Chapter 6 Eva
EVA
My one-night impulsive adventure ended with being escorted out of The Vault by four guards.
Another day ending in another humiliation.
Am I on some sort of a list? Whoever is up there, treating my life like their personal torment simulation, can you take a coffee break, please?
“What are you doing here?” Thea whisper-yells.
I drag my eyes from the desk tucked into the far end of the library, where I've been anchored for hours since my last class.
“Hiding,” I mutter.
“From who?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Obviously not from me, since you know I volunteer here. So, are you hiding from Jack, or did you piss someone off? Is that why you’ve been sneaking out at the crack of dawn?”
My lips purse. The idea of Thea majoring in psychology scares me. She is a legit telepath already.
I would not have survived one day in Fort without Thea.
Which is shocking, given how we met—with her opening the door to the sound of running water and finding me curled up on the shower floor.
The grief I couldn’t shed at the funeral came crashing down that night when I was finally alone, my first day in Fort.
Thea didn’t ask questions, didn’t call for help.
No, this girl wrapped me up in towels and blankets, then perched across from me and introduced herself by sharing her darkest secret.
I sat there staring at her with my mouth hanging open, with Earl Grey tea in one hand and a red velvet cupcake in the other. Then we laughed it off, and I swore on everything sacred I would never share her secret with anyone.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Thea takes the seat across from me.
“Not in the slightest,” I mumble, tidying up my notes for next week’s assignment.
My degree in Politics and International Relations was a breeze at Manchester University. Mostly because I could share notes with Caden. At Kingsden, I have no study groups, so I have to be self-reliant.
Thea’s eyes narrow. She makes a face, but doesn’t press.
Trusting Thea is a no-brainer. She wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone if I asked her not to. But I don’t want to risk putting her in the crosshairs. Not after what she told me.
I almost ate my fingers, along with the croissants, the next morning, when I finally got her talking about the Grants. She’s been at Kingsden for four years and is now a Master’s student, the same as Mason.
Apparently, ego and muscle are not the only weapons in Mason’s arsenal.
If rumors are to be believed—and for the record, I believe every single one of them— violence is a strength of his.
Not only is he actively involved in the shady side of his family’s business and leads many of their operations, but he is also personally responsible for people’s broken bones and disappearances.
Recently, a fire at a nearby pub, which belongs to the Grants, was ruled as arson, and the suspects behind it disappeared overnight.
What’s more? The Fort Council operates alongside his maternal grandfather, who is one of the leaders of the Italian Mafia.
That’s right. In a country where knife crime is the worst possible risk to the public, I have pissed off the one person linked to the freaking Mafia.
Am I the unluckiest person on earth, or what?
I found my phone in a box outside the flat the next day. I may or may not have accidentally left it on the hood of Jack’s car.
What?
He’s paid to protect me, right? If it were ticking, he’d hear it.
That, of course, led to a full sweep of all my devices. Jack didn’t buy my cover story. Not a single made-up piece of it. I considered telling him the truth. For one brief moment, before kicking some sense into myself.
There is no way I’m giving Mason Grant a reason to lay eyes on me again. Who knows what he’ll do if I tell Jack? He’ll probably make me disappear, too. To wherever it is people go. No, thanks.
Safe to say, I have been avoiding Mason Grant like the plague.
I leave for the campus at first light, then hide in the library or the café, and don’t return until everyone has gone home.
I even have the Masters of Economics class schedule memorized, so I know where he is likely to be.
Though I doubt he cares about class, the degree is just a respectable stamp on a résumé earned in the family business.
My plan was working. Until yesterday, when I spotted him center-field in a rainstorm, in the middle of the Kingsden rugby match.
His lethal face was a brutal mix of dirt, wounds, and blood, striped by the rain.
His eyes swept the field like a predator, deciding which throat to tear first. I wasn’t going to wait around to become a contender.
I turned and bolted before he saw me, heart pounding louder than the roar of the crowd.
“Well, the library is now closed.” Thea flashes me her keys. “So, unless you want me to lock you in…”
My fingers pause on the keyboard, eyes squinting to slits. “It’s tempting,” I mumble.
Thea rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she orders, picking up my bag and tugging me by the elbow. “It’s your turn to cook, remember?”
“You really want ham sandwiches for dinner again?”
I’m not a great cook. Not as bad as my mum. At least I can feed myself. But if I get too creative, it usually ends in smoke and culinary charcoal.
“Better than Penny’s nachos.” Thea smiles.
After Thea locks the library, we make our way out of the Armstrong building, casting shadows on wide windows that reflect the gold-stained violet sky, just after sunset.
The hallways are mostly quiet now, except for Jack, who is waiting for me under the arches, at the entrance.
He’s been un-freaking-bearable since The Vault. Stern and unreadable, with the icy glares and location sweeps around the clock. Thankfully, Thea rides back with me, so I don’t have to make small talk with him.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into Charlton House. I follow Thea to the lift only to pause when something across the street catches my eye.
A dark silhouette of a lone figure on a motorbike stands camouflaged in the shadow of the oak tree. Embers cut through the dusk, smoke unwinding in ribbons.
My breath hitches, lips turning white hot. And just like that, every inch of me he touched sparks.