Page 47 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

NOAH

W hat the hell are you doing? Dad’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and heavy, like a whip. He stands in the doorway, blocking the escape.

I startle, panic shooting through me as I scramble to put distance between myself and where I sit on my bed. Pascal’s hand is still awkwardly wedged in my pants. “N-nothing.”

“You call that nothing?” Dad’s voice is low, dangerously calm. “You are disgusting, filthy boys.” He turns to Pascal, his eyes narrowing. “Pascal, does your father know?”

“No, sir.” Pascal springs to his feet, his hands instinctively cupping his groin as he backs away, his face burning with embarrassment. I quickly tuck myself in, cheeks flushed hot with shame.

Dad takes a step forward, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you know what your father would do if he found out?”

“It was nothing,” I rush, the words spilling out too quickly, like they aren’t mine. I reach up, touching my mouth absentmindedly. My lips still itch from our kisses. It had meant something to me.

“It’s sick,” Dad spits, his voice rising. “Two men. Disgusting. Go home, Pascal. Now.” Pascal doesn’t hesitate. He turns and bolts out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Dad closes the door behind him, the sound of it clicking shut like a prison gate. He leans against it, arms crossed. “This has been going on for too long, Noah. I hoped it was some teenage confusion, but today’s action is proof that you can’t be cured.”

A sick feeling curls in my stomach as he continues.

“I know about the magazines. I found them under your mattress. I won’t have any of that in this house.

You are sick.” He lets out a deep breath, rubbing his forehead, and his voice softens for a moment, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“I don’t want you here with your mother and baby sister when I’m gone. ”

I stand frozen, my heart sinking. This isn’t happening. He’s not really saying this.

“I’ve always known there was something wrong with you,” he mutters, as if explaining it all to himself. “You were always different. Dysfunctional. Why me?”

He doesn’t even seem to be talking to me anymore, just ranting in his own twisted world.

My thoughts swirl. I’ve never touched a boy before today, but Dad is right.

I have wanted to. So badly. For months now.

Those magazines… the ones he found. Naked men.

I’ve touched myself while staring at them, had come all over their naked sternums and barely covered cocks.

It isn’t just shame, it’s sharper, like acid behind my ribs.

I look down. I should have known. The way they all made fun of me… They saw it before I did.

Dad’s gaze snaps back to mine. “I want you gone from this house. You have ten minutes.” His voice is cold, final.

“What? But, Dad—” I start, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying.

“Pack your stuff and get the hell out of here. You are no longer my son. You’ve been a rebellious teen ever since you turned fourteen.

Your mom knows it, I know it. The entire goddamn town knows it.

” His words are like knives, each one sharper than the last. “Pack your bag and get the hell out before she gets back. I’m tired of your sickness.

” He clicks the door shut behind him with a finality that makes the room feel even colder.

“Dad?”

But he doesn’t listen. His footsteps retreat down the stairs, and I am left alone in my room, the walls closing in around me.

I sit there for a long time, feeling the thick, heavy silence settle in. My hands are shaking. I touch my lips again. Disgusting.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I am sixteen. He can’t just kick me out, not like this.

Anger roars inside me, and I stand up, fists clenched, trying to control the storm in my chest. Who the hell does he think he is? I have every right to be here. To be me. Just because he never had a life doesn’t mean I won’t have one.

I snatch my bag from the closet and begin shoving clothes into it haphazardly. Books, shirts, socks. It doesn’t matter. My thoughts are a chaotic mess. I’m not going to stay here. I’m not going to let him destroy me like this.

I ignore the homework on my desk. Fuck it.

Maybe I don’t need school. Maybe I don’t need anything.

I’m still enrolled this year, sure. But I’ll show them.

When Mom finds out I’m gone, she’ll come looking.

And where will she find me? In Paris. I’ll show them how much of a bully my old man really is.

He’s never been young. He was born old, bald, and bitter. He was born a soldier.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I slam the door behind me without a second thought. I don’t look back.

They’ll be begging me to come home by the end of the week, won’t they?

But maybe, just maybe, Dad is right. I’ve always wanted to see the world. Maybe this is my fate. To leave this small town behind and move to the big city. To live my life.

After all, how hard could it be?

“ W hat the fuck was that?” Louis shouts, his voice wild as we both stare at the window, the glass scattered across the floor.

I freeze, my heart hammering.

“Is that…” He starts, but before he can reach for the Venetian mask lying on the wooden floor, I grab his hand and pull him to me.

“Wait. Let me do it.” The mask is a deep matte gold, with silver embroidery threading intricate patterns across its surface.

“Motherfucker.” Louis curses under his breath, using my hand to turn the mask over. His long, inked finger traces the initials JLD carefully etched into the inside. They are so small, you’d miss them if you weren’t looking closely. “It’s Dad’s.”

“Your father’s here?” I ask, my stomach flipping.

“Of course not,” Louis answers, shaking his head as he stands up and quickly grabs his phone.

I peek through the curtains, my pulse quickening. They knew I’d return. This was never about Granddad. It’s about me. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. No one is supposed to be here. But Louis? He never plays by the rules.

“Fuck.” Louis curses again, glancing down at his phone. “It’s already two. They’ve been messaging nonstop.”

“Because we shouldn’t be here?” I ask.

“No. Today’s my birthday. Guess they finally remembered.”

“Wait… what? It’s your birthday?” I blink, taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shrugs, his mischievous grin never faltering. “Didn’t want you stressing over it. Don’t waste your money on some silly gift. You are my gift, baby.”

In three steps, he is at my side, shoes crunching on the shards of glass that litter the floor. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. “Be mine, Noah. Let’s make it official. You’ve got my heart. Want more? My name? My money? It’s yours.”

We’re half-dressed, fumbling. His shirt hangs open. My belt’s undone. The sheets are still warm behind us. We scramble into clothes with shaking hands, laughter still lingering when the first rock hits. We hadn’t planned on leaving the bed so soon.

“Sweetheart—” I begin.

Louis stiffens, head turning slightly, as if he senses something first. That’s when I hear it. A low whistle.

“Get down!” I yank him toward the floor just as a second rock hurtles past, slamming into the outside wall.

The whistle of its flight and the crash that follows send a cold bolt through my spine.

Someone’s outside. Watching. Aiming. Glass rains around us, sharp and bright.

I flinch, arms instinctively shielding Louis’s head as we drop.

My ears ring from the crash, and my chest heaves with shallow breaths.

They're not just sending a message. They're aiming to hurt us.

We both drop to our knees, hearts pounding, breathing hard, as another stone follows with a deafening crash. The tension in the air feels suffocating.

Louis’s eyes never leave me, sharp and unblinking, like he’s memorizing every line on my face as if I might disappear.

His fingers curl tighter on my collar in a silent claim, fierce and possessive.

The shattered glass glints beneath us, cold and jagged like the fragile line between safety and danger we’re walking.

My breath hitches, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the chaos beyond the window. For a brief moment, everything narrows to the heat of his skin against mine and the weight of his gaze.

Louis snarls curses, rough-edged but laced with desperate tenderness. “They think they can scare us. They don’t know who they’re messing with.”

The phone crackles again, Arthur’s name flashing like a warning. Louis’s jaw tightens. Family is no light matter here. The unspoken threats hang thick in the air, sharp as the shards at our feet.

I meet Louis’s fierce eyes and whisper, “We’ll survive this. Together.”

Louis crawls closer, knocking his knees into mine as he grips my collar and pulls me up, straightening us both.

We sit between the glass shards, his grip tight on my collar, his body radiating a mix of rage and beauty.

Messy black hair, broad shoulders standing proud, his face, an angel’s face, etched with the fury of a man ready to tear apart anything that stands in his way.

“Give me the most precious birthday gift I could ever wish for. Your heart. Please.” His voice cracks slightly, vulnerability breaking through his tough exterior.

I can feel my own heart tightening. I want to give him what he asks for. I have wanted to from the moment I met him.

“You know I want that,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

His smile hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I feel a rush of warmth flood through my chest. He makes me feel like I’ve just won something. Like a kid who’s hit the jackpot. I reach for his hip, a breath escaping me as I feel him shudder, just the slightest tremor of need in his touch.

I slide my fingers beneath the hem of his T-shirt, the electric shock of contact causing us both to gasp.

Louis’s chin quivers, and his golden eyes darken with something deeper, something raw. Vulnerability. Something I hadn’t expected from him. The question marks he never lets anyone see.

“You’re good enough, you know that?” he whispers. “You make me the fucking happiest man in the world.”

Before I can respond, the skylight above us bursts, raining down a blizzard of sharp shards.

Louis jumps to his feet, fury exploding. “Those fucking fuckers! They’re killing the moment! I thought we could ignore them, but these motherfuckers won’t stop!” He grabs his phone, barking orders. “They’re on their way.”

“Who?”

Louis flashes me a grin. “My family. Who else? We don’t operate alone.”

I snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop me. “Who’s this?” I growl into the phone.

“You better not hurt my cousin, you fucker,” comes the harsh voice from the other end. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m his professor,” I snap. “Listen, Arthur, and don’t ask questions. Get Louis out of here. He’s in my room.”

“Where’s...”

“No questions,” I warn, cutting him off. I toss the phone back to Louis, who glares at me with an intensity I can’t ignore.

“This is my trouble, sweetheart. My legacy.”

Louis’s eyes burn with a raw, possessive energy. “You think I’ll hide while you face this alone? Fuck no. That’s not how this works. I’m not a backup plan, I’m yours.”

“Your family will bring you to safety,” I say, stepping toward the door.

“No.” Louis slams me back against the wall, pain shooting through my skull. His hands grip my shoulders, holding me in place, his voice shaking. “No. You don’t leave me. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

Before I can answer, the sound of shattering glass cuts through the house again. This time it comes from the opposite end.

Louis freezes.

We both listen. Then, a second set of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, too far from the first.

“There’s more than one,” I whisper.

“One’s at the east windows,” I say, breathless. “The other… from the office wing.”” I whisper.

Louis’s grip loosens, torn. His mouth is hard, his jaw tight with fury and calculation. “They’re trying to separate us.”

“We need to move,” I say, eyes scanning the broken windows. “We can’t stay here.”

Louis nods sharply. “We’ve got to split up and confuse them.”

“I’ll draw him out,” I add. “You stop whoever’s trying to flank us.”

He grabs my collar, breathing hard. “Come back to me.”

“I will.”

His fingers twitch at my sleeve, like he wants to pull me back. But he doesn’t. He lets go. Not with surrender, but with fire. His eyes scorch mine, as if branding this moment into memory. We both know this is a gamble. A trap sprung. A war begun.

I rush through the hallways, toward my office. The door is wide open, the room a mess. Books are scattered everywhere, the desk overturned. My heart thuds in my chest.

“What the—” I freeze in place.

A single clap cuts through the silence, slow and deliberate. My heartbeat quickens, each pulse heavy in my ears.

I turn slowly.

There, standing in my doorway, is a cloaked figure. A grin spreads across his face.

“Bravo, Noah. You’ve been such a fun little project.”

I know that voice.

“Monsieur Z… Fun?”

“Very much so.” He chuckles. “I even considered keeping you here, as Professor Montague, just to watch how the drama unfolds. But then, other things became more important. You’ve become redundant.”

“Redundant?” I gasp.

“Yes. And now… I’ll enjoy every minute of your downfall, just as I have with everything you’ve suffered these past fifteen years of your life.”

A sharp pain explodes at the back of my head. My vision spins, and I stagger, my hand reaching for the desk to keep myself upright. Blood trickles down my neck.

“You’ll know where to find us,” he says, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. The latch slams home, like an old mechanism snapping tight from the outside, final and cold. I’m trapped.

My legs buckle beneath me. My glasses are gone. My sight blurs.

“Oh, Noah,” he says, his voice full of mock pity as I collapse. “Don’t be late, Noah.”

The game’s only just begun.