Page 40 of From Hell

Jaxon looks back into the room, eyes connecting with mine, staring straight at me. He smiles…a devilish one that has my heart beating down the bars of my ribcage to get out, but he doesn’t raise the alarm. Instead. he closes the door, leaving me alone with only my pulse pounding in my ears. I close my eyes and breathe, hoping for the smell of musty, old paper and the straining silence to calm me down.

When my body stops shaking and allows me to stand, I get off the floor and take pictures of the entries in the guest book on the day of the frat party. I then shove the book back on the shelves where I found it.

Nola isn’t at the top of the stairwell when I get there. That buzzing was the message she sent saying someone was coming and that she’d had to make herself scarce. My heartbeat returns to normal when I’m beyond the foyer. My stomach still churns, though, as do the questions. Jaxon Clémont helped me hide twice, once from Christian and again from his father—but why? What does he want? Someone is stalking me, hot-rinsing murder weapons, and Jaxon seems to be protecting me, helping me find out who. But why? Because of our past? He’s not one to do things out of the goodness of his heart.

I head toward the bar, chest tightening when I don’t see Nola anywhere.

Maybe she’s outside?

Drizzle falls like a heady mist beyond the solid, imposing walls of Berners House. There’s no one out here. The line of supercars arriving has long been cleared from the entrance and parked out of sight. I walk across the gravel, putting some distance between me and all the people I don’t want to be around and take out my phone. I’m ready to go home. I send Nola a message about where to meet me. The last hour feels like a dream. Now that dread seems to have lodged itself in the pit of my stomach, I don’t know what to do with the information.

My hands shake as I check the image gallery, and relief floods my chest when I see the photos I took are still there, the information my dad has been after since my attack, plain as day.

“Interesting pastime, sneaking into locked rooms and taking pictures,” says a voice behind me.

I spin around, my body freezing when I see who it is, standing right behind me.

Jaxon towers over me, looking down, eyes glinting, rolling with anger. They flit between my phone and me. I close the screen before he can see what’s on it, and without thinking, I shove it down my corset top. This dress has no pockets, and my purse is crammed with Nola’s lock-picking kit after she gave it back to me.

“I wasn’t sneaking—”

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, his voice a rich bass, sliding across my skin like warm silk.

Licking my dry lips, refusing to cower. “I should get back inside. I need to find my friend.” I move to go around him, but he steps in my way. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t let you do that, Laine.”

My eyes narrow. “What?”

He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“No.” I snap.

The coldness of his gaze is enough to stop my breath. “You really want me to take it from you?”

I glare at him, my heart slamming against my ribcage. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Jaxon smiles slyly and takes me by the arm, his grip hot and solid, like molten iron singeing my flesh. I let out a yelp as he manhandles me closer, yanking me closer. His eyes burn into mine. “Last chance, little fox.”

“Fuck you,” I grit out, trying to get away.

“I’ll take that as you want me to get it myself?”

He’s too strong, and the shock as his other hand slides down the front of my dress has the breath whooshing out of me. Heart jerking against my chest, his fingers graze the mounds of my breasts. It seems to take an eternity. He pulls the phone out, making me gasp, knuckles brushing against my exposed nipple since I’m not wearing a bra.

And then I can’t breathe or move…because of the sensation of him in a place he shouldn’t be. Molten lava brands my skin, rushing to the depths of my core. Memories of us pressed together behind the curtain come flooding back.

This must register with him because he stares at me, eyes obsidian, a curl to his full lips. I’m indignant from head to toe, and my cheeks are on fire as he relieves me from his hold. Disgust and embarrassment snake through me.

“Next time, just do as I say,” he says, shaking his head and looking at my phone. “Now, what’s the code?”

All I see is white-hot rage. “Go to hell.”

He gives me a bemused look. “Are you always this cheery?” When I don’t answer, he cocks his head. “Look, I’m doing you a favor. You don’t want to mess with these people.”

These people. As though he’s not one of them.

“I could just toss it in the lake,” he counters.