Chapter 22 #2
“Hard to miss,” she laughs softly. “Don’t tell me it’s an ex-boyfriend or something.”
For some reason, I tell her the truth. “It’s my dad.”
“For real?”
Nodding, I take my time chewing the last bite. “Yeah. When he died, that was the only part of him I wanted to keep.” I don’t tell her how he died, and I’m not going to. Not when I’m the only person alive to know the truth about Charles Mortis’ demise.
The official story is a mugging gone wrong. The story known to just a few is that he was killed by the Hunter, aka Valentine. Neither version invites questions, and I’ve never offered answers.
Exhaling audibly, she admits, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Willow starts fussing, but stops as she bounces her knee. “But you should know, if you think you can do the same to Jack—”
I cut her off with a sharp laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one in chains.”
Leaning closer, she studies me —not with pity, not with judgment. Just a cool, assessing glance, the kind I recognize from my own profession. It makes me feel more seen than I like.
“You don’t seem all that fazed,” she observes. “If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t even think any of this bothers you.”
Biting my lip, I swallow down the laugh bubbling in my throat. She’s both right and wrong. I am bothered, but growing up in my house, you quickly learned to mask your feelings. Showing unease was the same as giving your opponent the upper hand.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I reply cryptically.
“Are you bored yet?” she asks after a beat, completely changing the subject.
“Very.”
She smiles at my reply. “Yeah, I’ve been where you are, Eve. Well, not literally, but close enough. If I were you, I’d use the alone time to get curious.”
“Curious?”
“Jack’s careful,” she says, straightening. “But he’s still a man. And men often hide what they don’t want others to see. Especially Knight men. They all like building pretty walls around rotten things.”
Before I can answer, she gets up, moving slowly now that Willow is sleeping on her arm. The baby makes the softest little coos in her sleep.
“We should get going. It was… oh, wait. Before I forget again. If Jack’s not back by the end of the week, I’ll be escorting you to an event at the Sanctuary.”
“You will?” I ask, dumbfounded by the fact Jack might be gone for days. “Where did you say he was?”
Carolina cackles. “Nice try. I didn’t say, and I’m not going to. Knight business is just that… for Knights. Take care, Eve.”
With those words, she leaves, locking the door after her. I don’t know what she meant by her parting words, but I know I’m going to find out. Eventually.
The Trickster
Nick talks too fucking much . He always has. Tonight it’s worse, his voice a steady grind in my ear as I follow him down a side corridor of the warehouse.
He called while she was still asleep, curled against me in the cage, my cock still buried in her heat. I should have ignored him. Instead, I carried her out, laid her in my bed, and chained her to the wall.
For half a second I was tempted to leave her free, but no. Eve’s not ready for that kind of freedom. If I give her the keys to escape, she’ll leave faster than I can ask her to stay. Besides, I need more time to figure this shit out.
I can’t fully explain what has changed. Mostly because I’m not even sure I fucking understand it. Maybe it was because she showed me her scars and opened up to me… no. That’s not it. Well, not all of it. There’s more to it.
Deep down, I know she’s right. I don’t hate her, and I’m not sure I ever have. But I hate what she represents; my own failure to save Ruby. None of what happened is Eve’s fault, not really. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish that it were.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” he mutters, tone pitched low but firm. “Carolina dropped food and clothes off to her like you asked. Eve’s fine.”
I bite back the urge to tell him Carolina isn’t me. She doesn’t know every twitch of Eve’s mouth, every lie in her tone. She doesn’t hear the difference between silence that means exhaustion and silence that means plotting.
“She’s mine,” I growl instead. “Leaving her chained in the bedroom while I play errand boy for the family is not my definition of fine.”
“Fuck’s sake,” my brother grumbles. “First you can’t wait to punish her, and now—”
“Oh, I’m still punishing her,” I reassure my big brother.
“Are you?”
No. “Yes.”
“Whatever.” Nick shoots me a look over his shoulder, sharp and unimpressed. “You think I wanted to drag you here? We’ve got bodies on the docks, Jack. Knights don’t get to pick and choose when business calls.”
I curse under my breath, shoving a hand through my hair as we step into the main space.
The stench of salt and diesel clings to the walls, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Two men are kneeling in the center of the concrete floor, hands zip-tied, faces already swollen from whatever welcome committee Nick sent ahead.
Ned stands to one side, calm as ever, arms folded like a priest waiting to administer last rites. He nods at me, expression unreadable.
“This is the part where you stop thinking about your captive Bride,” Nick says, voice dry, “and start thinking about the family business. We clean up the mess, we send the message, and then you can go back to playing house with your psychiatrist.”
“Don’t encourage him to play hide the pickle,” Ned deadpans.
“More like the salami,” I grin, punching him on the shoulder.
Ned chuckles. “Listen, Jack, I have a favor to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Shelby wants to see Eve,” he says, looking anywhere else but at me. “She feels terrible, and she misses—”
“Soon,” I agree. And judging by the double-take Nick does and the widening of Ned’s eyes, no one exp ected that reply. “I’m sure Eve will want to see her as well.”
“So… when?”
Running a hand down my face, I scoff, “I don’t fucking know. I’ll figure it out once I’m not about to fucking kill someone.”
Ned grimaces, probably realizing his terrible timing. “Right, I get it.” Just as I think he’s done, he continues. “It’s just that Shelby’s been acting weird without Eve around.”
“Weird how?” I demand.
“I don’t know, man. I barely see her anymore, and when I do, she’s on the phone with some guy.”
Nick chimes in. “Her Groom?”
“No.” Ned shakes his head. “That’s what I thought, but it’s not him. I don’t fucking know who. It might not even matter. I just know my sister’s acting off.”
“Can we discuss this shit later?” I bite. “Surely there are better times.”
With that, I step forward, moving toward the kneeling men. One of them lifts his head, a whimper caught in his throat. Wrong move. My hand fists in his hair, jerking his face up to mine.
“Playing house,” I sneer, repeating the words Nick said. Then, I drive my fist into his mouth, feeling the crunch of teeth give way. “Not fucking playing. I’m building one.”
Blood spatters my knuckles, warm and slick. For a heartbeat, I picture Eve’s gray eyes instead of this bastard’s. Her mouth instead of his broken teeth. My cock twitches, and I shove the thought down with violence, hitting him again.
Nick says something behind me— enough, focus, we don’t have all night —but I barely hear him. Every second I’m here is a second I’m not with her, not watching the way she pushes boundaries, not listening to the way she says my name when she’s breaking.
Knight business demands my time. But Eve Mortis owns my fucking mind.