by Lily White
Damon’s eyes clench shut, a heavy breath pouring over his lips before he opens them again.
“No.”
A surge of cold rage blossoms through me, every muscle in my body locked. This son of a bitch better start talking.
“Then whose is it?”
He hesitates to answer, his stare locked to mine for several tense seconds.
“William came by the house.”
Oh, fuck...
Instead of exploding, which is what I want to do at this moment, I drag in a steadying breath and calm myself down in an effort to counter the chaos of Damon’s emotions.
He’s fighting to disguise his turmoil, but it’s obvious by the way he can’t stay still, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his teeth grind.
“I need you to tell me what happened from start to finish.”
“Nothing,” he barks in response.
I grab his hand and lift it to his face, his knuckles still seeping blood.
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
Wrenching out of my hold, Damon steps back to put distance between us, his eyes shifting past me before finally meeting mine again.
“He just showed up. I decided to come home early, and within five minutes of getting here, the doorbell rang. We got into an argument.”
“It looks like it,” I answer, pointing out the obvious. “In fact, it looks like you beat his ass.”
“Because I did,” he shouts, pure anger lining his words. “The fucker limped away when I was done. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
I stab a hand through my hair, my teeth grinding now that I know this.
“Did you answer the phone any of the times he called you?”
“No.”
His voice is way too soft on that, and I stare at him with suspicion dousing my veins.
“Then what the hell was he doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
This isn’t helping.
“What did he say to you?”
Damon rolls his lips together, his eyes angled down to the floor.
“I didn’t give him time to say anything.”
Well, shit.
I can understand that. I wouldn’t have given him time to say anything either.
Tanner and Gabe are going to lose their minds over this.
“Okay, it is what it is. We’ll get you bandaged up. Get the house cleaned up and then figure it out from there.”
Damon nods his head and steps up to the sink to wash the blood off his hands again.
Staring at him for a few seconds, I try to really see him, see past the walls he puts up. What I see makes me as worried as Tanner and Gabe.
My brother is hiding something from me, but now is not the time to wrestle it out of him. It would only lead to another fight.
More violence.
Cursing under my breath, I turn to pull a first aid kit from a cabinet and I spend the next ten minutes bandaging his hands.
For the next half hour, we’re cleaning the floors of the house, removing all evidence of the fight, and the entire time I’m wondering what the hell I’m going to tell the guys.
Most of them won’t care, but Tanner and Gabriel are going to lose it over this.
Every so often, I glance at Damon, noticing how stiffly he moves and his refusal to look back at me.
Again, I know he’s hiding something.
The silence between us is interrupted when my phone rings.
I pull it from my pocket and don’t bother to check the screen before sliding my thumb across it to answer.
“Ezra.”
It’s Mark, my father’s lifelong yes-man. I haven’t heard from this guy since Yale. He stopped calling around the same time William did.
“I hate to tell you this over the phone, but we just received word. I’m not sure how to say this-“
“Just spit it out,” I growl, not in the mood to dance around why he called. Not that I have to guess.
A heavy breath is like a wind gust against the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Ezra, but your father is dead. We just received word that his body was found.”
Panic bursts through me as I slam my thumb on the screen to end the call, my gaze sliding to Damon where he stands staring at me silently.
“Is there something else you want to tell me?”
Damon’s brows crash together. “Who was that?”
“It was Mark.”
Eyes wide, Damon shifts his stance but doesn’t look away.
“What did he want?”
“William’s dead.”
His face pales, throat moving to swallow. “Fuck.”
Yeah, I think.
Because that’s all that can be said about it.
My voice is careful when I ask, “Would you like to explain to me just how badly you hurt him?”
Damon blinks in my direction, his lips a thin line, and his eyes brimming with anger.
He doesn’t answer, just goes back to cleaning.
Emily
The Inferno is an impressive group of men.
I’m not going to lie and claim otherwise. Just the sight of them is enough to draw notice, to make people nervous, to elicit soft whispers behind hands while everyone around them either worries about what they’ll do...or wants them.
I guess it depends on how you look at them. Women blush and preen, hoping to gain even the slightest bit of attention. Meanwhile, men view them as competition, yet refuse to approach a set of nine men who could easily crush them like a bug.
They were beautiful in high school. Troublemakers, yet smart. They were the rich boys who did what they wanted, when they wanted, and didn’t worry much about the consequences.
Now they are so much more than that, and the full impact isn’t really known until they’re standing together, shoulder to shoulder, their expressions tight and stern, their combined prowess and strength undeniable.
They are a work of art, and I can’t stop staring from where I stand opposite them beneath the large boughs of stately trees, the dappled sunlight dancing over the coffin that is set between us as a reverend speaks thoughtfully of a man who doesn’t deserve the mourning of a large crowd.
William Cross is dead.
The funeral, of course, became a societal affair, everybody who is anybody attending the service, all dressed in designer, black outfits, some pretending to care.
I can’t pretend, and if it weren’t for my family dragging me here, and if I didn’t know the twins would need my support, I would just as soon spit on William’s grave than be here.
Ivy and Ava stand on either side of me, their eyes set on the Inferno where they are lined up together. It’s hard not to look.
There’s just something about them that demands attention, every one of them tall and well built, their faces gorgeous, their bodies chiseled to perfection.
That fact isn’t hidden by the tailored cut of their dark suits. If anything, what they wear only gives them more power, as if looks alone could be a weapon.
And in their case, it can.
Behind them are their fathers, only seven left now that William is gone.
You could cut the tension with a knife for all of them to be so close together, and I was worried before coming here about what would happen.
Thankfully, the boys are behaving themselves, despite the barely restrained anger that rolls off all of them.
None of that matters as much to me as the twins. I keep my eye mostly on them.
Ezra, as usual, has his cold mask in place, his thoughts and feelings well hidden.
Damon is a little easier to read, but only because I know him so well.
Neither of them are upset that William is dead, but Damon shifts his weight between his feet more than his brother, his expression darker as he struggles to rein in his chaos.
From what I know, William died in a car accident on the way home, most of his injuries attributed to the severity of the crash. It worked out in Damo
n’s favor since nobody questioned why William was bruised and cut.
But there is so much more to the story, so many secrets that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything.
Luckily, Ezra hasn’t brought up the fact that he saw me at William’s house in the past week, and when we’re together, he only mentions his concern for Damon.
It’s for the best. I’m not sure I can lie to him again. Unless you count my silence as a lie.
Several times through the funeral, Ezra looks up at me, our eyes meeting and dancing together, the impact so powerful that my skin tightens and heart swells to think that man is all mine.
It’s hard not to walk over to him, hard to hold myself back while our families are watching.
But then Damon will look over at me, and my heart deflates and falls to my feet, so much pain and remorse in his expression that it stabs through me.
I know he said he’s fine with what Ezra and I are doing, but his amber stare doesn’t lie.
He still loves me, still wishes he could have been the one I chose, and there is nothing I can do to help him.
The entire funeral is a dance between the different ways I feel about the twins, a constant back and forth that makes it difficult to breathe.
Once the casket is lowered in the ground, I’m finally able to take a full breath, my steps slow and body weary as we make our way out of the cemetery to the waiting cars.
It sucks that I have to be in one with my family and Mason’s, everybody talking amongst themselves while Mason and I are noticeably silent.
It’s like all those damn dances when we were younger, all those awkward rides in the back of a limos.
Only this time, there’s an audience to the way we carefully avoid each other.
The only other difference is why we’re being careful to avoid each other.
Secrets.
Secrets.
And more secrets.
Lately it feels like I’m drowning in them.
“We should start discussing wedding plans,” my mother suggests, her tone of voice respectable. Not that the subject matter is. We just left a funeral, and she wants to discuss dresses, table dressings and venues. “Have you two met with the wedding planner yet?”
Mason and I lock eyes for only a brief second, his gaze sliding to where my mother sits next to his.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?” His father asks. “Are you going to drag your feet until the last second before you turn thirty?”
It’s a subtle hint as to why Mason has to marry me, a hidden warning.
Not that Mason needs the money that would come with his inheritance and trust fund, but like the rest of the Inferno, he continues to keep up appearances.
“We’ve been busy-“
“With Ava and the Cross twins, no doubt,” my father comments.
There’s something in his voice I don’t like, an undertone that’s dangerous.
“You two act like we don’t know what’s going on. But you might as well stop wasting your time with other people and move forward with your marriage.”
“Perhaps we should change the rules a bit and move the date of the marriage closer.”
My body tenses at the suggestion, white noise filling my head as Mason argues with our parents all the way to my house where I can finally escape the car.
Thankfully, I’m not being forced to go to the post-funeral reception at the Cross mansion.
Dropped off at the door to the children’s wing of my house, I practically run inside, wishing this day would just end and everything could go back to some semblance of normal.
As I walk past Dylan’s room, I notice him sitting on his bed, his phone in hand as he scrolls his thumb over the screen. He hasn’t had any friends over lately, hasn’t been his usual self. And I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since the night he attacked Ezra in my defense.
Leaning my shoulder against the doorframe, I knock my knuckles against the wood to get his attention. He glances over at me, his face a blank expression.
“You okay?” I ask, more worried about him than I realized.
Dylan cocks a brow and nods his head, a quiet dismissal of the question.
I won’t let it go.
“I want to thank you for trying to help me with Ezra when we had that fight. I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
“It was nothing,” he mumbles, his eyes back on the screen of his phone.
“Why haven’t you had your friends over lately? Is something going on?”
No, I can’t expect Dylan and I to be best friends so quickly, but what kind of sister would I be if I didn’t ask about his sudden change in behavior?
Rather than answering me, Dylan gets up from his bed and walks over. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. He’s just as tall as Ezra.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says with a weak smile...just before shutting the door in my face.
After standing there debating whether I should open it and demand answers, I decide to leave it alone for now. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. That or he’ll go back to being a jerk.
I spend the next few hours half asleep in bed, the mattress dipping behind me after Ezra sneaks in my room later to hug me from behind.
He tugs my body against his, warm lips pressed to the side of my neck, his arm a steel band around my waist.
“How was the reception?” I ask, my voice soft against the quiet room and his feral energy.
“It was what you would expect it to be,” he whispers against my ear, a hand slipping up my shirt to cup my breast.
Ezra’s hips roll behind me, his teeth softly nipping at the back of my neck after he brushes my hair away.
Instantly, my body melts against him, my mind short-circuiting at the sheer masculine strength of him.
I want to ask about Damon, but when his fingers pinch my nipple and he grinds his erection against my ass, I decide it’s a subject that can wait.
Still, one thing needs to be said before I forget to tell him.
“They’re moving up the wedding date.”
His body stills, a low growl vibrating his chest. “Mason told me.”
“What should we do?”
Ezra rolls me onto my back and moves so that he’s between my legs. He rocks his hips forward and naked heat explodes through my body.
It doesn’t matter what’s going on. I’m always willing and ready for him.
Pressing his thumb to my lips, that amber stare of his catches mine, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip before he rocks his hips again and studies my reaction.
A low whisper between us, “I say we don’t worry about it for now. I have other things in mind.”
He doesn’t bother with stripping us of all our clothes, just shifts my panties aside and frees his cock from his pants before pushing inside me, hard and fast.
My eyes close as his body moves in mine, as he drives me to a helpless state of pure submission.
This man owns me in so many ways, our connection written in the stars that were licked by flames on a night I promised to be his.
But even before that, it was our confessions in a dark room that bound us together.
A boy beaten.
A girl caged.
A queen and the beast that kneels at her feet.
No matter what happens in the weeks and months to come, there’s nothing that will ever tear us apart again.
He doesn’t say another word as he pushes both of our bodies to a rushed release, his mouth capturing mine on a searing kiss as stars burst behind my eyes.
And once we relax again into a tangled heap of arms and legs, Ezra runs the tip of his nose along my jaw, his eyes gleaming with male satisfaction.
We lay together quietly for over an hour, both of us in a sex induced haze.
When he moves to push up on an elbow and look down at me, I groan.
Ezra idly toys with a piece of my hair. “We should get going.”
“Can’t we lay
like this forever?” I ask, my mind thoroughly exhausted from all the problems we’re still facing. “Just hide?”
He laughs softly at that. “If only it was that easy.”
“It can be. We don’t move. Refuse to answer the door if somebody knocks.”
His mouth is soft against my ear, his breath hot and his voice deep.
“Nobody is tearing us apart again, killer. I don’t care what happens.”
His fingers pinch my ass, and I squeak, low laughter shaking his chest. “But for now we have to get up. Priest said he can fix that dent in your car this weekend. We need to drop it off.”
Ugh. “I don’t care about the dent.”
It’s been a sticking point for Ezra, though, although I can’t understand why.
“Let me take care of my queen,” he whispers. “And then I’ll bring you back here and spend the rest of the night hiding.”
A shiver courses through me at the promise.
Reluctantly, I get out of bed and get dressed, the night air cool as we walk out to my car and climb in to take it to Priest’s shop.
Ezra is distracted the entire drive over and doesn’t say much. But he keeps my hand in his, refusing to let go.
Pulling up to Priest’s shop, I glance at the clock and notice it’s late. There are no lights on except for a few perimeter security lamps, no activity at all and the roads calm.
As we start to climb out, Ezra grabs my arm and pulls me back onto my seat. He traps my chin with his fingers and kisses me slow and soft.
Amber eyes locking with mine, there is no doubt rolling behind his stare.
“I’m never letting you go, Em. I hope you know that.”
Unable to help the smile that stretches my lips, I press my forehead to his.
“I know.”
The truth is he’s never let me go. Not even over the ten years we were apart. Ezra has always been, and will always be, the only man I see in this world.
The only man who owns me.
Nodding at that, he lets me go, but as I’m getting out of the car, I remember the insurance information for the girl who hit me.
Pulling it from the glove box, I run up to Ezra as he’s letting himself in the back door to drop off my keys.
“Will Priest need this?”
Ezra turns to me, his hand reaching to take the paper from my hands.