me. No one is getting past this guy. I instruct him to text me the second Eve wakes up, then I head back to the house.
“How’d it go?” Ash asks as I stalk into the living room where everyone is gathered. I checked with the Yates at the front door and no one has entered or left since I left. “How’s Eve?”
I jerk my chin toward the study. “We need to talk.”
Ash heads out, and Jackson follows. Inside the study, I grab a blunt from the desk and light it up, inhaling deeply. It does nothing to calm the rage that’s building in my chest like an inferno.
“Someone put nuts in Eve’s coffee this morning,” I say. “Any whispers about who it might have been?”
Ash crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the sofa. “How do you know it wasn’t an accident?”
“Eve had an EpiPen in her bag and it’s conveniently missing,” I reply, my tone glacial. “This was calculated. And whoever did it is already dead—they just don’t know it yet.”
“Fuck, that’s cold, man. Even for you.” Jackson shakes his head. “But are we really surprised? Eve is Sin’s sister and he’s public enemy number one right now.”
“The members don’t trust her,” Ash adds. “ Especially the Debs. They’re suspicious as fuck about why she’s really here.”
I take another long pull from my blunt, nodding slowly. “Sara was livid about the Fox Hunt right before this happened. But when I saw her this morning, she was suddenly over it.” I push off the desk and head for the door. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Lucas was right last night,” Ash says to my back. “We need to cut Eve loose or it’ll only happen again.”
“And if Sin finds out what happened here tonight—” Jackson says. “We’re seriously fucked.”
I get why they’re uneasy about all this. The Sacred Sons are used to being the apex predators in this town, but size means nothing when your opponent has nothing to lose. And with his sister gone, Sin doesn’t have shit to lose. So, yeah, if he finds out about this attempt on her life, I have no doubt he’ll rain hellfire down on us.
Or he’ll try, at least.
“I’ll find the person who tried to hurt Eve,” I say. “And in the meantime, we’ll double up on the armed guards surrounding the house.”
“And if you can’t find the person responsible?” Jackson asks. “Then what?”
“The person who did this isn’t just some regular member who’s pissed that Eve is here,” I say. “I claimed her publicly. She’s mine. Going after her is going after me. That alone should have kept her safe. But whoever did this didn’t give a fuck about the repercussions, which can only mean one of two things—either this cunt is dumb as fuck, or desperate enough not to care.”
The guys blink at me, then glance at each other.
Yeah. I’ve had some idle time to think about this shit.
Without waiting for a response, I stalk down the hallway and drag Sara out of the living room. She’s still wearing my sweatshirt, hood up, blonde hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes wide with fear.
“Hey,” she says, a nervous crack in her voice. “How’s Eve?”
I back her against the wall, my face inches from hers. “Did you do it, Sara? Did you put something in her coffee to trigger her allergy?”
“God, no!” she squeaks, all the color draining from her face. “You think I did that to her?”
“You were pissed about the Fox Hunt,” I snarl. “Is it that far-fetched to think you tried to eliminate your competition?”
Sara’s mouth snaps shut, her chin jutting out defiantly. “You seriously think I’m capable of something like that?”
She seems genuinely hurt by the accusation, and she’s a terrible liar—I’d know if she were hiding the truth. Still, I can’t rule her out completely. Not until I’m absolutely certain who’s responsible.
Leaning in closer, my voice drops to a menacing whisper. “Look me in the eye and tell me you had nothing to do with this. Because if I find even a trace of your involvement later, what follows won’t be a conversation—it’ll be an execution,” I add, for once, not trying to hide the darkness behind my eyes.
Her throat flicks as she swallows hard. “I didn’t, I swear. But I can ask around…”
“Do that,” I say, stepping back. “And for your own sake, make it quick.”
I watch her retreat, noting the tension in her shoulders. She seemed sincere, but these days, I don’t know who the fuck I can trust. A few weeks ago, even my own damn cousin betrayed the Burning Crown. So, yeah, paranoia isn’t a luxury anymore. It’s become a fact of fucking life.
I pull out my phone and scroll to a contact I haven’t used in a while.
Sometimes the only way to uncover the truth is to unleash something worse than yourself…
And fortunately, I have the devil on speed dial.