Page 42 of House Rules
It’s more of a need than a want, a desperate bid for freedom rising inside of me. I have no idea what I’m capable of, no idea who I could be if my current circumstances weren’t my lot in life. Who would I be if I’d been raised in an ordinary, middle-class family brick ranch, with a mom who asked if I’d finished my homework and a dad who worked a stable job with a retirement plan?
I want so badly to figure that out. My lips part to tell him as much, but I clamp them shut. It’s too much. The Titans will have just about every piece of me while I stay with them. They don’t need the heart of me, too.
“Why do you always have the knife?” I ask, needing to change the subject.
He accepts it, the tip of his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “My father gave it to me on a fishing trip.” The way he says it is casual enough, but there’s this darkness in his eyes that warns me against pressing for anymore information. There’s a story there, but it’s not one that he’s going to share…or maybe he would if I asked. Maybe he’s just waiting for someone to ask, but I’m not brave enough.
Earlier, he said women like him to fulfill a serial killer fetish. I get it. Sometimes, he has this look about him that screams killer. There’s this sort ofdon’t look-don’t speak-don’t touchedge to him that projects danger.
Other times, he looks like a scared little boy, all alone and no clue how to protect himself.
I know next to nothing about Storm, but I know he’s fighting demons. My tongue darts out to lick suddenly dry lips, the need to help him seizing me. Silence builds between us, thick with anticipation. “What—” I begin, unsure what I’m even going to say. I just know I need to say something, do something to break this tension.
Storm shakes his head the barest amount, cutting the question off before it takes form. He takes the knife in his hand and lifts it, pressing the tip against the spot where my jaw bone meets my ear. I swallow as our eyes lock, his gaze as keen as the blade against my skin.
Taking my inertia as a kind of tacit agreement, he drags the blade beneath my chin, following the line of my jaw.
I should pull away. Say something. Stop this.
But his presence makes my skin tingle and my mouth dry. Every nerve in my body is wired for his attention, and now that I have it, I can’t bear to let it go.
So I stay still. I let him look. I let him touch. I let him own the moment.
He doesn’t press, and he doesn’t draw blood, but still…I can feel the sharp tip gliding against the uppermost layer of my skin. I know when I look in the mirror later, I’ll see the evidence in a faint scratch.
The barest trace of a smile blooms on Storm’s lips, and it occurs to me that I should be terrified. Terror is the right emotion to feel when someone has a blade to your throat. I’m not scared, though.
His is not the kind of smile that says he enjoys scaring me. It’s softer, darker. Like he found something he didn’t expect—and now he doesn’t want to give it back.
Instead, a pulse pounds in my throat, in my wrist,in my core. I’m fucking turned on, and from the look on Storm’s face, he knows it.
When all of this is over, I’m putting part of that money toward a therapist. I think I’m going to need one.
“Hey, asshole,” Maverick says, coming into the room and breaking the spell. I jump, and Storm lowers his hand slowly, almost regretfully. Maverick looks from him to me, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “What the hell are you doing? The parents are all downstairs. We’re supposed to make an appearance at some little tournament bullshit thingy. I’ve been informed that our attendance is non-negotiable.”
Storm nods without replying and stands, eyes still fixed on me for a lingering moment before he turns to go into his room.
Maverick’s gaze settles on me, and his mouth twists into a frown. “That’s not your uniform, little firebird.”
I make a face. “Since your parents are going to be at the thing at the casino, can I sit it out?” I ask. “My stomach is a little off, and that way I will be properly dressed in my uniform before you guys return.”
“That’s fine,” Con says, walking in behind Maverick and fastening his cufflinks. He doesn’t even look up at me.
Maverick shrugs. “Whatever.”
It’s perfect. All four men will be elsewhere, leaving me alone and giving me at least an hour or two to finally start my investigation.
My hormones and these men have been distracting me from my mission, but that’s not an excuse that will fly with the mob. I need to get busy trying to satisfy them.
The staff continues to go missing. I may not have liked Rachel, but her family deserves answers. If I can find those and absolve my debt in the process…so much the better.
An involuntary shudder ripples through me as I head toward my bedroom. The awareness that they’re waiting is a weight that keeps me up at night. If I don’t get them something soon, they will come for me, and I really don’t know if I’m as safe here as I thought I would be.
Storm is the quietest of them, but somehow themost dangerous. Not because he threatens me. Because he doesn’t have to.
He could’ve cut me. I think part of me wanted him to. That scares me more than the blade ever could.
If I keep slipping like this, I’ll forget what I’m here to do. The mob doesn’t care if I get kissed or cut. They care about results.
