OLIVIA
I was done.
Done with distractions. Done with pointless war rooms. Done with Jax. And I was definitely done with Madoc.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with me.
“I want my binder back,” I demanded as I stormed into the main bedroom on the top floor, where Madoc was doing God-knows-what.
He was standing at the foot of the massive king bed, head cocked like the answers to the universe were stitched into the duvet.
He didn’t react to my entrance—not even a twitch—and I was starting to suspect he was some sub-human cyborg, unfeeling and unattached. Here for the kicks and nothing else.
Very slowly, he straightened. “Why?” His soft, inflectionless tone made me bristle. God, between him and Jax, I was at risk of developing a stomach ulcer. Or worse, frown lines.
Then why are you turned on?
I wasn’t. I couldn’t be.
I was, and I hated myself more than I ever had.
Jax was an unhinged boiling pot of issues, and I shouldn’t be fixating on the way his eyes had flashed electric blue, or the way his muscles had bunched tight across his ridiculous shoulders, or the way he’d pinned me to the glass, the hard jut of his erection…
I shook my head, banishing the thoughts. He threatened to kill me, and I knew he meant it. Just like I knew he would enjoy it because he was a bad guy, and somewhere I’d forgotten that.
I suspected Madoc was even worse.
“It’s mine,” I reiterated firmly, crossing my arms. “You have no right to keep it.”
His cheek lifted in a smirk. “Finders keepers.”
“Are you five?”
He angled his head toward me, so I was stuck glaring at his side profile, the slope of his cheek, and the smiling curve of his jaw, the dark hair that curled behind his heavily pierced ears.
He had stretchers, and I wanted to find them repulsive, but I didn’t.
My brain was working against me, and I needed to get it back on track.
“What happened?” He asked, sounding amused. “Did the bad man hurt you?”
That would make him happy. “Don’t try to distract me.”
“You’re crying. It’s distracting.”
I wiped my eyes harshly with my sleeve. “The deal is off. I want my binder back. And my knife. Take your stupid painting and leave.”
“No.”
My mouth dropped in outrage. “No?”
“No,” he repeated softly. I was about to lose it. Before I could do something extreme, like a repeat performance of lamp javelin, he added: “You were right.”
My mind went blank.
It was the last thing I expected him to say. “Right about what?” I asked warily.
“Him.”
My temper flared back to life. “Jesus fucking Christ. Can you break character for just a minute and finish a whole sentence?”
That made him laugh.
Again, my brain stuttered in shock, not expecting it. It was a rough sound, not at all comforting, like it’d been scraped up from somewhere forgotten inside him.
He gestured to the bed, and my stupid brain latched onto it like an invitation. I planted my feet and clenched my fists, not trusting myself. “What’s wrong with this picture?” he asked, like a game.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
I huffed, fully aware I was being distracted. “The nightstands are empty. And the bed was perfectly made before you assaulted me on top of it.”
He happily ignored that. “What else?”
“I don’t know. The pillows clash with the curtains?”
He glanced down at me, lip quirking up in a ghostly smile. I hadn’t realized I’d come to stand next to him and purposely stepped back. “There is no art in here.”
I glanced around, noting he was right. “So?”
“There’s space for it,” he said, pointing at the sizeable patch of wall above the huge headboard. “Every other room has one except this one.”
“Okay, Sherlock. What does that tell us?”
“He doesn’t sleep in here.”
I frowned, not buying it. Madoc rolled his head with an unnerving crack, like he was about to deliver a final blow.
I scanned his tattoos quickly—he had the same crow as Jax but bigger, wrapped around his equally impressive bicep.
“All his clothes are in here,” I said, wrenching my eyes back to the bed.
“And his toiletries. Why would he use the bathroom but not the bed?”
“Gold star for Watson.”
“Maybe he has a fear of heights,” I deliberated, chewing on my lip, breaking the skin. Blood welled on my tongue, and I licked at it absently. “We’re on the top floor. There are seven other bedrooms, plus the lower staff quarters, not that he’d likely choose them—what are you doing?”
Madoc had stepped into my space, his eyes so dark they held my white-faced reflection. He stared at my mouth intently. “Show me,” he demanded in a quiet, deadly voice.
I froze. “S-Show you what?”
His intensity didn’t waver. “Open your mouth.”
Fear-dumb, I did. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared, his eyes flat and furious and terrifying. Then his own tongue snaked out, a silver ball piercing catching on his top teeth with a gentle click. Like a demented vampire, he stared at my bloody lip like he wanted to devour it—
Just as suddenly, he snapped out of it, turning away so abruptly that I was left standing, open-mouthed, like an idiot.
What the hell was that?
While my brain caught up, I heard the creak of floorboards, and then Ryle bustled in. “Hey—oh.” He stopped short, looking between Madoc and me like he’d caught us with our pants down. I felt as mortified as if he had.
Ryle grinned impishly. “What’s happening in here?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly. Typically, Madoc stayed silent.
“Riiiiiight,” Ryle drawled, wriggling his eyebrows. “Then why do I have total FOMO right now?” He looked meaningfully at Madoc, who returned his gaze blankly.
Clearly used to Madoc’s brand of apathy, Ryle turned his attention back to me. “Cool, well, I’m just going to ignore the weird as fuck tension in here and tell you that Zola found something.”
I straightened. “What did she find?”
“You have to come downstairs.”
That made me tense. Downstairs meant seeing Jax, and I wasn’t ready to confront him yet. Not with my chest so tight and my legs so wobbly and my nipples so achingly hard that they were at risk of chafing.
For the first time in a long time, I missed Heath. For no other reason than that he made me feel safe, normal, and in control. Not enough to ever go back to him—I didn’t hate myself that much—but at least I could count on myself not to act so stupidly helpless.
Movement in my periphery made me snap into hyperawareness, but it was just Madoc heading to the door. He left without so much as a backward glance.
Dick.
Left alone with Ryle, I felt awkward again and smoothed down my ponytail (Jax had utterly destroyed it). He watched me unabashedly, head cocked like a puppy.
“Can’t you just tell me what she found?” I whined a little.
“You avoiding Jax?”
A bit helpless, I nodded.
Ryle nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, he’s a super intense guy. Not as bad as Madoc, though, so good luck with that.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
Ryle nodded again and kept nodding. He was practically vibrating with energy. “Don’t worry about Jax. He can be a giant asshole sometimes, but he’s got a squishy center underneath all that angry muscle. You just have to be patient with him.”
“I want nothing to do with him.”
His head kept bobbing. “Smart.”
I watched him curiously, and when he started shifting from foot to foot, I couldn’t help myself. “Are you…okay?”
He groaned. “The boat made me sick, and I threw up all my Adderall, so I’m a bit twitchy. Sorry.” He forced himself to stop moving, but then his foot began tapping. “It’s worse if I try to control it. You must think we’re all completely unhinged.”
“Not all of you,” I murmured unconvincingly.
He snorted. “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be wrong, I guess. We’ve done some shit.”
“Even you?”
“Oh, I’m the worst.”
Having spent an unwilling amount of time with both Jax and Madoc, I found that hard to believe.
Reading my doubt, Ryle sucked on his teeth and exhaled like a confession. “I killed my parents.”
I froze.
Ryle stared hard at the ground between us.
“Didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that, but yeah.
I hit my dad with a brick when I was ten.
Just popped him right when he was asleep in his favorite chair.
Luckily, he was blackout drunk, so it was easy to pretend he tumbled out and brained himself on the TV unit. ”
Easy?
I tried to school my expression so he couldn’t read my horror, but he wasn’t looking at me anyway. He had gone completely still, his face soft and eyes faraway in hideous memories.
My voice broke. “And your mom?” I asked tentatively.
His mouth flattened. “Died in childbirth.”
“That’s not your fault.”
He shrugged limply. “Dad certainly thought so. He hated my guts.” The shadows on his face darkened.
It made him look older, less like the sunny energy ball that had flounced into the room.
“I planned it,” he said abruptly, almost defensively.
“It was totally premeditated, so don’t go thinking it was, like, self-defense or anything. ”
I had no idea what to think anymore. But there was definitely more to the story.
The room felt stifling suddenly, and my head was too full. I wanted to move on and forget everything he just said; I wanted to hug and squeeze the hell out of him. Both impulses left me conflicted, so I offered a stilted: “My parents are shitty sometimes, too.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide and concerned. I quickly backtracked. “Not like—they’re not abusive or anything. They’re just super toxic.”
“Nate’s family is like that. Is it a rich people thing?”
“Not all rich people are jerks.” Though if I had to throw a rock, I’d be hard-pressed to hit anyone in my life who wasn’t terrible. The only person was Molly. And I didn’t even have her anymore.
The reminder of Molly sent a sharp dagger into my chest. “We should go downstairs,” I said. Face the music.
Ryle nodded, looking relieved. The darkness on his face faded, no longer eclipsing his infectious sunshine. “Race you down the stairs?”