Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Eve
Sucking in a sharp breath, I adjust the small black duffel bag on my shoulder, and glance up, up, up at the imposing Victorian mansion in front of me. Even in the morning light, the house has a spooky vibe. I mean, it’s painted black, for God’s sake. Black to reflect the hearts of the guys who live there.
A frigid breeze blows off the ocean, and a shiver rolls down my spine. It feels like a bad omen. A warning from the Universe. Abandon all hope ye who enter here…
But I have no choice.
I close my eyes, count to three, then open them, stepping forward before I can rethink this whole dumb plan and turn around. My stomach churns as I pass two gnarled gargoyles and walk up the front steps.
There’s a large, muscular guy on the porch, hands clasped in front of him, on alert. He and a few other security guys appeared right after the Shadow and Ash attack several weeks ago.
As I approach, I study the guy. He’s all muscle and unflinching focus as he stands with his legs arm’s width apart, hands behind his back, his emotionless eyes trained on me.
How much are the Sacred Sons paying him to stand here all day? I’m sure it’s a lot, not that it matters. The Burning Crown is flush with money, and hiring a private army to protect their four exalted leaders is probably just a drop in the bucket to them.
I plan on ignoring the security guard, but as I step up to the door and lift my hand to knock, he addresses me sternly. “Name?”
“I’m here to see the Sacred Sons.”
His expression hardens when he realizes I’m not a member. “Name,” he repeats, his thick jaw tightening.
Goddamn. “My name is Eve, and I need to talk to them about something sensitive.”
The guy tilts his chin up and looks down at me, like he’s already suspicious. Shit . He holds out one massive hand, palm up. “Identification.”
“I don’t have any with me.”
His hand moves to the gun tucked in his waistband, and he steps forward. “Leave these premises at once or the police will be alerted.”
My already churning stomach is a complete mess now, and my heart is beating so fast that I’m starting to feel dizzy. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of leaving. There’s too much at stake. So I do the only thing I can and tap into the microscopic pool of bravery I have buried deep, deep down.
Sucking in a gulp of air, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Call the police if you want, but I’m not leaving until I see the Sacred Sons. You can tell them I’m here to talk about Shadow and Ash.”
His nostrils flare when I mention Shadow and Ash, his gaze flicking over me critically. “Your bag, over there.” He points to a corner of the porch that’s several feet away. “And you’ll need to consent to a full-body pat down.”
My hand tightens on the strap of my duffel bag, reluctant to give it up. “Will I get it back?”
He pins me down with an aggressive, drill-sergeant stare. “As long as you’re not hiding any weapons. Are you? ”
Pressing my lips together, I slide the duffel bag off my shoulder and allow it to fall with a heavy thud onto the wooden planks. “Keep it close. My EpiPen is in the outside pocket.”
He acknowledges that with a curt nod.
Lifting my arms over my head, I spread my legs. Thank God, I’m wearing jeans. Skye had suggested I wear a short dress to “encourage” the Sacred Sons to accept my proposal. But in the end, I decided against it. I grew up around a bunch of guys, and I know for a fact they don’t need much encouragement when it comes to the opposite sex. Most of them are willing to fuck anything that moves.
The guard pats me down quickly and takes my phone from my back pocket. “Security code?”
“91125,” I grate out.
With a stiff nod, he gets on his walkie and tells someone on the receiving end why I’m here.
“Copy,” is the garbled response.
I turn to face the massive front door, expecting the guard to let me in. Instead, he resumes his original position, eyes focused straight ahead.
Um, hello? I lift my hands. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
“You’ll need to wait,” is his only answer.
My eyes drop to my duffel. “And my bag?”
“It’ll have to be cleared.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he’s not doing that now, but I hold it back. I don’t want to piss these people off before I’ve even gotten through the front door.
So I just stand there awkwardly until, finally, the front door opens. A massive figure fills the doorway, and my hand flies to my throat. Shit. He’s so tall, and his muscles are so big, they strain the seams of his t-shirt. His dark hair and green eyes give him away immediately.
He’s one of the Sacred Sons—Jackson McKnight.
His gaze flicks to the guard, who nods at him in response. “She’s been checked. She’s clean.”
“Yup,” I smirk. “I left my machine gun at home.”
No response. Cool. I clear my throat awkwardly.
Jackson looks down at me like I’m a bug he’d like to squash. “What do you want?”
Am I supposed to make my case out here on the porch? “I need to speak with the Sacred Sons,” I answer.
Jackson crosses his arms over his broad chest. Of all the Sons, he’s the largest and most intimidating. They’re all brutal, but there’s something uniquely ruthless in Jackson’s eyes that instantly makes me second-guess this whole thing.
“I’m a Sacred Son,” he says impatiently, like he’d rather be doing literally anything else than talking to me right now. When I hesitate, he glances over at the security guard. “Yates, get her out of here.”
“Wait, it’s important,” I say in a rush. “But I need to speak with all the Sacred Sons.”
“About what, exactly?”
I pause. Maybe this was a dumb idea. These guys are never going to listen to me, and I was an idiot for thinking they might—especially since Christian hates me. He already thinks I’m a liar.
“You know what, never mind,” I say, holding my hand out so the guard can hand me my duffle bag. With one hand still on his gun, he moves to retrieve it.
“Hold up,” Jackson says, opening the door wider. “Come in. But if you touch anything, I swear to God, I’ll rip your fingers off one by one.”
My hands curl into fists. “Yup. Got it.”
Jesus.
It’s the middle of the morning, but as soon as I step into the ancient house, darkness engulfs me. And when Jackson shuts the door, the morning light is blotted out entirely, only a faint gleam coming in through the intricate stained glass windows in the entryway.
The Sacred Sons are born in darkness, and they live in darkness, too, apparently. It’s no wonder their souls are as black as tar and just as disgusting.
“Follow me,” Jackson says, like a young, handsome, but very moody butler.
He leads me through the foyer and down a long hallway. Rush House looms over the ExU campus like a living thing, but I’ve never been inside, and I can’t help but admire it. It screams old money. Massive gold frames house paintings that look like they should be in a museum. And predictably, most of the portraits are of men, each one staring down at the observer with snobbish contempt.
Charming.
We reach a set of double doors, and Jackson pushes them open, then ushers me inside. It’s a huge room with massive bookshelves, a fireplace surrounded by a tufted leather sofa and matching chairs. It looks like something out of an old movie—a patriarch’s paradise.
“You can sit down,” he says distractedly while he types out a text.
Yeah, no . I move to stand next to the unlit fireplace, my hands clasped in front of me. Sitting would put me in an even more vulnerable position than I’m already in, so I remain standing. It makes me feel like I’m in control.
Jackson’s phone rings, and he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him before answering it. While he’s talking, I strain to catch a stray word, but I’m too far away from the door, so I can’t really hear anything.
With a deep, steadying breath, I try to calm my nerves, but it’s pointless. I’m in the lion’s den now, and once the Sacred Sons find out who I am, anything could happen—and there’s no one here to protect me. I’m on my own.
Several agonizing minutes pass before the door opens again, and Jackson walks back through the door. But this time, he’s followed by two other guys—Ethan Ashford, aka “Ash,” and Christian West.
I knew he’d be here, and yet, my breath literally catches when Christian walks through the door. For one, he’s shirtless and dripping wet, like he was plucked right out of the ocean for this meeting.
Damn. My gaze trails over his torso, taking in every sculpted line, from the chiseled definition of his chest to the ridges of his abs, down even further to that dusting of blond hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his black swim trunks. My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip.
Eve, you’re staring.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I jerk my eyes up to meet his, mortified to find him staring back at me with an amused smirk. Ugh , shit.
Does he recognize me? I can’t tell. We haven’t been face-to-face since that terrifying day in the hallway, but he looks exactly the same—that same swagger, same cocky smile. The same long fingers that did wicked things to me in the middle of the psych building…
I swear, I can still feel him inside me. And that face. It’s the same face I see at night when I touch myself. I know, I know. I shouldn’t be imagining him in any scenario, let alone fucking me. But that’s my one shameful secret—I masturbate to a guy I loathe with every burning fiber of my being. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with that, but I try not to analyze it too much.
Breathe, Eve. Just breathe.
For a couple of minutes, we all stand in awkward silence. It’s like they’re waiting for something—or someone. Probably Lucas. The Sacred Sons are an aristocracy, and all decisions regarding the Burning Crown are made among the four of them—at least, that’s what I’ve read. So I’m guessing they need Lucas here before we can begin.
Another few minutes pass before Lucas finally bursts in, looking disheveled and annoyed. He doesn’t notice me at first, but when he finally does, he looks confused. “Who the fuck is this?”
My gaze shifts nervously to Christian, but he doesn’t say anything, and I have no idea what to make of that. Maybe he doesn’t recognize me. It shouldn’t surprise me. Anyone outside his circle is just a non-player character in his world. I have a feeling we all move around in the background, existing for the sole purpose of his sick entertainment.
That’s clearly all I was to him—someone in the background who caught his attention for a brief, terrifying moment. Then once he was done with me, I was forgotten. Probably before he’d even stepped out of the building.
Knowing that should give me a sense of relief. Against all odds, I’d managed to dodge a bullet. But instead of feeling relieved, the sting of him not recognizing me cuts through me. I’ve obviously been thinking about him way more than he’s been thinking about me.
I need therapy.
Jackson shrugs. “No fucking clue. She popped up about twenty minutes ago and said she was here about the Shadow and Ash shit. We figured you’d probably want to hear what she has to say, too.”
Lucas looks at me more closely. “What’s your name?”
Oh, fuck . Here we go.
I take a deep breath. “My name is Eve,” I say, fighting to keep my voice from shaking. I ball my hands into fists and lift my chin. “Eve Savano.”
Every one of their faces shifts from annoyed curiosity to alarm, their eyes widening, muscles tensing…
Welp , that’s it. The die is cast. There’s no turning back. My fate is now in the hands of the most ruthless guys on campus, and the only thing going through my head is…
What the hell am I doing?