Page 30

The mask itches against my skin as I adjust it back into place, the elastic biting into the nape of my neck.

I’m still hard. Not just aroused, but tight with something sharp, something hot under the surface.

That girl Sienna. Everything about her throws me off balance, and I hate it.

I hate how the memory of her pressed against the wall refuses to fade, how her breath caught when I whispered filth in her ear.

I wanted to break her just then. Still do.

But Logan’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

“New kid’s drunk. Making a mess in the hallway.”

I know exactly who he’s talking about. There’s only one new kid on the Reaper’s radar who matters enough to cause problems, and that’s Eli.

The hallway reeks of beer and weed when I round the corner. I don’t need Logan to point him out. Eli’s swaying against the wall, shirt rumpled, hair a mess, eyes glazed over with whatever he downed. He sees me and stumbles forward, sloppy and slow.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” he slurs, fists half-clenched.

I don’t answer. Just step in and drive my fist into his gut, then one across his jaw. He crumples to the floor with a dull thud, finally quiet.

“Idiot,” I mutter, grabbing his collar and hauling him up. Dead weight. I sling his arm over my shoulder and drag him out the side door of the frat house.

No one stops me. No one dares.

The air outside is colder, biting through the heat of the party. My car’s parked in the shadows behind the fence. I shove Eli into the back seat. He slumps sideways, out cold, mumbling something incoherent.

Two problems. One drunk. One disobedient.

I down a shot of bourbon from the flask in the glove compartment. It burns, but I need it. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and head back inside. She’s still in the upstairs room, probably plotting something. Probably waiting to try and outsmart me again. Not tonight.

I walk into the room, grab her by the arm, and yank her toward the back stairs. She struggles, but I grip tighter.

“Don’t make a sound,” I whisper against her ear. “Not unless you want everyone here to see what I do to little spies.”

She stiffens but follows.

“Where are you taking me?” she hisses under her breath, heels clicking against the concrete steps as we descend.

“You’ll see.”

The parking lot is nearly empty from this angle. I open the back door and shove her inside. Her body freezes the moment she sees Eli slumped on the seat beside her.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, voice sharp with panic. “Is he dead?”

“Shut it.” I slam the door shut behind her and climb into the driver’s seat.

I tear the mask from my face and toss it on the dashboard.

It’s not like she doesn’t know who I am now.

The silence in the car is tight, stretched thin as I start the engine.

I should take them both home. I should dump Eli on his mattress and lock Sienna back in that damn room until she learns her lesson.

But that won’t work. Not now. Not with what she tried to pull tonight.

So instead, I head for the highway.

My father can’t know about this. He’d skin me alive if he knew I laid hands on a girl like her. Worse if he finds out what I’ve been doing behind the scenes with the Reapers. No. I need time. Privacy. Somewhere no one will ask questions.

The lake house that Noah owns is two hours out. Secluded. No neighbors. No rules.

Sienna’s breathing gets heavier the further we drive. She knows we’re leaving the city. Her fingers twitch on her lap, like she wants to reach for her phone. Too bad I already took it. It’s in the glove compartment beside my blade. She’s stuck now.

“I swear,” she finally says, voice low and tight, “if you hurt him…”

“You’re really in no position to make threats.”

She falls silent.

The road curves and dips in the dark, headlights cutting long streaks through the trees. I glance in the rearview mirror. Eli hasn’t moved. Just dead weight with a fading bruise blooming on his cheek. Sienna shifts closer to him like she can protect him. Or maybe protect herself.

The lake house finally comes into view. Black windows. Cold driveway. Forest pressing in from all sides. I kill the engine and step out.

“Get out,” I say, opening the back door.

She doesn’t move.

I lean in and grab her by the wrist. “I said get out.”

She looks from me to Eli, then back, eyes stormy with something between fear and hate. She slides out of the car but not before pulling at Eli’s shoulder. “He needs help.”

“He needs to sleep it off. You? You need to learn when to stop pushing.”

I grab Eli again and sling him over my shoulder. He groans, useless, still deep in whatever haze he drowned himself in. I kick the front door open and carry him to the guest room on the main floor. Drop him on the bed and shut the door behind me.

Sienna’s still by the car, arms folded tight across her chest. Her makeup’s faded. Eyes rimmed with dark liner, lips stained from whatever color she put on earlier. She looks defiant. But under it, she’s shaking.

“You brought us here alone?” she asks as I walk back toward her.

“I needed quiet.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out.”

I reach for her again, but she pulls back. “Don’t touch me.”

I grin. “Still so brave. Still pretending this isn’t all your fault.”

“I didn’t ask to be dragged here.”

“No. But you want to spy on us. You thought recording me, filming the inside of a Reaper party was a good idea. What was the plan, huh? Post it all online? Call the cops? Daddy swoops in and saves the day?”

Her jaw tightens.

I step closer. “You’re lucky it was me who found that equipment. Anyone else would’ve done worse.”

She glares up at me. “You are not some savior, Caleb. You’re sick.”

My smile fades. “And yet your pussy is wet with one glance.”

I reach into my jacket, pull out the recorder she tried to hide in her bag, and hold it up.

“Evidence,” I say. “That’s what this was about?”

“I wanted the truth.”

“Well. Now you have it.”

I pocket the device again and tilt my head. “Welcome to the Reapers, Sienna. Membership’s a bitch.”

The space smells like cedar and old leather. Clean. Untouched for weeks.

Eli could choke on vomit or some shit, so I decide to drag his dead weight onto the sofa in the living room. He groans but doesn’t wake. One arm flops off the side. I check his pulse with two fingers just to be sure. Still there, slow and steady. Good enough.

I make my way into the kitchen. The fridge hums to life when I open it, and a half-used package of ribeye sits exactly where I left it last time. Some garlic. Butter. Salt. That’s all I need. I pull a cast iron from the drawer, set it on the stove, and click the burner on.

Sienna lingers by the counter, eyes bouncing between the hallway and Eli’s unconscious body like she’s planning an escape..

“You’re cooking?” she asks, arms crossed again, like that’s going to protect her from anything.

“You prefer I starve?” I tear open the steak pack and slap one down into the pan, the sizzle filling the room.

“You just… knocked out your teammate and kidnapped me. And now you’re making steak.”

“I’m hungry.”

She doesn’t answer. Just huffs and moves to the freezer. She rummages through the drawers, pulls out a small bag of frozen peas.

“What’s that for?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

She shoots me a glare. “You slapped me, asshole.”

That makes me grin. Not because it’s funny. Because she says it like I should feel bad.

“You’ll live.”

She presses the peas to her cheek, lips tight.

Her reflection in the microwave window is sharp, full of resentment and something hotter underneath.

I flip the steak, watching the fat crackle, and throw in a chunk of butter and a few smashed cloves of garlic.

The smell fills the kitchen, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“You really thought it was smart to show up at that party?” I ask without turning.

“I didn’t show up for you.”

“No? What then?” I look at her. “What possessed you to sneak back into the lion’s den after last time?”

She says nothing. Just watches me.

I plate the steak and cut into it, juices running red. I tear into a piece, leaning back against the counter. She’s still holding the peas to her cheek.

Then, without warning, she grabs the button of her jeans and shoves them down past her hips. My fork clinks against the plate.

The words stamped above her thigh catch the light.

Property of Eli.

A tattoo. Black ink, clean lines, right above her hip bone. My jaw locks.

That bastard. He actually branded her. Not metaphorically. Not possessively. Inked his name into her like she is something to own.

I swallow, and for a second, my grip on the fork tightens. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, voice low.

“You said I was stupid for going to that party.” She yanks her jeans back up and zips them. “Maybe you’re right.”

I toss the plate in the sink without finishing the rest.

I cross the space between us, fast, and she steps back.

“Let me see your cheek.”

“I’m fine.”

I reach anyway, fingers catching her jaw. She tries to slap my hand away, but I hold her firm, tilting her face to the side. The bruise is already blooming, purple and ugly.

“I said I’m fine,” she spits.

“Stop squirming.”

“You hit me.”

“And you lied. Snooped. Filmed. You’re lucky it was just a slap.”

She glares at me. Her mouth’s tight. But she doesn’t pull away again.

I let her go and wipe my hands on a towel.

“For someone who claims to hate me and Eli, you sure spend a lot of time around us.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps.

“No need. You’re here. That’s proof enough. Now are you staying for dinner?”

She storms off down the hall, probably looking for a place to lock herself in. Too bad. I’m done playing their games. If they’re going to keep acting like children, I’ll treat them like it.