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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wyn

I stare up at Lucas, my mind working through all the lies I could come up with about why I fainted. He didn’t believe the not eating thing. A health condition? Exhaustion? In the end, I press my lips together, and opt for a fact, rather than the truth.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly.

Out there on the beach, during the ritual, I could have sworn I saw someone in the distance who looked exactly like Gabriel. It was dark, and he was wearing a hoodie, so I guess it could have been anyone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was him.

Then, right before he vanished into the fog, he lifted his hand, like he was signaling to me or something. That’s when I must have passed out.

I know if I try to tell Lucas any of that, he’ll just mock me and tell me I’m crazy…

Lucas shakes his head and laughs under his breath like I just told him a dirty joke. When he looks back down at me a second later, though, that laughter is gone. “Yeah, that’s not going to fucking fly with me and I think you know that.”

“Why do you even care, Lucas?” I ask, lifting my hands helplessly.

Christ, this guy is so unbelievably frustrating. One minute he’s sending me death glares from across the room, then he’s finger-fucking me in the bathroom, then he’s whisking me off the beach like my white knight because I fainted. What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy? His ever-shifting moods are giving me whiplash.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You were my cousin’s girl. I owe it to him to look out for you.”

Yeah, I don’t believe that bullshit answer for one second.

“But you hate me,” I say, voicing that for the first time since all this shit with Gabriel happened. “And the feeling is mutual, by the way.”

His eyes narrow, like he’s pissed that I’m stating the obvious. Why, though? We both know it. We both feel it. There’s no use skirting around the simple fact that he blames me for Gabriel’s death.

“I can hate you and still do right by Gabriel,” he says.

Perfect, so he doesn’t deny hating me. I should have seen that coming, but for some reason, his admission sends a shard of pain straight through my chest.

God, I’m just as fucked up as he is. This boy has me all mixed up. Why do I even care if he hates me? Because he’s hot as fuck? Am I that shallow?

I push out a breath and shimmy out from between him and the kitchen counter, so I can get ready for bed. It’s been a long night, and the last thing I want to do is stand here and argue with Lucas about why he thinks I’m to blame for Gabriel’s death.

I’m walking to the bathroom, when he reaches out and grabs my arm, turning me back around, so I’m facing him. He drops his hand. “We’re not done talking.”

I flare my fingers at my sides, just inching to slap that pretty boy face. He grabs my arm one more time and I swear to God…

“I’ve told you everything I know about Gabriel’s death, Lucas.”

His eyes darken. “But you don’t think he’s dead…”

I shrug.

“...and I can only assume that means you know more about his motivations than you’re admitting…” he says.

“Let me ask you something, Lucas. Do you think Gabriel is capable of faking his own death?” I ask.

He pauses, staring at me like this is the first time he’s even considering that question. “Maybe, if he felt like he had to,” he answers. “But I knew him better than anyone, and he had no reason to go off-grid like that. Besides, he’d tell me.”

“There are things he didn’t tell you,” I say, aware that statement is going to open a whole new can of worms. It’s the reason I haven’t said anything before. Because I know it would wreck Lucas emotionally, not that he’d ever admit it. Heaven forbid he be vulnerable.

“Like what?”

Do I really want to get into all this with Lucas right now? But if I don’t tell him at least some of this, then he’s never going to understand why I think Gabriel could be alive. The dude harbored secrets, whether Lucas wants to believe that or not.

I lift my hands. “Well, for one, he was resentful about never being made a Sacred Son. Did you know that?”

Lucas shakes his head. “He never said that to me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Why would he? He went to the Burning Crown senior counsel and lobbied to be a Sacred Son, and they denied his claim flat out. You know that.”

Gabriel was a West and Lucas’ cousin by blood, but not in name. Gabriel’s mom was Mr. West’s assistant, and they fucked around while Mr. West was still married. When she got pregnant, Mr. West said he’d pay for Gabriel’s upbringing, and even brought him to live in the West mansion for a while, but he never publicly claimed him—and for that reason, Gabriel could never be a Sacred Son. To the patriarchs of 1890 who founded the Burning Crown, it was all about legitimacy.

The senior counsel refused to alter the rules for Gabriel, and that really pissed him off. But the fact that his cousins weren't beating down the counsel’s door demanding Gabriel’s acceptance into the Sacred Sons…? Yeah, that pissed him off even more.

“And second, Gabriel was doing a shit ton of drugs,” I say simply.

Lucas snorts at that. “Drugs,” he repeats, turning to pace. “You really want me to believe that? I saw him almost every day.”

I knew this would be hard for him to believe, which is why I never bothered to say anything before this. Why try to convince him? I know what’s what. I saw Gabriel take some pretty hard shit, and when he did, he would rant for hours about all the wrongs that had been done to him. It was crazy.

“Yeah, you saw him every day for what, an hour?” I say. “Less than that? He’d pop by Rush House, chill for a second, then head off to get high. That’s twenty-three full hours you weren’t with him, Lucas. But I was,” I say with so much passion, I’m shoving the tip of my finger into my own chest. “...and he was a fucking asshole in those twenty-three hours.”

He turns to face me, then shrugs, his pecs and biceps flexing with the motion. Ugh. You know what would be great? If he had a damn shirt on. It’s hard having this conversation with him standing in the middle of my apartment with nothing but his underwear on. The guy looks like a goddamn buffet, and I haven’t eaten in days. I’m sweating a little.

“If that were true, why didn’t you say anything after he died?” It’s a simple question, but it’s chock-full of judgment and accusation.

“What did it matter back then? Like the rest of you, I thought he was dead.” I push out a breath. “...until he started skulking around my fucking apartment, picking fights with my one-night stands!”

Lucas crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “This guy could be anyone, Wyn.”

“He called me ‘Pretty Thing,’” I say. “He had the same scar...”

Lucas glances down at his wrist, and adjusts his bracelets, like he’s stalling for time to gather his patience. Then looks back at me. “Let’s pretend for a second that it was Gabriel. Why would he have to break in? Why would he hide his face from you? Hm?”

I look at him like he’s an idiot. “You think I know why the maybe-Gabriel-stalker is doing what he’s doing? Toward the end, Gabriel became more and more unhinged. I couldn’t explain half of what he did on a normal day, let alone something like this. ”

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he knows I’m holding information back. But whatever, I have my reasons for that. Fuck him. Hopefully, I’ve told him enough to at least get his help. But I’m not telling him more than I need to.

When he doesn’t respond, I push out a breath, suddenly so tired. “Whatever. I’m going to bed,” I say, walking over to my bed. I throw a pillow onto the floor and rip the comforter off my bed, throwing that down, too. “If you’re staying, you can sleep on the floor.”

With a cocky smirk, he grabs the pillow and the comforter and carries them both back to the bed. “Nah, I don’t think so,” he says, his large body falling onto my mattress. He makes a show of sorting the comforter out and tucking himself in.

I just stare down at him with a scowl. I have two options right now. I can either coax him out of the bed or sleep on the floor myself. Well, I guess I have three options. I could also climb into bed with him. It’s a queen-sized mattress, so we could each have our own sides. I’d bought it right after I moved in, so Gabriel could sleep over if he wanted to. He never ended up doing that, though.

With a huff, I grab my pajamas from my dresser—sweats and a tank top—then disappear into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. I usually wash my face, too, and put on my pimple patches, but with Lucas here, there’s no way I’m walking out there like that.

Never show a man what you really look like , my mom would always say to me. Girls like us aren’t naturally pretty.

She wasn’t trying to mean. In fact, I’m convinced she genuinely thought advice like that was helpful. But to ten-year-old me, it meant I’d always have to hide behind makeup to be seen. I could never really be myself.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Lucas is standing at the stove—still in his underwear, mind you—frying something up in a pan. The entire studio is filled with smoke, and it smells like sausage. He must have gotten it from my freezer.

It’s ten o’clock at night, and he’s hungry now ?

He glances over his shoulder as I walk up, reaching across him to turn the vent hood on. “Trying to smoke us out?” I say, feeling snippy.

Shoveling the sausage onto a plate that already has a piece of toast on it, he turns the stove off and hands it to me. I look down at it, confused. “Why are giving this to me?”

“You need to eat something. I would have made eggs, too, but you’re out.”

I blink down at the plate, wondering why he’s trying to feed me, and then I remember—I told him I’d fainted earlier because I hadn’t eaten, which is true, but it’s not why I passed out.

My eyes flick up to meet his. “Are you….actually doing something nice for me?”

He scoffs and turns to look through my drawers. When he finds my silverware, he pulls out a fork and hands it to me. “Eat, Wyn.”

I glance down at the plate again. The sausage looks good, to be fair, but he made the entire package. “I can’t eat all this. Are we sharing?”

“Eat what you can,” he says.

With a huff, I walk over to the bed and tuck into the sausage. As I’m eating, Lucas heads to the bathroom. He’s in there for a couple of minutes when I hear the shower turn on.

This is weird. I’m sitting on my bed, eating sausage that Lucas made for me while he strips down in my bathroom and takes a shower. He’s probably lathering up that insane body with my soap as we speak.

“You’re pathetic, Wyn,” I whisper to myself as I get up and put the plate of sausage by the sink. I ate three links and the toast. That’s all I can get down.

Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Lucas emerges from a cloud of eucalyptus-scented steam. His hair is wet, his skin is glistening, and he looks so damn fuckable, I audibly whimper at the sight of him. I cover it with a cough. God help me.

I’ve learned something in the past couple of weeks. No matter how unappealing someone’s personality, if they’re hot, you’ll want to fuck them. Biology is going to win in the end. I was pretty shocked and appalled by that revelation. I really thought I was more evolved than that, but…here we are.

He saunters over to the sink to inspect my plate, then pops a couple of the leftover sausages into his mouth. Leaning against the counter, he watches me while slowly sucking the juice off his fingers.

The weight of his hungry gaze makes my stomach flip. We’re alone, and he’s already half-naked, staring at me like he’s a starving man eyeing his next meal. His legs are crossed casually in front of him, and my eyes drop to the erection that’s bulging in his underwear.

“Still hungry?” he says with a laugh. “My eyes are up here.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment and I glance away quickly.

With another chuckle, he pushes off the counter and walks over to me. I’m sitting on the bed, and he’s standing, so his bulge is right at eye level. I try to keep my head turned away, but he grabs my face and forces me to look at him.

“You want a dirty bedtime story, baby? How about Hop on Pop?”

With a sound of disgust, I pull my face out of his hand. But my mouth is watering, and my nipples are so tight and painful, they could cut through steel. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his body, and smell the soap on his skin.

“Fuck you,” I say.

He just smirks at me, and I half-expect him to pull out his dick and force me to suck it. He’s shoved it in so deep that I’d be choking on it. Mmm. Why are my panties drenched just imagining that?

I scramble to my side of the bed, next to the wall, as he walks around to his side. My body is trembling, and my blood is buzzing as I settle on top of the covers as far away from him as I can manage.

“Turn the light off,” I say stiffly.

He reaches over and turns the light off, plunging the room into complete darkness. I release a slow breath, and close my eyes, folding my hands over my ribcage, my body stiff as a board. Now all I need to do is ignore the fact that an insanely hot asshole is sleeping in bed next to me, fully erect and half-naked.

No problem. No problem at all.