Page 53 of House Rules
“The dangerous kind.” The look in his eyes sends a thread of fear skimming along my nerves.
He sets the smaller knives down on the table, lining them up in a perfect row, then brings out the knife that he usually carries. The large folded knife is so beautiful with its gleaming silver blade swirled with black, the blue and silver handle providing a bright counterpoint.
He holds it up, letting the light glance off of the metal. “I don’t usually tell people about this blade. I might mention that my father gave it to me, but I don’t talk about why I carry it.” His gaze rests heavy on me. “For some reason, I’m compelled to tell you.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice trembling.
He’s standing so close to me, I can feel his breath on my face and smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. He moves the blade, running the tip over my skin, just barely dragging it across my flesh. It doesn’t cut, but the threat is implied.
Adrenaline floods my veins while my breathing gets shallow, and a bead of sweat runs down my spine.
“My father gave me this knife one night when we went on a camping trip, just the two of us. He and my mother had gotten into a fight, and he told me this long, elaborate story about how it was all her fault, about how she was destroying our family and how people will always try to use you. He explained that the only reason they had ever gotten married was because of the money, and that people would always try to use me for my money, my power, and my influence. The only way I could protect myself was to make sure that those I surrounded myself with were the same type of person I am.”
It feels like an icy fist has my heart and its grip and it’s squeezing. That’s what this was about. Money.
“You’re telling me this so I know you think I’m out to get your money? You want to put me in my placeand remind me I have nothing, that I am nothing? I don’t need the reminder, but thanks, I guess.”
I whip around to leave but his hand on my bicep pulls me back to face him.
“No, angel. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand that I know that we’re the same.”
Something inside me stills and settles. “What do you mean?”
“That trip was supposed to be for me and my father alone. He had the PR team come out and turn it into a photo op, though, and then he spent the rest of the trip in the cabin with his secretary. I was left in the care of an intern. That, more than his little speech, helped clarify how easily we can be used. My own father used me to make himself look good.”
That hollow ache in his voice cracks something open inside me. I think of my own father—how easily he traded my affection for a few hands of poker. It’s like we were born in different worlds, but came out of the same fire.
Storm stops for a moment to take a breath, and I say nothing, letting him process whatever he is feeling.In his eyes, I can see the pain and anger swirling like the complex patterns of the blade that’s never far.
He closes his eyes for a moment and then steps closer, pressing his forehead against mine. “You may not have the money that I have, but that’s superficial as fuck, anyway. You and I have the same damage. The same trust issues, and the same need to protect ourselves from the vultures who would pick us clean. I see you, Phoenix, and I know you see me, too.”
My breath catches in my throat. The way he’s looking at me, his eyes so close to mine, is making my knees weak. I want to fall into his touch. I want to press up against him and wrap my arms around him, and I want to protect him from all the shit that has him so damaged he feels the need to carry a blade wherever he goes.
I know the basics about his family. His parents were never very subtle about hiding their fights. I would occasionally see them having tense, clipped arguments in the resort's lobby. I saw the welts that his mother left on his arms. And I saw the way his father distanced himself from him. When Storm was very young, his father was always smiling whenhe was around. I got the impression he wasn’t around often, but when he was, he was happy.
Something changed as Storm grew older, and the last time I saw Storm’s father, he looked dead inside.
“So there’s one thing I need to know, sweet angel,” he says.
“Okay.”
“I protect myself with the knife. I’ve wielded it against my enemies and even my lovers to keep those who would harm me again at a distance. It’s always with me. I also protect myself by surrounding myself with my real family—my brothers—who understand me.”
“What’s your question?” I ask, an uneasy feeling in my gut.
“How do you protect yourself, angel? How do you keep the monsters who would use you, abuse you…take everything they can from you…at bay?”
“I…” I stare up into his brilliant blue eyes, wondering just how much he really sees. Did he know I was in trouble? Did he know the same surface stuff about my life that I knew about his?
I want to tell Storm everything. I want to lay everything out and beg him to help me. But I’m not a Titan. He’s not bound to protect me.
He said he surrounded himself with his family, and I don’t blame him for that. If I had that option, I would, too…but the Titans are not my family. If I tell Storm what I want to tell him, if I unveil the secrets that I have been holding back, I will force him to choose between me or them. That is not an ultimatum I would win. It’s not something I’d even want to win.
“I don’t,” I finally answer. “There’s no way for me to protect myself from the monsters. I just…make myself so small that they don’t see me.”
“There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t see you the second you walk into any room,” Storm says, his tone matter-of-fact.
“I don’t know how to protect myself.”
