Page 43 of Call It What You Want
I disappear into the game for three, maybe four hours. People drift in and out of the room, but I don’t give them much notice, until Ash steps in front of the TV screen, blocking my view.
“Hello?” he says, annoyed. “Earth to Jackson.”
My thumbs fly over the controller as I try to see around Ash’s bulky frame. I have aBrutein my line of sight. “Dude, take a hint. I’m busy.”
“Well, I thought you’d like to know. I went down to toss some food at Sin, and guess who I found keeping him company?”
He pauses, like he expects me to guess.
“Tell me or don’t tell me,” I say, my eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m not guessing.”
He hesitates, and that’s all it takes to grab my attention. My gaze flicks to his face just as my avatar gets overtaken by aMinionambush. “Just say it,” I bark.
“It was Ember.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ava
My brain is slamming against the inside of my skull, and that’s what wakes me up. Eyes still closed, I try to ignore the pain and force myself back to sleep, but the unrelenting pulse inside my head makes that impossible. If I’m dehydrated, then this headache isn’t going away without water.
With a wince, I sit up and pry my eyes open. The room is dark, and I’m still wearing my underwear and the thick velvet robe I wore to the ceremony.
Leaning forward, I rub my temple, which helps ease the headache marginally.
What time is it?
There are zero clocks in this room, and I have no phone, so I have no way of knowing. But as I glance reflexively at the nightstand, I notice a glass bottle of water sitting next to a bottle of ibuprofen.
I throw back a couple of ibuprofen and down the water in one go, then sink back against the pillows and wait for the procession of drums inside my skull to quiet down.
As I’m lying there, the faint sound of music drifts in through the closed windows. Again, I wonder what time it is. How long was I asleep? A few hours, maybe?
My fingers drift to the heavy pendant resting against my breastbone. I should take it off, but for some reason, I don’t. I tell myself it’s to avoid pissing Jackson off. But that’s not it. Iliveto piss him off. It gives me joy. So why, then?
I lift the pendant and glance down at it. It’s circular, like a coin, etched with a crown and Latin script across the center. I’ve never seen it before, not even when we were dating, but I instinctively know what it is. It’s Jackson’s seal. And now it sits around my neck like a tether, daring me to deny I’m his.
Welcome to the family, wife.
I still don’t know what that means—am I his consort? Am I some kind of society wife?Ugh,I can’t think about all that right now, so I force the questions into the shadowy corners of my mind.
My body still feels tired, but my brain is wide awake now. If I were to try and go back to sleep, I know for a fact my mind would start looping scenes from last night’s ritual, like my own personal highlight reel of humiliation.
You know what I should do? I should head down to the beach and check out the party. It’d be something to do, at least. The only thing stopping me is sheer embarrassment. I mean, seriously, I was just fucked in front of half the Burning Crown membership. And why? So Jackson could prove he still has control over me?
Through the fog in my brain, I can still hear him whisper,I want every last piece of you.
You know what? Iamgoing to that fucking party. Jackson isn’t going to make me feel ashamed for something that wasn’t my fault. Plus, going down to the party is better than sittingalone in Jackson’s bedroom, trying to fall back asleep while music pulses outside my window.
With a groan, I roll off the bed and head straight for the shower. I stand under the hot water, letting it pound over me, soaping up, trying to wash off the memory of Jackson in that robe, fucking me against the wall. But the harder I scrub, the clearer the memory gets, and the more my clit throbs. The further I try to banish him from my mind, the deeper he roots himself there, until even my own touch feels like treachery.
“Ugh,” I groan, abruptly shutting the water off. I dry myself, then wrap the towel around me, and walk into the closet to find something to wear. Picking out a bra, panties, a sweatshirt, and a pair of short shorts, I tug them on. Then I dig a comb out of one of the bathroom drawers, and brush out the wet, tangled knots in my hair. I wish I had my lotion and makeup, because I feel bare and vulnerable without them. But, honestly, I’m just happy to be wearing clothes that fit, at this point.
My lips feel like sandpaper, so I hunt for my work pants, finally finding them in the hamper. I always keep lip balm on me.Always.It’s an addiction. I fish the tube out of my front pocket, cherry red, and slather it on thick. Then I slip it into the pocket of my shorts.
Without even looking at myself in the mirror—because, seriously, I’mnottrying to impress these lunatics—I head down the back staircase to the kitchen. There’s food scattered across the marble counters, waiting to be hauled down to the beach for cooking, along with discarded takeout containers and empty booze bottles. It’s a hot mess down here.
A couple of people are hanging out, doing whatever, and the first spike of embarrassment hits. Were any of these people in the ceremony? Did they witness my brutal humiliation? A couple of them look up as I walk in, and their gazes linger on me. AndI’ll be honest, despite my rationalization upstairs, the reality of being seen makes my skin crawl.
