Page 55 of Sweetheart: Part One

The golden lace tore.

I stared at the two halves of the ripped lace, frozen for a long moment. Ice crept up my spine, the voice of my nightmares creeping into my head.

“Do you know what a trigger command is, Vex…?” Alastor asked, one visit. “It’s an order that triggers under certain circumstances. Ones that I determine.”

My heart was in my throat. Tears burned my eyes as I stared at the torn lace, trying to process the layers of commands Alastor had set.

Don’t sabotage anything we send you with. That was a rule.

A rule I’d just broken.

“Being the filthy gold pack you are, youcanbreak the most powerful commands—even if there is a price. But I can’t afford to risk you spilling our plans. So, I need you to know you’ll suffer more than just that moment of pain if you break the rules I give you.”

This… wasn’t a big rule.

An accident.

And none of my mates had learned anything they shouldn’t.

Still, his command locked me in.

Numbly, I got to my feet and made my way to the bathroom. There, I rifled through my makeup bag until I found that tiny silver needle.

I grabbed my side of the bond, locking it down as hard as I knew how. Then I sunk to the floor, huddled against the vanity, as I held the needle in trembling fingers above my thigh.

I balled my fist in my shirt as I jammed the needle in, silencing my whine of pain. Then I opened my mouth, whispering the first lines of my mother’s lullaby as I pulled the needle out. Still shaking, I was only able to hesitate for a moment before pressing it back into the same spot.

Over and over and over again, I re-pierced the wound, until tears streaked my cheeks and I’d sung through my mother’s lullaby four times more.

SIXTEEN

Dear Rook:

Are you different from the monsters I’m running from?

VEX

I needed this to work.

I needed to do whatever the fuck Rook goddamned Harrison wanted, so he’d sign me in. I could deal with it.Nothing is worse than Alastor,I told myself.

I huddled in my bathroom long after I was able to drop the needle, shaking with self-hatred and rage. Enough time passed that my tremors were gone and my mind was clear.

Nothing is worse than Alastor.

That was my mantra as I knocked on Rook’s door at six, wearing the same thin dressing gown I’d worn for Love.

Rook answered, eyes sweeping over my outfit appreciatively before stepping back and letting me in. “If you want a signature, I need to know it’s worth keeping you about.”

Worth keeping me about?I fought not to ball my fists.

“I understand,” I said, working to keep my voice neutral.

Nothing is worse than Alastor.

It was huge inside his room, just like Love’s had been, lending to as much privacy as they needed, aside from having to leave for food. In Rook’s, there were a set of French doors, one cracked and leading out to a large balcony, and the summer evening tangled with his caramel brandy scent. Within was busier than Love’s: there was a massive TV above a fireplace and some sprawling couches, a broad oak desk, a treadmill, weight rack, and a display cabinet of trophies. It was lived-in, too, which was oddly refreshing, with clothing laying about, and a few cans on side tables. I noticed one slender crystal trophy on his bedside table because—of course—Rook Harrison slept beside his Radiant Aura award.

The fucking prick.

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