Page 94 of Tell Me Why
He has her.
“Where?” I bite out, the single word carrying the weight of every emotion churning inside me—rage, fear, confusion—and the razor-sharp edge of determination that cuts through it all.
“I…don’t know,” Jackson says. “But Christian, listen?—”
I’m out the door and halfway down the hall before Jackson can even finish his sentence. If there’s one thing I know with bone-deep certainty, it’s this—if Lucas is alone with Eve, then it’s already too late…
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
Eve
Christian never came backto Rush House last night—and I wish I could say I was happy about that, but as each hour bled into the next, and the sun crept over the horizon, the ache in my chest only deepened, until I could barely breathe.
And fuck sleep. That wasn’t happening.
I’m sitting on Christian’s bed, staring down at the plain manila envelope he gave me, still too afraid to open it. During the night, I came close a couple of times, but the haunting echo of Christian’s words kept stopping me…
Your brother has been lying to you…
The sun is just creeping over the horizon, and the house has finally settled after the chaos of last night. I haven’t spoken to anyone, but when I got here last night, the police were just leaving. I watched from the window as Burning Crown members wandered back, one by one, all wide-eyed and shellshocked. Thank God there were no signs that anyone had been killed. No bodies. No ambulances. The gunshots must’ve been fired by the security team, warnings meant to drive off Sin’s crew.
A knock on the door startles me, and I scramble off the bed, hope and fear both taking root in my chest—is it Christian?
“What?” I call out.
The door swings open, revealing Christian on the other side, leaning casually against the doorframe, his hat turned backwards. There’s something off about him, though. He looks neutral, his beautiful face unreadable.
“Hey.” He pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room. But when I see the boho bracelets around his wrist, I realize it’s not Christian. It’s Lucas. They’re almost identical, aside from their hair and the way they move.
“Lucas,” I say, releasing the trapped breath in my lungs. “What’s up?”
“I heard through the grapevine that you’re free to go,” he says. “Need a lift? I can take you wherever you want to go.”
I’m immediately suspicious of how helpful he’s being. The Sacred Sons aren’t helpful. They’re ruthless. They’re calculating. They’d only “help” if it was in their own self-interest.
I lift a brow. “Why are you helping me?”
His eyes narrow briefly, and he laughs under his breath. “You know, you’re way smarter than people think.”
“Wow. Rude,” I say, flustered by how much he looks like Christian—the same pale eyes, the sameexactfuck-me face. It’s unsettling.
“To answer your question, I’m helping you because I need you gone. This shit with you and my brother has spiraled out of control, and the sooner you’re gone, the better it is for everyone.”
Yep, there it is. That signature self-interest.
“Something we agree on,” I say flatly. “I just need to throw my stuff in my bag, and I’ll be ready.”
“Cool,” he replies. “I’ll be downstairs.”
When he’s gone, I start shoving things into my duffel bag—my clothes from the closet, toiletries from the bathroom, the manila envelope. I’m careful with my mom’s gift, though, gently wrapping it between my softest t-shirts so the wrapping paper won’t tear.
Heaviness settles in my chest as I scan the room one last time, looking for anything I may have forgotten. The necklace Christian gave me is lying on the desk, exactly where I left it a few days ago. Picking it up, I hold it in my palm, a deep sadness settling over me. It’s like there’s this hole inside my chest that just keeps getting wider and deeper when I think about Christian…
With a gulp, I close my hand around the necklace and shove it into the pocket of my shorts. It’s mine, right? He gave it to me, and I’m sure it’s worth a lot of money. I’d be dumb to leave it behind.
I find Lucas in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scowling down at his phone. He glances up at me as I walk in. “Ready?” he says, taking my bag.
“Where’s Wyn?” I ask.
