Crown of Thorns by E.M. Snow
9
I whirl around.He’s still behind that enormous mahogany desk like he’s some sort of untouchable king, but I have an intense urge to leap across it. Slap him. Hurt him. Do whatever I can to wipe that look of superiority off his beautiful face. Instead, I swallow the bile rising in my throat so that I can speak clearly.
“What the hell do you mean, collateral?”
He gives a jerky nod to my seat. “Sit. We’re not done.” When I don’t move—just lift my chin in a stupid moment of defiance—he’s on his feet in an instant, prowling toward me. “You sure you want to do this?”
Before I can move another inch, he’s close enough to me that we share the same breath, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of my uniform sweater. I crash into his solid chest, and the air rushes from my lungs in a strangled gasp.
“You are mine, Josslyn Luna,” he tells me through his perfect, clenched teeth, his lips practically skimming mine. “And I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. The sooner you come to terms with that fact, the easier it’ll be for you.”
Desperate for space so I can think clearly, I lean my head back and insist in a venomous voice, “My brother would never agree to something like this.” But doubt gnaws at my chest. The same icy teeth I felt when he showed me the video of Jasper rummaging through this room. “I don’t know what kind of sick games you’re into, but I’m not a plaything for you. My brother would never—”
The deep rumble that bursts from his lips is my only warning before he backs me up against the wall. A sculpture that must have cost a fortune topples over and shatters. He doesn’t spare it a single glance as he pins my wrists by my head. His face hovers over mine, something dark and twisted dancing behind his eyes.
“You don’t think you’re my plaything?” The pads of his thumbs dig deeper into my flesh, and I shiver at the sensation of his jeans against my legs. “You don’t think I can bend and break you whenever I want? You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. Did you even know your brother is wanted for murder?”
Murder. Hearing that word plunges me headfirst into icy cold water, and I struggle for air.
He just grins. “God, you really are a fucking moron, aren’t you? You never stopped and asked yourself why your grandmother needed a court-appointed guardian and not your brother?”
I have. So many times, I’ve asked myself that.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” a harsh voice demands just as two hands wrap around Phoenix’s shoulders to rip him away from me. I stare, stunned, as Gideon wrestles his brother back. I hadn’t even heard him come back into the room. “You said you wouldn’t touch her!”
Phoenix wrenches himself from his hold, but his eyes remain locked on me as he straightens his T-shirt. “I bet you don’t even know half the shit your brother has pulled,” he continues. “But I do, and that’s why you’re mine.”
He may as well be talking in riddles for all the sense he’s making.
I open my mouth, ready to demand he explain himself, but then I stop myself. Take a moment to focus and process everything he’s told me. I zero in on the one piece of information that could be a potential weakness for him. Phoenix said that Jasper had made a deal with his father—not him.
“I want to speak to your dad,” I blurt out. “If he’s the one that made this ridiculous deal, I want to hear it from him and I want to speak to my brother.”
Phoenix arches his brow again—I’m really starting to hate when he does that – and doesn’t appear all that impressed with my demands. “Royce is unavailable.” His use of his father’s first name is my first clue there’s something off about that relationship. He holds his arms out wide. “I’m afraid you get what you get, and you shut the fuck up.”
I need to get out of here so I can find Jasper. Hell, I need to get out of here, period.
“No, I don’t believe a word you say.”
“Believe what you want. The bottom line is your brother was given three months to pay us back for what he took. You’re ours until then, more specifically mine.”
His.
“And what exactly does that mean, I’m yours?”
His lips curl into that terrible sneer of his, and my insides twist and knot together. “It means whatever the fuck I want it to mean. You’ve got the weekend to get your shit together because I like to keep my possessions close.”
“What?”
“Fuck, you’re killing me, Luna.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, glaring around his fingers as he churns out, “You’re. Moving. Here. With us.”
I’m so shocked by the command, I can’t even form words. I stare up at him, my mind scrambling to come up with some kind of response. Anything, really, just to resist this insanity!
He speaks first. “You should thank me. Your temporary change of zip code is an improvement from the hovel in the slums.”
The rage within me explodes at the insult to my grandmother’s home. The house she worked her ass off for. The house my mother was raised in. “That’s never going to happen.”
“I like you better when you’re a doormat,” he mutters, lowering his fingers from the bridge of his nose to stroke his thumb over his bottom lip. “The truth is, you’ve got no choice. It’s already happened.”
Gideon steps between us because he’s apparently found his balls, but it’s too little, too late. If I stay in this room another second, I’m likely to die trying to murder his older brother, so I spin around and storm out the door. Phoenix doesn’t try to stop me.
Still, I hear his cruel, arrogant laughter as I hurry down the hallway toward the stairs.
My thoughts are so consumed with Jasper and Phoenix that I don’t notice the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs until I nearly run him over in my haste to get the hell of this house.
“Whoa, easy,” an unfortunately familiar voice says.
I glance up, just managing not to groan out loud.
It’s Alaric. Of course. Because this day isn’t enough of a train wreck already. Unlike his cousins, he’s dressed for school, even though we’re all outrageously late at this point, and looking every bit the golden god. His blond hair hangs in wet strands around his face and his blazer is undone. Without a word, I slip around him and hurry toward the door. To my surprise and frustration, he rushes around me to block my path.
“Move,” I snap, but my voice wavers with uncertainty. “I’m leaving, so get the hell out of my way.”
He doesn’t budge. Instead, he takes in my disheveled appearance then glances over my shoulder up the staircase. For just a moment, he looks almost … worried. “Everything all right, Hendrix?” he asks, lowering his gaze to me again.
My heart skips a beat, and I gawk up at him. When we met at the music store, we ended up debating the best guitarist of all time. He’d insisted on Jimmy Page, but I’d maintained it was Jimi Hendrix, so that’s what he’d called me the entire time he was there.
Holy shit, he remembers me.
Not that it matters. Whether he recognizes me or not, I don’t give a shit. What happened between us was just a blip and the only reason we even connected was thanks to a freak thunderstorm leaving him stranded. It’s not even worth thinking about now. “Move,” I say again, more firmly than before.
He hesitates a second longer before stepping aside and sweeping one hand out in a gesture for me to leave. I’m honestly surprised that he isn’t acting like more of a dick, but I don’t bother waiting around to find out why. I’m sure it’s just a temporary shift in character. Or a trick.
Rushing past him, I walk out the front door and attempt to slam it shut behind me. When I don’t hear the loud bang that I’m expecting, I peek over my shoulder and find that Alaric has caught it and is following me outside. “Go away, Hartley,” I snarl.
He doesn’t seem at all fazed my harsh tone. “Where are you going?”
“How is that any of your business?”
“Just curious.” Out of my peripherals, I see him roll his shoulders into a shrug. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to be hanging out around here.”
Someone like me? Whether or not he means that as an insult, I have no clue. And I decide, I don’t really care. I just want to put as much space as possible between me and this house as humanly possible. I hurry down the front steps. “Well, mind your own business.”
Again, he doesn’t appear deterred. He continues to follow me, his hands casually hooked in the front pockets of his uniform khakis, as I wander down the drive. I had forgotten how huge this property is, and my shoulders deflate when I realize that despite my daily runs, the furthest I’m getting without help is the iron gate.
“What’re you doing?” he asks when I reach into my bag for my phone, and I’m reminded of a little kid who constantly asks annoying pointless questions.
“Calling an Uber to take me home.” When he lays a hand on my forearm, a strangled sound leaps from my throat. “Don’t touch me!”
“I’ll drive you,” he insists.
“No, I—”
“Why not? An Uber to your place from here will be expensive. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go for free.”
I hate to admit it, but the offer is tempting because he’s right. An Uber back to South LA will be pricey. With a sigh of defeat, I drop my bag, letting it fall against my side, “Fine.”
I begrudgingly follow him to the other side of the drive, where a glossy silver Porsche is sitting among a few other luxury sports cars that no teenager has any business driving. We slide into the car, and I make it a point to keep my face turned away from his. He pushes the start button, and the car comes roaring to life. He peels out of his parking spot and rushes down the driveway at a careless speed that suits his whole I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anything-or-anyone demeanor.
The silence that stretches between us is heavy, but I’m not interested in putting an end to it.
When we reach the main road, he turns in the right direction without me having to tell him, and I realize he not only remembers me, but he also recalls the conversation we shared that day. Like how I told him I only lived a few blocks from the music store.
“So, you’re not planning to say anything about Phoenix bringing you to the house?” he asks at last, effectively breaking the silence.
I don’t answer him, maintaining my stony silence as I stare out the window.
The bastard is stubborn, though. That, or he’s really terrible at reading a room. “You do something to piss him off?” he asks. “Not that that’s a hard thing to do. Just interesting that he’d go through so much trouble for someone like you.”
That’s the second time he’s implied that I’m not worth his cousin’s time or breath. At least, that’s how I’m interpreting it. I’m not going to bother to ask him to clarify because I’m pretty sure that’s what he wants. He might just be trying to provoke me, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
“He isn’t trying to fuck you, is he?”
That’senough to make me speak. “Do I look like someone he’s trying to fuck?”
Amusement rumbles Alaric’s chest. “You must not look at yourself much, Hendrix.”
I’m not one of those girls who are convinced they’re hideous while everyone around them praises their beauty, but his words shock me so much, I almost lose my composure and twist in my seat to face him. No, I’m not one of those girls but I’m also not Phoenix Townsend’s type. I’ve seen his type. The girl he had publicly humiliated the first day of school. Margaret and the rest of the cheerleaders. Those are the girls Phoenix Townsend wants to sleep with, not me.
And besides, the last thing I would ever do is have sex with him. Fortunately, the bastard probably hates me about as much as I loathe him, so I doubt he’s at all interested in me beyond getting his father’s precious money back from Jasper.
As my thoughts return to my brother, I wonder how in the world I’ll find him. It’s not like I know where he hangs out or even where he lives most of the time. I don’t even know if he has an actual place where he stays or if he just bounces around these days. The only connection I have to Jasper is his phone.
If he doesn’t answer that, what am I supposed to do?
Alaric keeps drilling me with questions, trying to get me to spill what it is Phoenix wants from me, but I successfully evade him, focusing instead on giving him directions once we’re on the right side of town. When we finally reach my grandma’s house, I immediately move to get out of the car the moment he parks it next to the curb.
His fingers suddenly wrap around my wrist, stopping me.
“Hold on,” he says.
I yank my arm out of his grasp. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
His smile remains calm. Almost … entertained. Then, he points to the passenger floor. I glance down. My phone’s resting at my feet, where it must have slipped out of my bag as I climbed inside the Porsche.
When I reach down to grab it and turn for the door again, he calls after me, “You’re welcome, Hendrix!”
He’s already speeding down my street by the time I reach the front door.