Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

CYRUS

T he stifling heat of Emerson’s arm against mine wakes me just before his alarm goes off. He grumbles as he picks up the phone and hits snooze. I sit up and lean against the headboard to watch him doze. My fingers itch for a piece of charcoal and a sketch pad to capture his sleepy beauty.

The early light of dawn casts long purple shadows across the room, highlighting his square, sculpted jaw and hollowed cheeks. A full fringe of dark eyelashes fan out from around his closed eyes. I run the barbell of my tongue piercing across my teeth as I try to commit this image to memory for later today.

As the alarm pierces the air once more, he cracks an eye open. “I can feel you looking at me.”

“I can’t help that you’re so pretty.” I slap his cheek.

He elbows me in return before getting serious. “Nightmares again?”

I nod and go quiet, looking anywhere but at him. I awoke last night in a cold sweat from dreams of what I had to do earlier this summer back in Greece. I swear I’ll never get the stench of blood and death from the memories that haunt me.

Emerson and Declan both have general ideas of what my family puts me through, especially having seen the new scars I come back home with after every summer. But Emerson has always welcomed me into his space when I need the comfort of another body close by.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about back in the spring?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He suggested I see a therapist. I just don’t see how they can help me when I’m actively still doing work for my family. I’m at their beck and call until I figure out a way to completely extract myself. How can I start therapy for something that’s still ongoing?

“But you’re not going to look into it?”

“Not yet, but I will eventually.”

He shakes his head, disappointment radiating off of him as he gets out of bed. I stay silent as he grabs his clothes for practice and disappears into the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, I stand up and make the bed. I head upstairs, pausing next to Harper’s room to listen for any noise indicating that she’s awake.

“She’s still sleeping,” Declan says as he walks past me with his soccer duffel bag on his shoulder. “She usually wakes up by eight thirty on her own if you want to make sure you’re around in case she needs anything.”

“I can do that.”

“See if you can get her to relax and feel comfortable with you.”

“Or at least not hide in her room all the time,” Emerson adds as he steps into the hall.

I salute them both with a heavy dose of sarcasm as they descend the stairs. Although, despite my appearance, I am probably the best one to help her come out of her shell. Beneath the tattoos and piercings and trauma, I’m actually the most empathetic and softest of the three of us.

I’ll use the time with her to dig a bit deeper into her relationship with Banks. We went to different high schools, but the community we come from is small enough that we’re all acquainted with each other. She was always out of reach as the goody two-shoes preacher’s daughter, and he is a tough nut to crack. Very friendly and personable but also guarded. The interactions I’ve witnessed between the two of them are odd but familiar.

Honestly, it’s none of my or anyone else’s business, but I know Declan’s been obsessed with her since the first moment they met. Anytime we’d find ourselves in the same place, his eyes would immediately go to her. I can’t say that I blame him. I find her incredibly fascinating, like staring at a work of priceless art.

By the time I get cleaned up and come downstairs for breakfast, Harper is up and filling a stainless steel cup full of ice water. She looks over at me and gives me a hesitant smile .

“Are there any trails around here for a good jog?” She screws the cap on the water and begins putting her hair up.

“Yeah, there’s a good one a couple streets over. Let me put my shoes on, and I’ll join you.”

She’s stretching when I meet her in the foyer. I wait beside her, doing a few calf stretches as she finishes up. She pulls on a ball cap and slides her ponytail through the back.

“I’ll probably be slow because I didn’t run at all the past few weeks at Cillian’s house. Feel free to leave me behind if you want to go faster,” she tells me. From the furtive way she glances at me and then quickly away, I can tell she’s nervous or embarrassed. That won’t do.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll adjust to your pace.” I sweep my hand toward the door in invitation.

She gives me a lukewarm smile and takes off down the front steps. I fall in beside her and match my stride to hers. The sidewalk is cracked from tree roots pushing the slabs around, so I guide her onto the street.

The August heat and humidity blanket us as we jog under the sun. Luckily the trail I’m guiding her to cuts through a dense wooded section of a local state park, so it’ll give good shade. It also runs along the perimeter of our neighborhood to take us back home from the other direction.

She follows my lead as I cut down a dead end and through a narrow trail to come out onto the main path. We pass a few joggers and cyclists, but the trail is fairly empty as it’s midmorning on a weekday. I usually run on my own during soccer season, so it’s nice to have someone with me.

Harper is the perfect jogging buddy. Her dark ponytail swings as she takes the lead, and I fall back as we pass two moms with strollers on the trail. She’s wearing a t-shirt that says something about Jesus and shorts that hit her at mid-thigh. Her outfit has no business being as sexy as it is, and I can’t help sneaking looks every time I drop back behind her.

By the time we get back to the house, we’re both dripping sweat. I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the back of the couch as I walk into the kitchen for a bottle of water. She follows and refills her cup. Her gaze moves from the shirt I discarded to my chest where she does a double take. I’m not sure if it’s all my tattoos or my nipple piercings that have caught her eye, but I flex my pecks just to fuck with her.

Her cheeks deepen from the pink of exertion to the red of embarrassment. I don’t know what it says about me, but I want to make her blush like this every single day.

“Are you just going to leave your shirt there?” she asks when she’s finally recovered. Her haughty tone is a fun new development.

I give her a slow smile. “Maybe.”

“Do you guys have house rules or anything? Guidelines for shared spaces?”

“Never have before. We just deal with each other.”

“I don’t know if that’ll work for me.”

“By all means, share your ideas with us.” I couldn’t hold back my smirk if I wanted to. “I’ll message the guys to let them know you’ll share your ideas over dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, Princess.”

Her lips flatten into an annoyed line. “That’s worse.”

I chuckle. “I’ll figure something out.”

She walks out of the room without giving me a response but giving me the best view I’ve seen in ages. My good mood immediately sours when I look down at my phone and see a message waiting from my uncle. He wants me to meet him this afternoon in one of his warehouses. It’s never a good sign when he requests my presence.

“You’re late.” My uncle stands flanked by his right-hand man, Andreas, and his enforcer, Nicholas. He holds his hand out to me.

I take it, bowing and press his ring to my forehead as he makes everyone in the organization do. “Uncle Georgios.” I stand and take a step back. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”

It’s highly unusual for him to demand a meeting while I’m in America. He spends his time divided between here and Greece, but the deal he reached with my parents was that he wouldn’t request my assistance for anything while I was over here in school. I don’t know how they managed to get him to agree to that, but I’m grateful they did. It was the last thing they did before they tragically died on their yacht. I’m still not convinced my uncle wasn’t behind it.

His bushy, white eyebrows rise at my irritation and blatant disrespect. “Watch your tone when you speak to me.” He pulls a photo out of his pocket. “I need you to take care of this man. He fights in an illegal boxing ring in Atlanta. I’ve already gotten you in for a fight. Andreas will send you the address and time. Make sure he’s out of commission but do not take him down.”

“Done.” I turn to leave.

“Pretty new roommate you have.” The sinister threat braided through in his voice makes a chill run down my spine. “Better make sure our name stays clean.”

It lands exactly how he wants. My heart beats sluggishly as I continue back to my Ducati. I put my helmet on and gun the engine, putting miles between the family whose blood runs through my veins and the future I’m building.

I can’t say no to him yet. So many expectations were placed on me just because I was born with the last name Antoniou. Moving to a completely different continent didn’t help. Putting an entire ocean between us didn’t either. I keep thinking this is the last thing he’ll ask of me, but every time I turn around, he’s moved the goal post.

The only thing I care about is that my shit never touches Declan and Emerson. And now, by circumstance, Harper. Especially Harper. She’s likely been through as much, if not more, than me. I wouldn’t put anything past her father.

It’s unnerving that my uncle already knows about her moving in with us. I’m going to have to be more careful about keeping an eye on the house. He’s clearly having me followed, and I’m not about to put up with that bullshit.