Chapter Thirteen
I startle awake at the shift of weight beside me.
“Lila, what are you doing here?” I mumble, trying to roll over and drag her closer.
My arm jerks to a stop. Cold metal bites into my wrist. My eyes fly open.
A tall man with broad shoulders stands at the foot of my bed, wearing the same mask from the opera.
Sterling. “Ghost,” I breathe, pulse spiking, “why am I not surprised?”
He lets out a low, dark chuckle. “Thought you’d be a little more aware of your surroundings, Thorn.”
“Normally, my alarm would go off, but I'm guessing you had something to do with that,” I snarl back. Fucker.
He steps closer, moonlight glinting off something shiny. “Maybe, but you have answers that I want.”
“And you couldn’t have just asked me like a normal fucking person?” I deadpan.
“I tried. You kept feeding me half-ass answers.” His eyes drop, and I follow them to my knife, gripped in his hand. “Now I’ll ask you again. What do you know?” So, we’re going to have that kind of fun.
A slow smile forms on my lips as I tilt my head. “I know lots of things. Like, your mom is Angelina Wraith. Your dad bailed when you were a baby, and your best friend's name is Cam Strafford. But I’m guessing those aren’t the answers you’re looking for.”
“So, you did your research. Anyone can dig up that kind of information.” His grip tightens on the knife. “What do you know about Cicada?” he demands. There's that damn name again.
“I don’t know anything about it, except that at some point it involved me, and it got my mom killed. Beyond that, I haven’t been able to dig up a single useful thing.” Why is he asking about Cicada? Is he a part of it?
“That’s the first time you’ve answered honestly,” he says, swinging a leg over to straddle my hips.
Sterling brings the knife to my mouth, the cold edge kissing my bottom lip.
“We’re going to play a little game. Every time you answer a question truthfully, I’ll give you something you want.
Every time you lie or try to feed me half-truths, I’m going to leave my mark, so you never forget it. ”
I sit quietly for a few seconds. Fuck it, I’m game.
“Fine,” I say at last, voice low. “But afterward, tell me what you know about Cicada.” Sterling gives a single measured nod and peels off his mask.
The knife is still at my mouth when I drag my tongue slowly along the blade, savoring the sting.
The sharp taste of iron blooms over my tongue, and his gaze drops to my lips like he’s starving.
He’s on me in an instant, his mouth crashing into mine, tongue forcing its way between my lips.
I let him in, let my blood smear into his mouth, the kiss demanding and bruising enough to make my head spin.
I bite down on his bottom lip until I taste his blood too, then pull back and swipe my tongue across my lips.
“Guess that’s a blood pact then.” A devilish grin curves over his face, dark and pleased.
Heat spears straight to my clit. Fuck, he shouldn’t have this much power over me—and yet he does.
“Fine, I’ll give you that.” His voice is almost approving.
“Do you know why your mom was killed over Cicada?” I shake my head, throat tight, and he nods like he expected that, his hand slipping under my shirt, fingers gliding up my torso before trailing down to graze the inside of my thighs.
His thumb finds my clit and starts tracing slow, lazy circles that make my breath hitch.
I buck my hips, chasing more friction, more of him.
“Nu-uh,” he clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to make me want to scream.
“Once you answer all my questions, then you can cum.” He drags his hand away entirely, and an embarrassing whimper escapes me at the loss.
“Do you know who’s blackmailing your dad? ”
I go completely still. I can’t answer the question, not without handing him everything.
“No,” I say slowly, forcing the words out.
“But I do know whoever’s doing it probably wants him to confess.
” I hold my breath, praying he buys it. His eyes lock on mine, unblinking, stripping me bare as he hunts for the lie.
Then the knife dips, sliding down to my shirt, and with one smooth pull, he slices it clean open.
Cool air ghosts over my bare skin, my nipples tightening in response.
Sterling groans under his breath as his hand closes over one breast, fingers pinching and twisting my nipple until pleasure and pain spark down my spine.
Heat flutters low, pooling at the base of my spine and making my thighs clench.
“I don’t believe you, but I’ll let that one go.
I’ll find out sooner or later.” Sterling’s mouth crashes back to mine, a quick, claiming kiss that steals the air from my lungs before he drags his lips down my throat and lower, zeroing in on my chest. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, fingers closing around my breast as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, tongue and teeth working it until my back arches off the bed.
The knife in his other hand traces a slow path down the center of my chest, the metal biting just enough to sting.
I inhale sharply—not from fear but from the sharp spike of pleasure the pain drags with it.
Warmth of blood trickles in a thin line; his groan vibrates against my skin.
He licks a hot, deliberate stripe up the line of red, tongue catching every drop like it's something decadent. I should be repulsed. I should shove him off. Instead, my body betrays me, heat coiling low as he cleans the last of it away. Once he’s finished, he pushes himself up, eyes gone dark and unreadable. “Who hurt you?”
I burst out laughing, the sound sharp and a little wild. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Ghost. I’ve got a long list.”
“Fair. Who’s Ash?” My blood runs cold. There’s no way he should know that name.
“How do you know that name?” My heart kicks hard against my ribs as I start yanking at the cuffs, metal digging into my wrists. “Sterling, uncuff me. Right now.”
Sterling’s stare sharpens, tracking every twitch of muscle like he’s cataloging it. He feels the change in me as surely as if I’d screamed. “Asher,” he repeats slowly, tasting the name. “Who is he?” His eyes narrow, pinning me in place. “Why are you scared of him?”
“Sterling. Let me the fuck out. Now! I’m done playing this game.
” The edges of my vision tighten the air, solidifying in my lungs.
Anxiety crawls up my spine—hot and choking.
I start thrashing beneath him. The room feels like it's shrinking, like the walls are pressing in. His weight feels like a crushing cage over my ribs. My breathing shudders then spikes, coming fast and shallow. “Please,” I rasp, the word breaking as tears blur my vision. “Please. Please uncuff me.” I know somewhere deep under the panic that he won’t hurt me.
But my brain doesn’t care about logic; it only hears that name, tastes old blood and fear, and every emotion I’ve buried claws its way to the surface all at once.
“Okay.” The word feels far away. “Hey…Hey, Thorn. I need you to look at me.” His voice cuts through the static, low and steady.
“Deep breaths. I’m not going to hurt you.
Breathe with me.” I force my eyes to him and drag in when he does, then let it out slowly, matching his rhythm until the buzzing in my ears dulls.
“I’m going to uncuff you so you’re not panicking,” his tone firm in that way that doesn’t invite argument.
“But we’re not done talking about this. You okay now?
” No. I’m cracked straight down the middle.
I always will be. I nod anyway. He believes the lie, or pretends to, and the metal clicks open around my wrist.
I sit up on shaky legs, slide out of the bed, and snag another oversized shirt from the chair.
The cotton lands loose over my thighs as I climb back onto the mattress and fold myself against the headboard, knees pulled tight to my chest, trying to make my body match the way I feel—small, hollowed out.
“Ash,” I confess, staring past him at a crack in the wall.
“Asher. He’s my ex.” My fingers knot in the fabric at my thighs.
“Things got rough, and I eventually left.”
Sterling's jaw clenches, “That’s not a good enough answer.”
“My story isn’t something you get a say in.
” He inches closer. I sigh. “Okay.” I pull in a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking in my chest. “I met Asher after an accident that wiped out my memories for a few years. I was about fourteen. New town, new school, freshman year, clinging to the first friend I made—Lila. He was the cool kid, the one everyone watched, and for some reason, he decided to watch me. So we started seeing each other, figuring it was just puppy love, something that would burn out the way teenage flings always do. But it didn’t.
I fell in love with him. He was sweet and careful with me at first, all soft smiles and gentle hands—right up until I turned eighteen.
Then it was like someone flipped a switch.
If I said no, he’d get furious. If I wasn’t perfect in public, if I spoke out of turn or didn’t match the version of me in his head, I paid for it later.
Shortly after my twentieth birthday, I told him no—that I was tired, that I didn’t feel good.
That was all it took to set him off. And I was done by then, worn thin and over it, so instead of apologizing, I tried to leave.
Asher grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to the bedroom. ”