Page 47 of The Hallows Boys

“Almost six,” Beckham answers as he stands up to get dressed. Vinny and I follow, slipping our clothes back on silently.

“I’m exhausted.” Sage yawns, nuzzling down in the bed. A grin touches her lips as she watches us, but she doesn’t say anything else.

Once we’re fully clothed, I step toward her for the last part of the games. “Get dressed, Little Rabbit. We aren’t done.”

She’s quick to obey, throwing the blankets off to slip from the bed. I smirk at her when she catches my eye, nodding my head a little to tell her I’m pleased.

When she’s fully dressed, she steps into her shoes as she brushes her fingers through her messy hair. “What now?” she asks, a twinkle to her eye.

“Tradition,” Vinny answers her, leading the way to the door so we can head for the Hallows Crypt.

“Tradition?” she questions Beckham as she falls in step next to him, and he grins but doesn’t answer her. Following Vinny from the door, I step out into the dawn of November, taking a deep breath of fresh air. We cross the five feet of patchy grass that separates the two crypts.

“We’re in the cemetery,” Sage muses quietly from behind me when she’s finally shown the outside of the room we’ve had her trapped in for the majority of the night. She’s silent after that, and none of us respond to her as Vinny unlocks the door for the Hallows Crypt.

I can imagine Sage’s big brown eyes searching the cemetery curiously, the sunrise on the east giving her only glimpses and shadows of the area. We step into the Hallows Crypt, the small space illuminated by the rows of candles we lit earlier in the night for the sole purpose of what we have to complete last.

“What the fuck is this place?” Sage wonders aloud, scanning the room with her gaze as she runs her hands along the tops of the dressers lining the wall.

“It’s time to add your name, Little Rabbit,” I answer, pulling the knife we used to carve our initials into her back from my pocket. Becks and Vinny grin viciously as she stares at the knife in my hand, and when I extend it toward her, she jumps a little.

“Add my name?” she questions, still not taking the knife from my hand.

I turn, pointing to the wall with the sharp end to show her the list of names. I step toward it, dragging the blade to where the blank space sits at the end. “Carve your name, Sage.”

I hold the knife toward her again, and this time, she takes it from me. After a few breaths, she steps up to the wall, wrapping her delicious fingers tightly around the hilt of the blade, then she drops down to her knees.

She takes her time, the noise of the steel scraping against the stone wall filling the space around us. She turns to me for approval, so I glance at the wall behind her. Her name is carved into the wall, her personal style and handwriting so different from the names above hers.

I nod my head at her, smirking widely. When she stands, she hands the knife back to me and then turns around to explore the rest of the room. She reads all the boys’ names on the wall. Becks, Vinny, and I all stay silent, letting her inspect the area while she has the chance – she’ll never see it again after today.

She walks slowly, letting her gaze trail around the room. When she reaches the portraits, she freezes in place and gasps loudly, making me step toward her in defense.

“What the fuck…” she breathes, taking a step back and bumping into my chest.

Her head shakes, her chest rising and falling so quickly I start to panic. I grip her by the sides. “What, Sage? What is it?”

She gulps, raising her shaking hand to point at one of the portraits of our founding fathers on the wall. “That’s my dad…”

PartThree

After The Games

ChapterTwenty-One

SAGE

My heart pounds so hard that I can feel it in my throat. I spin around, pushing my hands against Kaiden’s chest roughly. “Why thefuckis there a picture of my dad in here? Is this one of your sick little games?”

He narrows his eyes at me, but I can see confusion in his gaze as his dominance wavers. He moves his gaze behind me to look at the wall, to where there’re three portraits hanging.

After a moment, he looks back at me.

“Which one of these is your dad?” He waves a hand toward the wall.

I turn around again, walking to where the frames are hanging, and point a finger at my dad’s smiling, youthful face. “This one.”

Kaiden blows out a choppy exhale, and Beckham steps toward me. “Your dad is Andrew Blackmore?”

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