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But…he has taken the chaos out of my mind. He’s…distracting.
“What was that place?” I ask, my face still plastered into his dress shirt. I peer upward to find the first couple of his buttons undone, giving me a peek of a strong chest. Alaric Barclay might be the finest specimen I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’m This. Close.
“That house…” Alaric huffs out a breath. “It’s the house Leo grew up in.”
I gasp at that revelation. I’d imagined it was some creepy, abandoned house that the Knights had randomly chosen. Or perhaps that’s always the place they leave their abducted girls.
I lift myself up and peer into his dark green gaze. “Why?” I ask, wondering if it’s possible that this isn’t only about me. “Why there?”
Alaric shrugs as if this is all so commonplace. “Leo’s grandfather likes to fuck with him. He’s a sadistic old bastard. Like the rest of us,” he quickly adds, glaring down at me. “Only he’s been doing it a lot longer, so he’s really fucking good at it.” He tightens his grip again, and my skin burns underneath his touch. “Leo’s the one who knew how to find you because of the note they sent with the black roses.”
“Black roses.” That seems a little too on the nose. “You’re kidding?”
“We’re nothing if not dramatic.”
We’re…I keep forgetting that he’s a Knight, then he does or says something that brings me right back around to the truth. Is it possible that Alaric knew where I was this entire time? He’d deny it, of course, butwesounds suspiciously like an admission. It’s a reminder that no matter how hot he is, I can’t trust him. Or Leo for that matter, whether he deciphered the note that set me free or not.
Alaric and Leo are doing this because they have to. Because the Elders paired us together, and they have some sort of sick loyalty to them—maybe Alaric most of all.
The feelings creep back in again. I try to close my eyes to block them out, but the complete and utter darkness and loneliness of being in that empty room, my hearing the only sense that was working... Every gust of wind across the windows… Every tiny squeak… All of it meant something was about to happen. The entire time I was tied up, I was on full alert, waiting for the hammer to come dropping down.
To be at someone else’s mercy is terrifying. If I never feel that way again, I’ll count myself very lucky. It’s like walking a tightrope with no understanding of where the hard surface that will break you is.
Alaric must feel the panic surge through my body again. He presses in close, his chin resting on the top of my head. I squeeze him tight, not because he’s a demigod of good looks, but because he’s the most stable thing I can cling to right now—even if he isn’t safe at all.
“Shh, you’re in your room at your residence hall. You’re free. You’re safe.” He repeats this over and over, and right before my eyes flutter closed in sleep, he grinds out, “And we won’t let that shit happen to you again.”
If only someone could make a promise like that and keep it.
17
Leo
If you can’t beat them, join them.
My heart pounds in my chest. As soon as the last tether to this godforsaken place exits my car, I reverse out of the parking lot, the tires once again sticking to the pavement like glue as I push the engine to its limits, leaving them all—and this night—behind.
My grandfather is a sadistic bastard. He knew what he was doing when he sent me there. It’s like I’m undergoing Trials right alongside the Astor girl and the prince. He’s fucking with me.
I’m hardly dressed for where I’m going now, but I really don’t give a fuck. The only thought pulsing through my mind is asking my grandfather what he’s playing at.
The corner building in the two-stoplight town is a little fancier than the rest of the places in the area. Downstairs, it’s a regular old townie bar with grime on the floor and sticky countertops. That’s more my scene—drinking beer and watching the game on the big screen, ogling girls in tight clothes that give just as good as they get.
Once you go past the velvet curtain and up the winding staircase in the corner, though, you’re in a completely different world. More often than not, you can find Knights drinking whiskey at the posh bar or smoking cigars in designer chairs. Up here, the men are all wearing tailored suits and polished Oxfords. Sure, they may have their ties loose around their necks, but they’re never far away from business. This isn’t a place to chill. It’s a place to make backroom deals and plot someone’s downfall.
Grandfather often asks me to meet him here. Only because he wants to show me how respected he is.
Like I could ever forget.
As soon as I step foot in the section that screams money, the walls squeeze in on me. Heads swivel at my entrance then peer away as if I’m nothing but the dirt under their shoe. Part of me has always wanted to make them choke on how much they despise me. It’s the only thing that keeps me going sometimes.
I spot the old man in a velvet settee straight out of the Victorian era, puffing on the butt of his cigar. Seconds later, a plume escapes from his lips that reminds me of the atomic bomb detonating. The woman who lit it shakes the match until the flame dies, then climbs onto his lap. The slit in her dress allows her to spread her pussy over my grandfather’s thigh.
It’s disgusting. The girl is younger than me. Sure, she may be wearing a dress that’s as fashionable as it is slutty, but her actions screamwould do anything for a handout. I suppose if she squints, she wouldn’t be able to tell how old he is, but even then, she’d have to be intentionally blind when she reaches for his wrinkly dick.
“Ah, son,” Grandfather greets, as if he’s just seen me. “Come, sit right here.”
He pats the place next to him on the couch. I do as he says but perch myself as far away as possible from the two of them. The woman glances over, but I don’t pay her any attention. I’m here for him.