Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Eve
The way he says, “Now let’s talk terms,” reminds me of a businessman closing a deal. Except we’re not in a board room and Christian West isn’t wearing a suit—he’s wearing swim trunks and a sardonic grin that I’m desperate to claw off his face with my blunt fingernails.
Chill, Eve, I tell myself.
While I’m here, I’ll have to try my best to stay away from him. Of all the guys, I’ve noticed he watches me the closest. Those crazy blue eyes track my every movement, eating me up, and then spitting me out. And I already know how cruel he can be, just for the fun of it.
Fuck Christian West.
“Okay, what terms do you propose?” I ask.
“You belong to us for three months,” Christian says, eyeing me lazily, a white ribbon of smoke curling into the air as he speaks. “And we get free rein. Nothing is off limits.”
Three months ? My God, there’s no way I’d survive here for that long.
“Three weeks, ” I counter. “And consent is required for anything sexual…”
I realize I have zero leverage in this negotiation, but delusional thinking has never stopped me before. You don’t get what you don’t ask for, right?
Jackson and Ash glance at each other, but it’s clear Christian isn’t interested in what the other guys think. Those icy blue eyes burn into me as he approaches slowly, closing the short distance between us. He places a hand on the door behind me, his muscular body curving over me, and I’m reminded of that moment in the hallway of the psych building yet again .
“Three months,” he repeats, his tone hard. Cold. He’s not giving an inch, and I can already tell that this guy doesn’t negotiate. He dictates. “And if it’s consent you want, then you can give it to us right now or the deal is off and you can get the fuck out.”
His warmth surrounds me, and I force a swallow. Shit . I can’t walk away now, not when there’s a chance I can save my brother from his own stupidity—even if the idea of “belonging” to these assholes makes my skin crawl.
My eyes flick up to meet his. “You can’t cause any permanent damage.” His lips curl up at the corners, making him look devilish. “No promises, pet.”
I flash him a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. It’s all I can muster. “So, when you said ‘Let’s talk terms,’ you meant you’d dictate them to me. You have no interest in actually negotiating.”
“You’re catching on.” He pulls back and glances at the other guys. “Good news, she’s a quick learner. This might actually be fun.”
Disgust slithers down my spine, and I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from lashing out. Christian West represents everything I hate about the elite, and having to throw myself at his mercy absolutely kills me, but what other choice do I have? If I walk away and my brother is killed, I’d never forgive myself.
My mouth is dry, and I swallow. “I’ll continue to attend my classes...”
His eyes narrow at my statement. I can’t risk missing classes. I’ve worked too hard to just throw it all away.
Tension crackles between us as I challenge Christian’s apparent authority. His jaw tightens, and I can almost see him wrestling with his need for control. Then a single, curt word breaks the silence. “Fine.”
“So, do we have a deal, or what?” I ask.
Christian steps back and allows his gaze to wander slowly over me again. I get the sense he’s considering his next words, and I brace myself for another outlandish demand, like telling me to strip naked before he’ll make a decision. In the end, though, he pushes out a breath like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Sure, whatever.”
Relief washes over me, even as fear takes root in my chest. It’s weird how you can feel two such strong emotions at the same time. But now that I officially “belong” to the Sacred Sons, what will I be subjected to?
“Can I get dressed now?” I ask, my jaw tightening.
Christian lights his blunt again and pulls in another lungful of smoke. “No,” he says with a lazy smile. “You can run along to the kitchen and make us sandwiches while we figure out what to do with you.”
“I need my duffel bag.” I look past Christian to the other guys. They seem more reasonable. “And where am I going to sleep?”
Christian pushes off the door and grabs my chin forcefully, his fingers pinching my skin, making me wince. “Roman isn’t using his bedroom at the moment, and it’s right next to mine. You can sleep there for now.”
He doesn’t explain what “for now” means, and honestly, I’m too afraid to ask.
“Now off you go to the kitchen…” he says dismissively, releasing my chin.
I take a step to the side, so I can get the door open, his rough laughter following me into the hall. I have no idea where the kitchen is and there’s no one around to ask, so I wander back the way Jackson and I came, toward the entryway. There, sitting next to the front door is my duffel bag and I rush over to it. The security guard must have searched through it and deemed it “clean.” Thank God.
Fumbling around inside the bag, my hand closes around the one thing I give a fuck about. I pull out the little box that’s wrapped in whimsical Christmas paper and I turn it carefully in my hands, inspecting every corner and edge—no tears, no crushed spots. The paper looks undamaged, and I feel my shoulders relax as relief washes over me.
Putting the box back delicately, I pull out the first thing I see—another knitted sweater—and put it on. I’ll probably get in trouble for covering myself up, but it’s freezing in this house, and I’m willing to take the consequences at this point.
After wandering aimlessly through the house, I finally find the kitchen. It’s all the way in the back and it’s… beautiful . More beautiful than these assholes deserve, for sure. Dark cabinets and marble countertops. But when I open the stainless steel fridge, there’s practically nothing inside. Beer, flavored coffee creamer, a few fast food containers, and a handful of condiments. No bread, lunch meat, cheese, or anything even resembling sandwich components.
Shutting the fridge, I push out a breath, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Christian sent me in here knowing I wouldn’t find anything to fulfill his stupid request. Five minutes into this, and I’ve already been set up to fail.
I don’t have a lot of money, but I have some. I could find a grocery store and buy the things I need, but I’m not even sure I’m allowed to leave the house. Physical boundaries weren’t mentioned during our negotiation. Should I risk it?
I’m leaning against the cold marble island, trying to calculate risk versus reward, when I hear someone walk into the kitchen behind me.
“Eve?”
I twist sound to see a familiar face staring back at me. It’s Skye. Relief floods me as I rush over and pull her into a tight hug. “Oh, my God. It’s so good to see a friendly face.” I pull back with a realization. “Wait…what are you doing here? I thought only members were invited inside Rush House?”
Her cheeks flush, and she glances away. “I was initiated last night.”
Wait, what?
Is she serious?
That’s when I notice the shallow cut on the side of her neck and her swollen bottom lip. She’s wearing lip gloss, so it wasn’t immediately noticeable.
“I’m sorry,” I laugh, shaking my head, trying to wrap my head around this. “I’m so confused. You never told me you were interested in joining the Burning Crown…”
“Yeah, honestly, I wasn’t…” she says. “...but you were going to be here, and I just thought…” Her words trail off, and she doesn’t continue, maybe worried I’m going to judge her. That kinda hurts, if I’m being honest.
“Oh,” I intone, not sure what to say. “Well, congrats. That’s good news, right?”
She smiles at me. “Thanks, yeah. It is. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, though. You know, considering everything that’s going on with your brother…”
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little taken aback by her being here and initiated , no less. I’ve told her all the fucked up shit the Burning Crown does—the lives they’ve destroyed just for shits and giggles—but to each their own, I guess, right?
“Honestly, I’m surprised to see you here…I guess I never thought you’d go for something like this.” I try to keep my tone non-judgmental, but damn , she actually joined the Burning Crown. Wow. That’s a hard pill to swallow.
She shrugs. “I know they have their issues, but they do a lot of good, too. Plus, I didn’t want you to be here all alone.”
I know it’s just an excuse she’s throwing out there, but if I’m being honest, I’m selfishly glad she’s here. Because she’s right, navigating all this alone for the next three months would have sucked.
And, to be fair, she fits in here. She’s thin with perky boobs, beautiful. Unlike me. I’m the complete opposite of a Burning Crown debutante —I think they call them “Debs” for short. Most of the female members fit a certain aesthetic. Thin. Long blond hair. I cringe at the idea of stereotyping other women, but facts are facts.
“Thanks,” I say, flashing her a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. Really.”
She lets out a long breath, and her shoulders relax. “Thank God,” she says, then blinks and glances around. “So I guess they accepted your proposal?”
“Yup. Hook, line, and sinker…”
She smiles playfully. “See, I told you. I knew they’d accept. Guys are idiots.”
“Preach,” I say with a laugh.
God, it is good to have her here.
“So…” She glances around, confused. “Why are you just randomly standing in the kitchen?”
Oh, right. I almost forgot why I was in here. “Christian told me to make sandwiches, but there’s no food in the cupboards or in the fridge. I’m starting to think he’s playing some kind of head game with me.”
“No food? With a house full of guys?” She walks to the cupboards and opens them all, then checks the fridge. As I said, empty. “Wow, you’re right.” She thinks for a minute. “I could pop over to the campus market and grab a couple of things, if you want. I don’t have class for another couple of hours.”
I perk up at that. “Oh, would you? I have money—” I say.
She waves me off, already moving toward the back door. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”
When Skye returns fifteen minutes later, she’s carrying three overstuffed reusable bags. “I wasn’t sure what you needed, so I just got a bunch of stuff.”
She unloads the groceries one by one: chips, lettuce, tomato, bread, milk, two different kinds of lunch meat, and cheese.
I throw my arms around her neck and give her an awkward hug. “You’re a godsend.”
“No worries,” she says, folding the bags up and putting them in the cupboard. “We look out for each other, right?”
“You’d better get out of here before someone sees you helping me,” I say.
If the Sacred Sons know Skye is my friend, then they might try to keep her away from me—which would suck so hard.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Good luck.”
When she leaves, I make the sandwiches quickly, then cut them into little squares and arrange them artistically on one large plate. I’ve been gone for longer than half an hour, and I’m nervous one of them will come looking for me, so I hustle down the hallway to the study, pushing the door open.
The guys aren’t in here.
The study is empty.
Um…? Where’d they go?
I’m about to go searching for them when I remember I’m wearing the sweater. I bristle at the thought of going topless again, but I don’t want to get in trouble, either, so I set the plate down, pull the sweater off quickly, and toss it in the corner by the door. Then I pick the plate back up and step out of the room.
Laughter trickles down the hallway, and I move toward it. It’s coming from behind a closed door. Swallowing, I reach out with my free hand and pull it open.
It’s a living room, and it’s more modern than the rest of the house. It’s huge with a large couch, a television, and a pool table. It’s like a frat boy’s wet dream in here. There are about two dozen people in here—guys and girls—lounging, shooting pool, playing video games. I spot Skye, sitting on the couch next to a guy, his hand resting on her bare knee.
I pause in the doorway, and everyone goes silent, turning to look at me.
“There she is,” Christian says jovially, piercing the long stretch of silence. He’s lounging on the couch, looking at me with a lazy smile as some girl kisses her way down his chest. Blinking, I pull my gaze away quickly.
“Where do you want these?” I’m staring down at the rug, heat blooming in my cheeks. My heart feels like a caged animal slamming against my ribs, frantically trying to break free. What happens when it does? Dying of a heart attack might be nice, honestly. Better than having to endure this humiliation.
“Walk over to the pool table,” Christian instructs.
Without lifting my eyes, I do what I’m told.
“Now, set the plate down and take the rest of your clothes off,” he says smoothly.
I glance up at him sharply. “What?” He can’t be serious. “In front of everyone?”
Earlier, when he had me strip down in the study, I got the vibe it was just to prove a point. But that point was proven. Why have me strip down again in front of all these people?
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, though his tone is more amused than threatening.
I don’t move. My mind is working furiously, trying to figure a way out of this, but as the seconds tick by and the silence lengthens, tension starts building in the room.
“Eve,” Christian says calmly. “Remember why you’re here. Do you really want to fuck up our little peace treaty over something so trivial?”
Trivial? I scoff inwardly. Of course, he’d say this is trivial—Debs probably strip for him all the time. Hell, half the girls in this room are already half-naked. For him, this is just a regular Tuesday, right?
But for me, this is beyond humiliating. For one, I don’t have bodies like these girls. I’m at least twenty pounds heavier, which isn’t a bad thing—half these girls could eat a burger—but I’m not thrilled about a bunch of random people scrutinizing my naked body.
You know what, though? Who cares. I’m never going to see these psychos again after this, anyway.
With clipped, angry movements, I remove my shoes, socks, and jeans, leaving my panties on. I expect a curt demand to remove those, too, but it doesn’t come. Thank God.
“Get up on the pool table, and place the sandwiches on your body,” he says.
The look on his face is cruel, mocking, and it’s all becoming clear to me now. He’s enjoying this. My humiliation amuses him.
The fucking asshole.
Right then and there, I decide I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing my embarrassment. Outwardly, at least.
Forcing a neutral expression, I climb up onto the pool table and lie on my back, awkwardly reaching out for the plate so I can scatter the little sandwiches on my body.
When I’m done, I lie there, stiff as a board, staring up at the crystal chandelier that hangs like a guillotine over my head. Chatter erupts all around me, and I’m sure everyone is confused as to what’s going on—or maybe not. I don’t know, maybe the Sacred Sons humiliate girls all the time. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if this were a regular thing.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to imagine I’m somewhere else, anywhere else—Mammoth Mountain, traipsing through the fresh snow. When I was a kid, my parents used to rent a cabin there. I can still remember sitting at the window with my mom, watching the snow fall, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in my small hands. If I focus, I can still feel the warmth of the mug…
“Well, gentlemen, looks like lunch is served.” Christian’s deep baritone cuts through my little fantasy and brings me sharply back to reality. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starved…”