Page 37 of Say It Slowly

Okay, well, so much for getting advice from him. This conversation has veered so unbelievably off-course already. “Nah, I’m good.”

He shakes his head in disapproval. “Let’s just hope she’s not cold-hearted like my chick is. But maybe I should save a bunk for you, just in case.”

I know he’s pissed, but this is just the way it has to be for now. I wish I could tell him everything; tell himwhyit has to be like this, but there’s no chance he’d approve. If I told him, it’d destroy everything, and on top of that, he’d never forgive me.

“I’ll be done with her in a few weeks,” I say.

“You don’t get it, do you , Roman?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and shakes his head. “You’re too much like me. Darkness runs deep in our veins. And out there, somewhere, is a girl whose going to grip you by the balls, and drive you in-fucking-sane. And once you get a taste of her, trust me, brother, you’ll always want her.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lux

I siton the bed for a couple hours, trying to decipher the note I found on Roman’s desk, but every possible search term just pulls up a bunch of nonsensical results. I need a bit more context to make sense of it.FCJ.Is it a school? A place? And without additional information, the long string of numbers makes absolutely no sense at all.

Once I’ve reached the limit of my internet sleuthing skills, I shut my laptop, and pick up my phone. No texts from Roman. This seems like a fun new pattern with him. We fuck, then he leaves, and then…radio silence. I have no idea what to make of that.

I lay on the bed for a while, but it’s evening now, and I’m starting to get hungry. One good thing about living here—temporarily—is that I won’t have to worry about money for groceries. If Roman is forcing me to live here, then he can feed me, too.

With a deep breath, I fortify myself to go downstairs. I should really socialize, anyway. Like Wyn said, I have to use thissituation to my advantage, and being at odds with the members of the Burning Crown won’t help me, or Bree.

I’m not getting dressed, though. If I’m going to be living here, then these guys just need to get used to seeing me in my sweats and bare feet. Fuck ‘em.

As I leave the sanctum of Roman’s bedroom, and step out into the hallway, I hear music coming from downstairs. There arealwayspeople here, but this feels more like a party. I head down the back staircase that leads to the kitchen, and I’m immediately confronted with at least twenty people in the kitchen, drinking, and smoking. Yup, definitely a party, which is totally normal for a random Tuesday, apparently.

Ignoring all the people, I open the fridge, and peer inside. Um, okay. There’s only beer, a couple burritos from a local fast food joint, and a bunch of condiments. Gross. I reach for one of the burritos, but it’s rock-hard. God only knows how long it’s been there.

Blowing out a breath, I move to the cupboard. There are several packets of Ramen, at least, so I take one of those, then find a clean pot, which is no small feat, and fill it with water to boil.

There are no clean bowls or spoons, so I take them out of the sink and wash them out with the tiny bit of dish soap that’s left in the bottle.

In a couple of minutes, my Ramen is done, and I carry it into the living room, where everyone is lounging, listening to music, and playing pool.

A bunch of guys are here, along witha tonof girls, all barely dressed. And as much as I’d love to criticize, I can’t really blame the girls for wanting to stand out in a crowd. There are so many girls here, and they’re all gorgeous. The competition to catch one of the Sacred Son’s attention is fierce.

And then there’s me. In my sweats, hair thrown up into a messy bun, carrying a steaming bowl of Ramen.

Everyone in the room stops, and turns to look at me. If there were a record playing, it would screech to a halt. Normally, I’d feel self-conscious about people watching my every move, but this is a common thing, now. I step into a room, and everyone stares at me like I’m a two-headed troll. Yep, it’s a typical Tuesday.

“Hey,” I say to the room awkwardly, trying to look as unbothered as humanly possible. I walk over to the sofa, and tuck in. It’s the only room in the house that looks modern, and untouched by the generations of frat-boy decay.

Lucas is sitting next to me, smoking a blunt, with a girl grinding openly on his lap, through their clothes, thank God. Small miracles. She’s smoothing her fingers through his hair adoringly. She’s not his consort, and I wonder who she is. “Where’s Roman?” Lucas asks, directing his question at me.

I narrow my eyes at him. Is he suggesting I shouldn’t be out in the living room unless Roman is with me? Fuck that. If they don’t want me here, then they should talk to their friend about stealing my shit and forcing me to move in.

“How should I know?” I twirl some noodles around my fork, and blow on them. “It’s not my job to babysit him.”

“Ohhhhhh, damn!” one of the guys says–I don’t know his name. “This one’sfeisty.” He emphasizes the word feisty, and everyone laughs.

The chick on Lucas’ lap glances over at me, her face scrunched in disapproval. “Itisyour job, actually. Only a really shitty consort would be sitting here, looking likeliteraltrash, while her guy is God-knows-where.” A couple people in the room laugh, and that seems to encourage her. “Maybe you should step aside and let a real woman take over.”

Her tone is bitter, and I can’t help myself, with the bowl still in my hands, I turn toward her with a glare. “You need to leave,” I say calmly.

Everyone goes silent again, and I glance at Lucas, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks shocked like he’s trying to process what’s happening.

When the girl doesn’t move, I say it again, each word slow and deliberate. “I’m not joking. Get the fuck out.”

Her eyes widen for a second like she can’t believe my audacity, but a second later, her shock shifts into a scowl. Like I’ve thrown down the gauntlet, and she’s picking it up. “Oh, honey, I’m not going anywhere. This ismyfamily, and no one wants you here.” Then she leans in, her long blond hair falling forward, creating a curtain that blocks out the rest of the room. She glares at me through her ice-blue contact lenses, and whispers harshly, “Death to the queen. String her up and watch her swing.”

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