The Cruelest Chaos (Unsainted Book 3)

by KV Rose

  He’s barely hanging on by a fucking thread, his hands gripping the railing so hard they’re shaking. “She’s your fucking sister and my fucking wife.”

  “I guess Jeremiah Rain and I have that in common. Incest?”

  I know I shouldn’t have said that. I know it, but it’s too late to take it back, and I don’t really want to anyway. But then again, I don’t want to talk about this fucker again, and I know I just invited that in.

  If I had never heard the name ‘Jeremiah Rain’ in my fucking life, I think it’d add a full ten years to my life expectancy. As it is now, I’ll probably die within the next ten years because of that narcissistic sociopath.

  Because he’s fucking my sister.

  He just fucked up my new sister.

  And Lucifer won’t shut the fuck up about killing him.

  “Yeah, another thing we haven’t discussed enough.” Lucifer stretches his neck, then turns away from me. “Tell me again,” he says quietly, “why, exactly, you walked into a burning building and saved that piece of shit’s life?”

  Goddamn, I really need a joint. It’s nearly one in the fucking morning and I’ve got a much bigger problem on my hands right now in the form of an unstable teenage girl that I just came inside of.

  But in the few times Lucifer and I have seen each other in the month since Sacrificium, he hasn’t gotten off my ass about this shit.

  I sit back down. Clasp my hands together, elbows on my knees. I close my eyes; I’m fucking tired.

  “If I hadn’t saved his life, you wouldn’t be calling Sid your wife right now. She wouldn’t even be here right now. She might’ve even killed you, which at this point, I might be happy about because it’s one in the goddamn morning, Lucifer, and I want to go the fuck to sleep.”

  He snorts but doesn’t look at me. “You killed Pammie.” His change of subjects is giving me whiplash.

  I rub my temples. “Yes.”

  “You took Sid with you.”

  I sigh. “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t think maybe you should fucking tell me?”

  That one’s easy. “No. But maybe you should say ‘thank you’? She deserved to die. We both know that—”

  His hands are suddenly on my shoulders as my eyes fly open and he pushes me back in my chair. “Sid could’ve gotten hurt!” he yells at me, his eyes wild. “She could’ve gotten fucking killed!”

  I knock his hands off of me, bringing my own underneath his forearms. I push to my feet, step toward him until he concedes a step, and then another, his back against the railing.

  “She didn’t get killed. I would’ve never let her get hurt. I planned this out, we had backup. She was never in any danger, and she wanted to do this for your sorry ass.” I press my finger to his chest and his eyes light with anger, that vein in his neck fucking throbbing. “You keep trying to control her like Jeremiah fucking Rain, and guess what, bro?” I lean in close, my mouth over his. “She’s gonna fucking leave you for him. Especially if you’re getting your dick hard letting naked girls into your room that aren’t her.”

  “It was a mistake. Ezra gave me something, brought her up. I didn’t touch her.”

  I bite back a laugh. “Wow, you didn’t touch her. What a fucking relief.” I step back from him, my chest heaving. I run a hand through my hair while he stares at me like he wishes I was dead. Yeah, well, the feeling is currently mutual.

  “Right now, I don’t have time to deal with this.” I put my hands on my head and turn away from him, pacing the length of the balcony. “Tomorrow we have Council. We need to focus on that.”

  Some of the anger towards me seems to dissipate from Luce’s face. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. We do.”

  I drop my hands and shake my head. “Elijah tell you my dad is gonna be there?”

  His voice is a growl. “Yes.”

  I run my hand down my jaw. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Why is that a question?”

  “Elijah wants to…discuss it.” I grit my teeth. “He said we can’t kill everyone that upsets us, apparently.”

  Lucifer looks like he wants to put his finger through my eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I blow out a breath. “Maybe we should hear him out. We don’t know what he knew about Sid.”

  “I don’t fucking care what he knew. He knew she existed and did nothing.”

  I tip my head up to glance at the sliver of the moon dangling in the sky. “Noctem is coming soon. Eight weeks, and we’ll have to deal with all of our sins.”

  “And letting your father live shouldn’t be one of yours.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Lucifer scowls. “If you don’t kill him, I—”

  “Have you asked Sid about it?” I press him, turning my gaze to his. “Have you asked her what the fuck she thinks about this? Asked her if she wants to deal with him? If she wants to know about her mother?”

  His eyes darken.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think so.” I shake my head. “You’re obsessed with her, but I’m not sure if you understand a fucking thing about love.”

  I haven’t spoken to my father since Sacrificium, when I tried, and failed, to kill him. But now, I’m not sure how I feel about him. About what I want to do. He hasn’t been invited to any Council meetings, a rare show of solidarity between us and the 6. But even though Elijah is not Lazar, some things will never change. We’re still meeting at Sanctum, even though Elijah promised to burn the building to the ground. Should I kill my father—Sid’s and Brooklin’s, too—when really, they all deserve to die?

  But if I don’t kill him tomorrow, Lucifer might. It’s not looking too good for Maddox Astor.

  I bring my knuckles to my mouth, bite the skin. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I wish it did. Now that the high has worn off from all that violent fucking, I’m feeling really fucking low again.

  Lucifer frowns, folds his arms across his chest. “I need to get back to Sid, but we’re not done. You know that, right?”

  Oh, I know we’re fucking not. “We are for tonight.”

  He gives me a tight nod, then he slides open the glass door. I follow him, not wanting him to be alone with Ella. He’s obsessed with Sid, but Lucifer has always had wandering eyes.

  And before Sid, wandering hands, too.

  I close the door at my back, watch him walk down the narrow hallway that leads to the bedroom. He glances at the girl and I tense, but he keeps walking, then slams the fucking bedroom door as hard as he can behind him.

  Dick.

  Chapter Four

  My stomach growls.

  It’s a quiet sound, just a few seconds, but my entire body goes rigid, eyes still closed. I wait.

  Holding my breath, I wait for it.

  The screaming.

  But it’s silent.

  No. Not silent.

  Someone is breathing beside me.

  I taste blood in my mouth. And then everything comes back at once.

  My eyes fly open, and I’m staring at a ceiling fan spinning overhead. It’s dark, and I shift my gaze, seeing a hallway. At the end of it, curtains are drawn closed.

  The bed is soft, and my body is sore, stomach hollow, but still...

  No one is screaming.

  I turn over, as slow as I can, my back aching, thighs sore.

  I see him beside me. My breath threatens to come out in a gasp, but I press my palm over my mouth, holding it back.

  The boy with the face tattoo. An inverted cross beside his eyes. His brow is furrowed, as if even in sleep, he’s angry.

  His hands are tucked under his head, his lips slightly parted as he breathes so softly, steadily. The covers are pulled up to his chin, but I can see tattoos on his neck. On his fingers. His hands.

  There’s one on the side of his palm, in script that I can’t read in the dark. I noticed it when he first approached me in the forest.

  I wonder what it says.

  I need to leave. My mom won’t be expecting
me home—she probably won’t even be there herself after our last blow-up—but I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t know this boy. Anyone in this house.

  Natalie invited me because she pitied me. I came because I didn’t want to be home in case Mom and her current boyfriend got blood on the walls again.

  New Year’s Eve can do that sometimes. With my mother, it’s already a 50/50 shot.

  She made sure to remind me of that when I was leaving and she realized I ate the last piece of bread. An end piece. It’s all I’ve eaten in the past forty-eight hours. This party had lots of alcohol. No food I could find.

  What a waste of time.

  But the Xanax helped me sleep. I didn’t take as much as I told him I did, but I didn’t want to talk to him, and it was enough to knock me out for however long I’ve been sleeping in here.

  Slowly, I slide to the edge of the bed. I realize it’s fucking huge and I have no idea why he’s so close to me. I don’t even know why he slept with me. He could’ve left me in the woods.

  It’s strange he didn’t.

  I keep wiggling over to the side, then swing my legs off the bed. I sit up, careful to move at a snail’s pace so the mattress doesn’t shift beneath my weight.

  I wait a few seconds. He’s still breathing soft and slow, his wide lips still parted. They were soft against my skin. Even when he used his teeth. When I think about it, I want to dive back under the covers.

  Curl up next to him. Wrap my arms around him.

  That’s why I’ve got to get out of here. I feel my face flush with embarrassment for my fucking self.

  I push those thoughts away, slide off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. My ankle doesn’t hurt, so I guess I didn’t really twist it. Small not-quite mercies. The pain would’ve kept my mind off the hunger.

  I might have to leave my boots. I’m not stumbling around in the dark looking for them.

  I glance down, thankful I’m still in my dress. I must’ve taken my jacket off in the night because I’m not wearing it now. I’ll have to leave it, but it’s North Carolina. Winter isn’t that cold here. In Berkeley, West Virginia where I was born, there’d be snow on the ground the whole season.

  I’ll have to hitch a ride home, but it won’t be the first time I’ve ever done that.

  I take one step on the hardwood, holding my breath, waiting for the floor to creak. Or my stomach to growl.

  I need a goddamn job so I can buy Mom and I food, but I haven’t found one since our last move, despite my applications.

  There might be ramen somewhere in the cabinet at home.

  Maybe I’ll steal some food from this guy’s house. Natalie said it belonged to Atlas and his friends, and I guess Maverick is his friend.

  This place is like a compound. He’s probably got more than enough food to spare, just not out on display for the party.

  I take another step.

  And another.

  I start scoping out the door, gauging just how loud it might be when I open it.

  But then I hear a voice at my back, groggy with sleep. “Going somewhere?”

  I freeze.

  I know I can leave. I know he can’t keep me here. I know that, despite the fact he indulged me in helping me get my mom’s screams out of my head last night, he’s not going to tie me to the bed and make me stay here.

  But maybe I want him to.

  I close my eyes. Think back to brushing out the horses Tuesday at The Ark. Letting go. That’s what Marnie, my therapist, tried to help me with then. Letting go.

  I let the thought go. “Yeah,” I say quietly in the dark, “I’m leaving.”

  “It’s three a.m.”

  That’s surprises me, but I say nothing. It’s only been a few hours. I guess it might be harder to get a ride at this time of night. Not without paying for it. But I could make some money that way, too.

  Not from the sex.

  From the stealing.

  Or begging.

  “Go back to sleep.” I don’t bother being quiet now. I grab the doorknob.

  But he’s fast. As I fiddle with the lock, he comes up behind me, slapping his hand against the door.

  “You’re not leaving at three in the morning.”

  I twist around to glare at him, his arm still on the door, beside my head. I don’t say a word. I am leaving. There’s no use wasting words on it. I didn’t come here for a sleepover. He wouldn’t want me to stay anyway, if he really knew me.

  I can’t see him clearly in the dark, but I can practically hear him smirking. “Come back to bed with me, Ella.”

  I frown in the dark, crossing my arms. Something about his tone...I don’t like it, because…I do.

  I say nothing.

  He sighs, and his hand trails from the door to the side of my throat. “Does your face hurt?”

  I don’t say anything to that either. I don’t want him to feel bad about it. I like it. He’s not the first to do it. My mom was the first. In bed, an ex was. When I taunted him about someone else while we were fucking, he hit me so hard I saw stars.

  I hadn’t been able to speak for a few moments.

  Then I told him to do it again.

  It made me the center of attention.

  Just like Shane did, although he didn’t hit me. In some ways, though, he was worse.

  Just like Mom’s blows. But those feel different. She doesn’t hit me because she wants to own me. She does it because she hates me. One feels like love. The other…well, she feels like disgust.

  Maverick’s thumb brushes my lip and I flinch. It’s sore.

  He must’ve felt the movement because he moves his hand to the back of my head and pulls me in close, against his bare chest. “I’m sorry, Ella, I—”

  I jerk away and slap him. Just like I did a few hours ago. The sound is quick and loud in the quiet room, and he flinches, then shoves me against the door at the same time he steps away from me.

  “You fucking bitch,” he snarls, his hand going to his face, one still against my chest, pinning me to the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I’m leaving.” I try to twist out of his grip, toward the door, but he drops his hand from his face, threads his fingers through my hair and yanks, hard.

  “No you’re not. You wanna hit me again? I’ll hit you back, Ella. I’ve never done that with a girl before. Not one I didn’t want to kill.” His mouth is against my ear as he drags me toward him. “But I fucking liked it.”

  Warmth pools in my low belly, the little hairs on my arm standing on end. I know I should shove away from him. Scream. Yell. Make a scene. But I’ve never been good at those kinds of things. Not in moments like these.

  He presses me against the door, and I feel his erection against my stomach. My lips part and when his hand moves from my hair to my shoulder, down over my arm, I close my eyes.

  Try to let go.

  Let go.

  Letting go of one thought, drifting to the next, it’s a way to control the anger. Move past it. Become detached from that emotion. Reach for a different one.

  But that can mean a lot of things, Marnie. Especially for a girl like me. Anger, arousal, attention. They’re all the same for me.

  No. I’ve got to leave. I already don’t like how I feel around him, and that’s how all my problems begin. I’ve known him three hours. Three fucking hours, and two I was asleep for.

  My eyes fly open and I hit him again. But he must’ve been ready for it because just as my hand connects with his jaw, he threads his fingers through mine, lessening the blow.

  His forehead connects with my own, our fingers entwined against his skin. My nipples harden as his chest brushes against me.

  “Say it,” he commands me, his breath against my skin. He smells impossibly good, not like he just woke up at all. I taste blood in my mouth still and I’m positive my breath doesn’t have the same god-like qualities. “Say you want me to hurt you.”

  Is that what I want?

  In the dark, I smile, bu
t don’t say a word. He’s weakening my resolve by saying all the wrong things. Almost like he knows me.

  His fingers tighten against mine. Against his face.

  I remember the cuts on his back.

  I move my free hand around him, my fingers dipping over the wounds.

  He sucks in a breath, his body tense against mine. “Ella,” he says warningly.

  I trace my fingertips up and down his spine. It feels rough, entwined with places of untouched skin. A car accident? Did he skid on his back? Maybe an ATV?

  Did he do it to himself?

  “Ella,” he whispers, our foreheads still together. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  No you don’t.

  “But that’s too far, okay?”

  I don’t have many hard limits, kid.

  Besides, last night I did it. It got me what I wanted. My split lip is testament to that. If he wants to keep me here, he’s going to do it my way.

  I keep tracing the wounds, loving the way his breaths are uneven, his body still tense. He thinks he has the power.

  But if I push him to the edge...I’m in control.

  “Ella.” His voice is angrier now. He presses further into me, and I widen my stance, feeling his leg between mine. “Don’t do that.”

  But what if I do?

  I angle my index finger, so my nail is against a soft, untouched part of his skin.

  He tenses in anticipation.

  “Did you know,” he says quietly, keeping his tone even, “last night I killed a woman?”

  I’ve never done that with a girl before that I didn’t want to kill.

  It’s my turn to suck in a breath, my index finger stilling against his skin.

  His fingers still hold mine against his jaw and I feel it move as he speaks. “I probably still have her blood on my body.”

  Lucky girl.

  “I beat her to death with a hammer, Ella.”

  A shiver slides down my spine, but I don’t move away. It isn’t true. He wouldn’t tell me if it was. Sure, this place clearly costs a lot of money, and there are guards and a gate and Natalie’s boyfriend seems loaded, but...who confesses a murder to someone they just met?