3 Bloodthirsty
Jace
As the light left Tex’s eyes, it extinguished Isobel’s light too. Seeing her curled into herself in the shower, she looked so small. I had to comfort her. My body didn't wait for a negotiation between reason and reaction. That never happens to me, but it did, with her.
Her sobs into my chest tugged at something deep inside me, something I work hard at keeping buried most of the time. I wanted to hold her until she found the light again. I thought I could give that back to her. But it didn't work.
She's retreated into herself. Into a place I can't follow.
When she's awake, she stares blankly at the walls of her room, like they might give her answers. She refuses to eat. I can see in her stormy blue eyes that she's thousands of miles away, stuck in the prison of her mind. When she does rest, it isn’t peaceful. She tosses and turns, flinching at any unexpected noise. She has constant nightmares, crying out his name. Tears fall even when she’s asleep.
The worst part? I can’t fix it. I can’t reach her.
Useless.
Luca can barely find the motivation to make jokes these days. Noah continuously buries himself in projects. We grieve in our own ways. We lost a brother. A silent agreement has formed between us. We have to stay strong. For her. For my girl.
She’s the one who watched him die, so we made sure no harm came to her while she said goodbye. I rub at my chest, an unfamiliar feeling sitting there, refusing to vacate like a stubborn tenant. I have to keep it together. For all of them. I have to keep them safe.
I hate it. I hate how much she’s hurting. I wasn’t the one who helped her survive that nightmare. Maybe I even added to it.
Tex was the one who spoke up, who reached out to her before any of us. He was there when I wasn’t. When I was being an ass. Too proud and guarded. Still following the orders Gideon barked, his voice always in my head. If only I’d stopped listening sooner.
If she had been with me, this wouldn’t have happened. He’d still be alive.
They had a bond—one maybe I’ll never fully understand.
Even though I knew she was mine, I still saw it.
The way she looked at him, cared for him.
The way he made her laugh when she thought no one was watching, how he grounded her when everything else was chaos.
He thought he was protecting her, but all he did was break her.
Turn her into his husk.
Lucian called to let me know Maeve was coming.
I’d seen the photo booth strip of Maeve and Iz the night we rearranged her room.
I looked at the picture and scoffed. She looked nothing like the girl who walked the halls of Blackmoore.
But the smile on her face was so bright, it stopped me in my tracks.
I was blinded by my father’s agenda. Always doing what he wanted but ignoring the confusing feelings I didn’t have a name for yet. That foreign sensation refuses to leave me alone.
I open the door to find a girl with blonde and red-streaked curls with fire in her brown eyes. Her face set with determination.
“Maeve,” I say before she introduces herself. I spot the matching snake ring on her finger.
She nods once. “Where is she?”
I step aside without a word. I turn and watch as Isobel shoots out of bed, her legs weak beneath her. The two collide like magnets.
I settle back down on the couch, the boys and I just letting them have their time.
I can hear Isobel’s cries from the couch.
I can sense what Maeve’s presence does to Isobel.
She’s already defrosting her. She holds her, rocks her.
Lets Isobel break in her arms, and somehow, Maeve is rekindling that light.
Slowly but surely, my girl is coming back.
I wish I could’ve been the one to pull her back from that ledge. I wish it was my arms she’d collapse into, my voice that could coax her out of the dark, but I don’t blame her.
I just hate that I can’t be what Maeve is to her—someone constant. Someone safe.
But I want to be. God, do I want to be.
So I wait, and I listen. I let Maeve do what I can’t—not yet.
The skyline stretches out behind the glass that encases the office, an endless stretch of glittering towers and blinking lights. The city noise grinds below like an industrial machine. But here, it’s silent.
Not peaceful.
Calculated.
I’m not sure there’s ever been a calm silence in my father’s vicinity. No time to relax in his domain. Every move I’ve ever made has been analyzed. The only peace I’ve found was with the guys…and now, her.
When I was younger, the chances were few and far between to escape his watchful eyes, but I found any excuse I could.
More training. Extra credit. Anything. Then true tranquility came when I got my license.
I’d run his errands, do whatever he wanted.
As long as it kept me in his good graces and in my car, far from him.
My father sits behind his desk like a general before war. Suit immaculate. His jacket’s open. Tie straight. Not a single hair out of place. I stand in front of him, a few paces away from his desk.
The same old tired routine of authority he’s enforced since I was young. Stand there. Keep Silent. Speak only when you’re spoken to. Don’t defy me.
The soft creak of his leather chair cuts through the silence as he leans forward, folding his hands. His ice blue eyes lock onto me like a sniper sighting down a scope. His expression is unreadable.
He’s playing a game. He always is.
“I haven’t heard from you in a few days.”
The words are casual. Deceptively so. But I’ve lived long enough to know better. Nothing about my father is casual. Every move is planned meticulously. Every gesture, a maneuver. Every word is a test to gauge reactions.
Gideon Ravencourt.
CEO of Helix International Logistics. Weapons disguised as cargo, information buried in manifests. If it moves across the world, Helix has a hand in it.
“Been busy.” I mirror him. My voice is flat, no emotion.
“Busy,” he repeats, as if the word disgusts him.
The silence stretches. He waits—watching me—like a predator waiting for its prey to twitch and run. But I don’t flinch. I won’t crack. I learned from the best, after all.
Finally, he moves. Slowly rising, buttoning his jacket with precision.
“I’ve been patient, Jace.” He says, tone flat, “But patience,” he says as he circles the desk, “isn’t something I trade in often. I prefer stocks, shares, things that can promise me a return on my investment.”
I track him with my eyes as he stalks smoothly toward me.
“Lucian’s time is up and he knows it. The Guild is starting to doubt him. It won’t take much to push them into voting in my favor if I challenge him. I don’t have time to indulge in your little…therapy sessions with the Ashthorne brat.”
My jaw tightens. “We lost Tex.”
His empty blue eyes bore into me, his face blank.
“And? Pawns fall. That’s the cost of progress. Don’t tell me you’ve become attached.”
My hands twitch; I want to curl them into a fist, but I can’t. So I shove them in my pockets as casually as possible.
“Tex became distracted. Now you see what happens when someone veers off the path I set them on.” My father smiles at me.
I know what it really is, it’s a showing of teeth.
“He was my friend.”
My father waves his hand, scoffing at my words.
“Sentiment doesn’t win wars, Jace. He was a tool the Guild wielded. That was his sole purpose. Your grief is a weakness. Don’t confuse personal pain with strategic miscalculation. Loss is expected in our line of work. I raised you to have tougher skin.”
I keep perfectly still, matching his stance. Anger burns hot in my veins. Tingling begins at the base of my neck, and I have to fight every nerve in my body to keep from acting on it.
This fucking dick.
“So you had him killed?” It takes everything I have to keep all the rage out of my voice.
He leans back against his desk, folding his hands in front of him. “There’s a term in accounting, I won’t get into specifics, but it’s what they call depreciation. Spreading the cost of an asset over its useful life. Until disposal.”
The corners of his mouth curve up. I want to knock it straight off his face.
“And his usefulness had run out. It was time to dispose.”
I have to fight the urge to curl my hands into fists.
“I took that boy from the streets where he was nothing. And made him into something. Gave him a purpose. Yet, Lucian’s spawn spreads her whore legs and he loses all decorum. Doesn’t answer calls. Doesn’t attend meetings.” He tsks and shakes his head. “A travesty.”
His eyes scan over me. I don’t say anything.
“View this as an example, son, of what happens when people get distracted.”
“I won’t get distracted,” I answer.
“I raised you to be bloodthirsty. Ruthless. You will do what’s necessary. Or I’ll find someone else who can.”