Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Eve
After a full night of observation, I’m discharged from the hospital. One of the security guys from Rush House, Lowe, stayed with me all night, despite numerous protests from the nurses. Apparently, the hospital has strict visiting hours—but Lowe wouldn’t budge from the spot right inside my door, and the nurses eventually gave up trying to get him to leave.
At first, the silence between us was super awkward. So I just started talking, asking him questions, and eventually he opened up to me. We ended up chatting all night—about life, work, everything. He’s a cool guy.
When I’m given the all-clear by the doctor, and discharged, Lowe walks me down to the parking lot, where Christian is parked, already waiting for me. He’s leaning against his red Viper, wearing jeans and a gray surf club sweatshirt, hood pulled over his wavy blond hair as he scrolls on his phone. He looks less polished than he normally does, but the rough, grungy vibe only adds to his appeal somehow.
“Hey, Boss,” Lowe says, snagging Christian’s attention. He glances up at us, his gaze flicking over me, like he’s trying to assure himself I’m okay.
They bump fists in a very bro way. “Thanks for watching over her, man. Anything suspicious?”
“Nope, all clear.” Lowe taps me on the shoulder and flashes me a smile. “See you back at the house. And remember, it’s all in in here,” he says, tapping his temple.
I laugh at his reference to our earlier chat about the power of the mind. “Got it, thanks.”
Christian flashes me a look as he opens the passenger-side door for me. “What was that about?”
Sliding into the deep bucket seat, I shrug. “Nothing. We were chatting last night, and he was giving me some advice. He’s a pretty insightful guy, actually.”
Christian’s mouth opens, like he wants to ask me what Lowe was giving me advice about, but in the end, he doesn’t. “Hungry?” he asks.
I’m starving, actually. Dinner last night at the hospital was a mushy mix of chicken, beans, and rice, and I didn’t have breakfast before being discharged this morning.
“I could eat,” I say.
His gaze finds me again. “Let’s get out of here. I know a good breakfast joint.”
A few minutes later, we pull up to an old shack right on the beach that I know well—Pacific Coast Diner. I used to come here with my friends almost every day after school. Their fries are amazing. But by far the best thing about them is that they’re nut-free, so I don’t have to worry about them killing me.
It’s early on a weekday, so when we walk in, we’re seated right away. The hostess leads us over to an inside table that overlooks the water. The sky is a bright sapphire blue, cloudless and endless, while the ocean below us is a deep cobalt blue. It’s crazy how such a fucked up place like Malibu can also be so beautiful…
“How are you feeling?” Christian asks. I glance over at him, and notice he’s not even looking at the menu. He’s looking at me. And he’s so damn hot sitting there in his hoodie—casual, self-assured. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. There’s something appealing about that level of confidence. I wish I felt it.
“I still have a bit of a headache,” I say. “But I’ll live. Thankfully.”
“That shouldn’t have happened.” His face is unreadable. “But the members are suspicious of you.”
I lift a brow. “And whose fault is that?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t going to lie to everyone about who you are.”
I lift my chin and look at him from under my lashes—more playful than skeptical, but if I’m being honest, it’s a little of both. “So you do have some small drop of decency, after all?”
Not towards me, obviously, but if I’m looking at this objectively, then being transparent with the Burning Crown members is the decent thing to do—and it’s something I wouldn’t expect from him.
Not that I believe him entirely, though. I always get the sense there’s something just below the surface with Christian—something I can’t quite see.
That’s my brother’s influence.
Everyone has an agenda, Eve. Even when they’re telling you they don’t.
And that’s the truth. We’re all in this for our own reasons, including me. And those reasons aren’t always apparent. I hate to be so cynical, but that’s the reality I grew up in—surrounded by powerful men and their secret agendas.
The waitress walks up and places two ice waters in front of us. He smiles at her while he orders, and for a split second, I catch a glimpse of that charm he’s so famous for. But if I’m being honest, watching him focus his attention on someone else doesn’t feel good.
I glance at the waitress’s nametag—Andrea. Early twenties. Pretty. And enamoured with Christian. Can I blame her though? We’re all human at the end of the day, and this boy is painfully good-looking.
When Christian is done, Andrea turns to me, pencil poised on the pad in her hand, ready to take my order. I open my mouth to speak, but Christian cuts in, “She has a severe nut allergy. Can you make sure to tell the cook?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Great. She’ll have the waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, sourdough toast, and fresh fruit.” I blink at him. What in the 1950’s just happened? “Oh, and bring some coffee and whatever pastries you have.”
“Got it,” Andrea says, opening her hand for the menus we didn’t use.
Before she walks away, I ask her, “Is it too early in the day for fries?”
She tucks the menus under her arm and stuffs her order pad into the pocket of her apron. “Sorry, fries are only available on the lunch menu, which isn’t available until after eleven.”
Ugh , that sucks. I haven’t had their fries in forever. “Got it, thanks.”
“We’ll take an order of large fries, too,” Christian says without even skipping a beat.
Andrea glances at him and pauses, like her brain has momentarily gone blank. “Um, sure,” she says, finally. “We can make that happen for you.”
“Great,” he says dismissively.
When she walks away, I blink at him, shocked by the sheer audacity of what he just did. “Do you follow any rules, like ever? ” I ask.
“They have fries,” he answers. “They know how to prepare them. What’s the big deal?”
The way Andrea so quickly caved to his demands is the big deal. She just folded, like a house of cards. Damn.
“I could have ordered myself,” I say. “I was thinking about getting the French toast.”
“Have you ever had their French toast?”
I lean forward and narrow my eyes at him. “Does it matter?”
With a shake of his head, he opens a straw and places it in my icewater. “It’s not that great, trust me.”
“As usual, you’re missing the point. You didn’t even ask me.” I push my glass in front of him, then take his glass, which doesn’t have a straw. “I didn’t want a straw.”
A lie, and now I’m annoyed that I have to raw-dog this fucking glass, just to prove a point. But I can’t allow him to dictate everything, even something as simple as a water glass.
He laughs, watching me. “Are you always this difficult?”
“If wanting to maintain my autonomy is considered ‘being difficult,’ then yes. I am.”
“Autonomy,” he repeats, pursing his lips, staring right into me. “That’s funny, because most of the girls I know enjoy being dominated in one way or another.”
My heart beats a little bit faster when he looks at me like that, and memories of last night flood my mind—the way he pinned me down to the pool table and took control. The way his powerful body felt inside mine, forcing me to climax. It was terrifying and exciting, but I hate the way my body melted for him. Because it means I’m no better than Andrea, or any of the other girls who cave to Christian’s every demand.
To avoid my clit spontaneously igniting right here in the diner, I abruptly change the subject. “So. Tell me,” I say. “What’s the deal with the Burning Crown? Why are you guys so horrifically evil? Do you think it’s a nature thing or a nurture thing?”
Our coffee and cream arrive first, followed quickly by the fruit and pastries. I pour a generous amount of cream into my mug and take a sip without stirring it. It’s okay, typical weak diner coffee.
He drinks his black. “It’s a survival thing,” he replies, taking a gulp. “When you have power, influence…money, other people want it. Simple as that.”
The warm coffee moves through me, reviving me. “Survival of the fittest,” I offer.
The rest of the food arrives, disrupting the flow of our conversation. By the time everything is set down, the table is full of food that we’re not going to eat. It’s way too much.
When the waitress leaves, I reach for the ketchup and drench the fries with it. “So what I’m hearing...” I continue, picking up where we left off “...Is that there’s no room for mercy in your world.” I pop a crispy fry into my mouth and the crunch is perfect. So good. “It’s kill or be killed.”
Christian tucks into his sausage. “Isn’t that also true for Shadow and Ash?” he asks between bites. “Our worlds aren’t all that different.”
“We don’t come from money like you do,” I say. “Everything we have we have my dad had to earn. We weren’t just handed a wad of cash when we were born.”
He takes a bite of his bacon and looks me dead in the eyes. “You sure about that?”
I pop another fry into my mouth, unbothered by his question. He’s always trying to unsettle me. That’s his thing. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
He reaches over and sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “You need to eat something other than fries,” he commands.
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue, because I know it won’t do me any good, anyway. I stab a chunk of scrambled eggs and take a bite. “Happy?”
“Tell me about your parents,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. “Were you close?”
I sit back and shrug. “I didn’t see my dad much growing up. He was always dealing with some society thing. But my mom—” I pause, remembering her. “—she always wanted a daughter, so yeah, we were close. She spoiled me. I could get away with anything around her,” I laugh.
“You were lucky.”
“Yeah.” I shrug, remembering the gut-punch of being told she’d died. “Until I wasn’t.”
“What happened?” he asks, hesitation in his voice.
I shrug again. “Right before Christmas, when I was twelve, she was killed.”
Maybe he can tell I’m holding back, because he leans forward and pins me down with a stare. “What happened, Eve?”
My throat suddenly feels tight, and I struggle to speak past it. “I don’t know, exactly. My brother and I were at school, and my parents were at a restaurant, having lunch. After they ate, then were outside, waiting for their car when some kind of argument broke out, and she was—” That last word “shot” sticks in my throat, and for the life of me, I can’t get it out. It’s ridiculous, really. She was killed seven years ago, and at this point, I should be able to talk about it without choking up. But I haven’t quite gotten there yet.
I can still vividly remember being pulled out of class and into the front office. My brother was already there, waiting in one of those blue plastic chairs. We were taken into the counselor’s office, and I can still remember the confusion, coupled with the vibe that something was very wrong—all the adults were acting so stiff, formal.
Then we were told. There’d been an incident, and our mother hadn’t made it. She’d been ripped away from us. Just like that. Torn out of our lives like a tree being uprooted. The news was so abrupt and so surreal, I didn’t believe it at first. It wasn’t until I saw her body at the wake a couple of days later that I had no choice but to accept it.
The whole thing was so unbelievably fucked up.
“Any idea who was responsible?” he asks.
“No one was ever arrested.” Emotion tightens in my chest. It’s a familiar feeling that I’ve learned to embrace, because fighting it does no good. “But my dad said it was someone from the Burning Crown, a Sacred Son.”
Christian doesn’t seem surprised to hear that.
“Was there a reason?” he asks calmly, studying me.
I push out a heavy breath. “My mom was an outspoken woman with a strong moral compass. And around that time, a couple of girls in Malibu had gone missing. The police weren’t really looking for them, so Mom leaned on her society contacts and started digging around. That’s just how she was. She saw an injustice and actually did something about it.” I shrug one shoulder. “But the Burning Crown didn’t appreciate her sniffing around, I guess, because they killed her. Brutally. Right there in the open, in broad daylight.”
His brows pinch together, like he doubts my story. “Killing someone in the open like that—” He shakes his head. “—that’s not how the Burning Crown operates.”
“So, you’re saying the Burning Crown doesn’t just randomly kill people?” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Like Tyler?”
His jaw tightens, and he takes a drink of his water, then sets it down. “Tyler was a different situation,” he says.
Andrea pops up out of nowhere, startling me. I was so locked in on Christian that I didn’t see her sneak up. “Everything tasting okay?” she asks Christian. “Can I get you any condiments?”
“We’re good, thanks,” I say, annoyed that she interrupted us. When she leaves, I level a glare at Christian. “It’s funny how anyone who gets in the way of the Burning Crown ends up dead.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah, funny .”
Pushing my plate away, I lean forward. “Tell me something, has anyone ever escaped your cultish orbit without getting totally wrecked? Seems like anyone who gets close to a Sacred Son ends up either dead or damaged.”
He leans back, his expression hardening into something dangerous. “Why? Planning your escape, Little Fox?” One side of his mouth lifts. “Fair warning—nothing gets my blood pumping like a good chase.”