Page 16 of Call It What You Want
My hands ball into tight fists at my sides, fingernails digging into my palms. Lucas mutters something behind me, but I’m too focused on Sin’s smug face to hear him. Every fiber in me screams to lash out, to strike, to hurt. But I clamp down on it, teeth gritted, lungs burning, aware that if I let go, I’ll lose control entirely.
“Say her name again, I fucking dare you,” I say, my voice low. “See how long you last when I get creative with that smart-ass mouth of yours.”
“You want to know the best part?” Sin continues, ignoring my threat. “You can’t stop what’s coming. The wheels are already in motion. It started with the article. By the time everything is over, the Burning Crown will be nothing but ashes, and you’ll be rotting in a cell where you belong.”
That’s all I need to hear. I shove past Lucas and Ash, stepping into the cramped room. “You piece of shit.”
Sin doesn’t even flinch as I approach. If anything, his grin deepens. “There’s the infamous Jackson McKnight. Always ready to solve his problems with violence.”
I don’t even think. My hand connects with his face with a sharp crack that echoes off the cement walls. His head snaps to the side, but when he looks back at me, he’s still smiling through the blood that’s oozing from his split lip.
“Feel better?” he asks, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.
I grab him by the collar and pull him close. He’s a big guy, so that’s not fucking easy. “What the fuck do you know about Ava?”
He leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper that chills me to the bone, “I know she isn’t as innocent as she pretends to be...”
CHAPTER SIX
Ava
Jackson is gone for a total of three minutes before I decide to say “fuck it” and leave. Don’t leave this room. His low, threatening tone was meant to intimidate me into compliance, but, yeah, fuck him.
Rolling off the bed, I find my panties and work slacks and pull them on. My shoes are nowhere to be found, but whatever. There’s no time to look for them. I tiptoe to the door, crack it open, and peer into the dark hallway.
Empty. Perfect.
I ease past the door and shut it softly, but the old hinges squeak loudly.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I pause, every muscle frozen, listening for the faintest sound, my heart battering against my ribs. The hallway is dark and creepy, hauntingly silent. Breath held, I wait for a few seconds, and just when I think it’s safe to continue on, a voice breaks through the quiet.
“I didn’t think anyone was allowed up here.”
With a sharp gasp, I whirl around, my pulse still racing, only to find a girl about my age lingering in one of the doorways. Her dark hair is knotted into a messy bun, strands slipping free to shadow her face. She’s dressed in dark leggings and an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
It takes a second, but I recognize her. It’s been three years since I last saw her, and she’s developed more of a woman’s figure, but her face is still identical to Jackson’s.
“Ember?” I say, shocked to see her here, of all places. My dad keeps me in the loop about the McKnight family—totally unsolicited, by the way—and last I heard, Ember was still living with her mom in Calabassis. The same property my dad lives on, in the guest house.
Her eyes flick over me, like she’s only just realized who I am, and can’t believe it’s really me standing in front of her. I guess it’s understandable. I probably look like a nightmare. Plus, the last time she saw me, I swore up and down Jackson would never see my face again. Yet here I am. Creeping out of his bedroom.
“Ava?” She blinks at me. “Oh, my God. What are you doing here?” Her gaze darts to the bedroom door, then back to me. “Are you two…?”
“No,” I say in a burst. “No. I was…just leaving.”
“Oh.” There’s a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Bummer, we couldn’t catch up.”
Ember and I never really hung out. In the summer, when she was in Missouri to visit her mom and stepdad, she had her own circle of friends she’d meet up with. But she was always nice to me, and every so often over the past couple of years, I’d find myself scrolling through her socials.
“We should grab some coffee sometime,” I say, forcing myself to sound nonchalant, even as my heart slams against my ribs.
“Yeah, that’d be fun,” she says. “Hit me up on my socials.”
“Will do,” I laugh—why am I laughing?—before turning on my barefoot heel and heading toward the nearest staircase. The wood creaks beneath my weight as I make my way down to the kitchen, which is mercifully empty. And from the landing, I can see the back door. Just a few more steps, and I’m home free.
