Page 20

Colton

Once Xander and Lucas leave with their shopping list, I lead Haven through the house. We pass through the living room, and she comes to a screeching halt when she sees Retribution hanging on the wall.

“W-where did you get that?”

“Stole it.”

“From the party last night?” She whips around to face me. “Why?”

I have no desire to reveal the reason to her, so I keep walking. When I saw her staring at it last night, I could feel how strongly it resonated with her. All I cared about was getting my hands on it, no matter how impulsive stealing the painting was.

The funny thing is that it was all for nothing. I couldn’t give two shits about the painting now that I actually have Haven here, completely under my control. If I want a reaction from her, I can get one from her with a single look. The girl is so easy to manipulate, I could do it in my sleep.

Wordlessly, I take Haven up to the second floor. The stairs open up into a loft that overlooks the living room, which rarely sees any use.

For some reason—childhood trauma, I think—Lucas doesn’t do well in large, open spaces. He can’t relax. So we set up a second TV and all our gaming equipment in the loft. It’s smaller, and it helps Lucas feel more at ease.

“Do you have any homework you need to do?” I ask.

“No, I had a light load last week and got ahead.”

I was hoping she’d say that. She may not have verbally agreed to our arrangement, but she hasn’t left. That’s enough for me, and I have every intention of making sure she learns her place immediately. Having her sit on the floor and eat out of my palm at breakfast wasn’t good enough. She protested too much.

I want her broken and mindless.

“Good,” I say. “Then—”

A pounding sound comes from downstairs, and I realize it’s someone at the front door. Haven tenses, and her eyes go wide.

“It’s not him,” I say, annoyance bleeding into my voice. “He doesn’t know how to find you.”

“But what if it is?”

“Then I’ll do what I promised to. He’s not getting anywhere near you.” I move toward the stairs. “Go hide in my room. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I roll my eyes at the relentless pounding on my front door. When I open it, I mask my shock at the fact that Kellan Ambrose—one of Wesley’s friends—is standing on my doorstep.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I believe you have something that’s mine.” Whatever he’s talking about, I’m sure it’ll be good.

“Oh?” I ask with a smirk. “What’s that?”

“A certain painting. Retribution?”

So we were right. Wesley, Cal, and Kellan were the masked guys who hosted that party last night.

“I fucking knew it. Of course it was you three.”

“Give it back, Colton, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Kellan grinds out.

I shrug. “I kinda like it. Don’t really feel like giving it up.”

Jaw clenching, Kellan’s gaze drifts behind me and into the open living room. From here, he can just see the painting on the wall.

“For the record,” I say, “we didn’t know it was yours. But it makes the victory that much sweeter. Have a shitty day.”

I slam the door, but Kellan jams his boot in between it and the doorframe so it won’t close. I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Kellan? Just take the loss. Move on.”

“You don’t want to play this game with us. We always win, and you know it.”

Not true, but of course he’d see things that way. Him and his friends are all so small-minded.

Glancing back at the painting, I give Kellan a smug look. “Not this time.”

Kellan’s retort is cut off by the sound of glass shattering from the garage. Immediately, it clicks into place what he’s doing.

“You motherfuckers.”

Fuck the painting.

I swing the door shut, but a gust of wind—or maybe Kellan—must catch it, because I don’t hear it close. Whatever. I’m already halfway to the garage. All Kellan wants is the painting, so the worst he’ll do is steal Retribution and get out. Whoever is in the garage is obviously acting as a distraction, but they’re who I really need to be worried about.

In the kitchen, I grab the gun I have stashed in one of the drawers and then dash through the mudroom that connects to the garage. I already have it cocked by the time I burst through the door.

Cal is standing over my car with a golf club—not the BMW, but the new Lamborghini my dad got me as a birthday present. Cal has already shattered two of the windows, and there’s a dent on the hood.

“Get out,” I shout.

He whips around, a huge grin on his face, but it vanishes when he realizes I’m aiming my gun at him. Dropping the club, he lifts his hands. “Jesus, man.”

“Get. Out.”

Cal is already scrambling out of the garage and diving into his car. Kellan follows with Retribution in his hands, and they speed off.

My first instinct is to chase after them. I could catch up to them on my bike easily, but Haven is upstairs. My bedroom is far enough away that she probably didn’t hear my car’s windows shattering, but I know she’s probably freaked out, anyway. I can’t leave her.

In the living room, I glare at the empty spot on the wall where I hung up Retribution. It pisses me off, and I’ll make sure those three assholes pay. For right now, though, I slam the front door, lock it, and make my way back upstairs.

At least I managed to scare Cal good.

“Haven?” I call as I enter my bedroom.

At first, it doesn’t seem like she’s in here, but then she crawls out from underneath the bed.

“It wasn’t him?” she asks, voice small.

“No.”

Haven stands and hugs herself, and I stifle a sigh. This is not how today was supposed to go.

Setting my annoyance aside, I open up my arms to her. “C’mere.”

Even as Haven moves closer, she eyes me with suspicion. I pull her into a hug once she’s close enough, and I feel her tense up more instead of relax.

“Even if it was him, I wouldn’t have let him hurt you,” I say.

“What if he’s stronger than you?” she asks, and her voice wobbles.

“That’s why I’ve got a gun.”

She rears back. “What?! You do?”

“Never know when you’re gonna need it.”

“But—but guns are dangerous!”

“I’ve trained with it for years, angel. Now try to relax, all right?”

Haven makes a distressed sound, but when I run my fingers through her hair, she leans into me. I keep her like that until her breathing evens out.

If Haven knew how many people I’ve shot and killed, she’d probably pass out. I’m not sure she’d be able to handle the whole truth of what the Glass Rooks do. Not that I’d ever tell her. She’s already proven that she’s not trustworthy, and I’m not giving her a chance to do it again.

Once she’s fully calmed down, I slide my hand into hers and tug her toward the door. “C’mon. I have homework to do.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll see.”

Haven has had a miserable twenty-four hours. Add on what just happened, and I should probably go easy on her and change my plans. I won’t, though. Haven chose to stay, and she knew what she was signing up for when she did. Which means that now, it’s time for me to live up to her expectations.