Page 26 of Carry Your Debt

But then something else wrestles its way to the forefront of my simmering thoughts. What had Midas called her?

Little rook.

Rook?Sonota raven, then.

My mind latches onto that seemingly innocuous nickname, trying in vain to remember where I might’ve heard the wordrookbefore in reference to theImperium.

Nothing.

I’d need Atlas and Lake to check through their notes as soon as we get back to campus.

Or.

Or I can get the information straight from the hauntingly beautiful source herself.

Before I can take more than a single step, however, I'm intercepted by a large, foreign hand clamping down on the backof my neck. My eyes immediately cut to the side, only to confirm there's an identical tattooed grip against my brother’s nape. Atlas’s shoulders are up around his ears.

Fuck.I know I wasn’t on my best guard just then, lost in thought, but Atlas normally is. This guymust move like a fucking ninja or else he got lucky and was able to use the swelling noise of the party after Midas’s exit to cover his approach.

“Evening, lads,” our captor sings from behind our heads with a flirty lilt. He follows up his cheerful greeting with a single warning squeeze of both hands. “You must be two of Sabine’s little lost Rox Boys.”

My heart rate slows just a fraction as I process those words. There’s a very good chance he’s one of the men we saw accompanying her just now—andnotsomeone from Alessi’s crew.

Still, he managed to catchbothof us with our figurative pants down, and I don't like it one fucking bit.

“And who the fuck are you?” I growl back, skin prickling with shame beneath his firm touch.

My eyes dart back over to where I thought they were last standing. Sure enough, only the two dark-haired bodyguards remain. They’re tracking Sabine’s stiff approach as she returns to their side. I'm also attempting to track her steps without moving my head.

The stranger only chuckles. Obnoxiously. “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy? It’s Sinclair—right?” He punctuates the second question with a firm shake of his hand, andChrist,it feels like my whole skull rattles.

But I’ll be damned if I let this asshole keep calling the shots here. I shrug him off roughly, and as soon as the twin death grips fall away, Atlas and I spin defensively.

My gut was right.

It's the large blond, who's clearly enjoying himself, the black feathers of his face mask unable to hide the mirth glittering behind his eyes. Couple that with the dark smirk he wears like a slash of war paint, and his whole demeanor has me feeling like we've blindly stumbled into the trap of some unhinged trickster god.

Which probably explains why I suddenly find myself right up in the shorter man’s personal space.

“She’sours.Always has been,” I spit, my words dripping with all of the hot, possessive venom now searing out the hollows of my rib cage.

I'm fully expecting the asshole to laugh again. Instead, all I get is more of that incessant fucking smirk.

Fuck, do I want to wipe it right off his smug fucking face.

“I need to talk to her,” I grind out, wondering, not for the first time, if he’s going to prove to be an actual barrier between us and our girl.

“Apollo, my man. A word to the wise: This alpha bullshit? It doesn’t work on her.” He pauses, looking thoughtful for just a second before adding with another sultry grin, “Unless you’re Zeus. Then she’s folding like a house of cards.”

I have exactly zero idea who this Zeus fucker might be, but my brain’s now fixated on the fact this motherfucker just addressed me by the same callsign Sabine gave us as she fled with us from the Guardhouse.

Apollo.

Is she the one who gaveZeushis name? And what about this guy? What’s his alias?

For some reason, it’s that thought—the thought of her also bestowing matching pet names upon these perfect fucking strangers—that sends the hottest jet of jealousy coursing through my chest yet.

Naively,I’d thought the biggest mental hurdle of the evening would be keeping my composure around Sebastian. But that was only because I forgot to factor in being accosted by everyone’s favorite golden-haired despot.

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