Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Lucas

I don’t have time for this shit.

I glare down at the asshole from Shadow and Ash. He’s leering at me like the cunt knows something I don’t, and I fucking hate that. I’m used to being the one with the upper hand.

But lately, I’ve been off my game. I blame Wyn for that. The chick is a distraction I don’t need, but quitting her, at this point, would be like asking me to quit breathing. Wyn is oxygen.

And I fucking hate that, too.

Raking a hand over my face, I sigh, and pull my brother and Jackson aside. “Gym.”

Jackson and Christian flick their chins up in acknowledgment, following me out of the Panic Room. I close the giant vault door, then turn to them.

“Okay, so this shit has something to do with Tyler,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

After a pounding, Tyler found his way off a cliff known locally as Suicide Point because of the sheer number of people who “jump” off its pointy ledge, into the Pacific Ocean— allegedly .

Christian blows out a breath and leans against the weight machine. “He threatened a Sacred Son’s consort. We were within our rights to do what we did.”

“It doesn’t appear this Sin dude agrees,” Jackson says.

My phone pings, and I pull it out of my back pocket. It’s a text from Lindsay.

I think we found Wyn. We’re in front of her apartment. You should get over here.

She thinks they found Wyn? Either Lindsay knows where Wyn is or she doesn’t. But I don’t like the urgency in her text. Fuck.

Suddenly impatient with all this Tyler shit, I blow out a breath. “Alright, give this guy a warning, then cut him loose.”

Christian flashes me a look. “Wouldn’t it be better to send him over the cliff? Send a message?”

“Nah, they need to know we have their names. They’ve been hiding in the shadows for fuck knows how long, but now we know who they are.”

Jackson nods. “Yeah, I agree. They might back off knowing they’re no longer anonymous.”

“Can’t we send that same message with this guy splattered against some rocks?” Christian says.

I roll my eyes at my bloodthirsty brother. “Just tell him to retract his statement to the police and tell his cunt leader to back the fuck off, or we retaliate.”

And no one wants the Burning Crown to retaliate. We have endless resources, and when we punch back, we do real damage. The Sacred Sons aren’t known for their mercy. When we strike, we strike hard.

I send a quick reply to Lindsay.

What’d you find?

Christian pushes off the weight machine. “Fine, whatever.” He flicks his chin at my phone. “Where are you off to?”

I shake my head. “Just some drama with Wyn.”

“Fucking chicks man,” Jackson moans.

“Tell me about it,” I say. I’m already halfway up the staircase that leads up to the main floor. “Text me when this shit is done.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Christian says to me as he pulls the vault door open.

When I reach the main floor, I shut the basement door, and it automatically locks. I glance at my phone as I head out to my car, which is parked in the long driveway behind Rush House.

No reply from Lindsay. I could call her, but I’m already peeling out of the driveway. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, anyway.

As my fingers tighten around the steering wheel, my heart pounds against my ribs, remembering Lindsay’s last text.

You should get over here.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And why do I feel fucking anxious about it? This feeling is foreign to me. I don’t usually worry about anyone else—well, maybe Christian, Jackson, or Roman, but they can usually handle their own shit without me having to get involved.

But Wyn? Fuck. She’s vulnerable in ways that terrify me.

I speed down the coastal highway, parking in front of Wyn’s apartment within minutes. Lindsay and a couple of other people are leaning against their cars, waiting for me to arrive.

As I get out of my car, I don’t even stop to talk to them, because it doesn’t fucking matter what they say. I’ll beat down Wyn’s door if I have to.

“We can hear her inside, but she’s not answering the door,” Lindsay says, keeping pace with me. The others hang behind. “Nicole talked to the building manager, but the lady wouldn’t do anything.”

My long strides eat up the space between my car and Wyn’s door. I bang on the slab of flimsy wood. I’d use my key, but I forgot it back at Rush House. “Yo! Wyn, open up.”

I hear something—a shift of movement beyond the door that’s currently separating me from my consort. I bang on the door again. When there’s still no answer, I briefly consider calling her, but, yeah, fuck that. Instead, I shove my foot through the door. The flimsy bolt gives way immediately, taking that shitty chain lock with it.

Wyn is sitting in the center of her bed, eyes wide. She looks shocked by my presence, which is fucking ridiculous. Last night, she drugged me and then dipped. What’d she think—that I’d just let that shit slide? That I wouldn’t hunt her down and drag her back to my bed?

I widen my stance and tilt my head to the side, looking at her. “Forgot my key.”

Her eyes dart to the balcony door that’s to her right. It’s wide open, and I imagine she’s having thoughts about lunging for it. I hope she does. She won’t get away, but chasing her down and punishing her would be fun.

“Why are you here?” she asks, tripping over the words. She looks nervous, which is good. She should be.

My critical gaze rakes over her. She’s still wearing the dress she wore last night, her blond, wavy hair is a mess of tangles around her shoulders, and her eyes are red—like she just woke up.

Shutting the broken door, I step deeper into her studio. “You’re my consort,” I say, staring at the place on her chest where my pendant should be. It’s not there. “Where else would I be?”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “Now isn’t a good time.”

Is she fucking joking?

“Sorry,” I say, barely keeping a tether on my anger. “Next time I’ll be sure to clear my visit with your social secretary.”

Her eyes dart away again, and I step forward to grab her face, forcing her to look at me. I bring my head down, so we’re nose to nose. “This shit you’re doing has got to fucking stop, Wyn. You’re my consort. Mine. That means you belong to me.”

She glares at me. “I never agreed to that.”

I shove her face and take a step back, laughing. “In what world does that fucking matter?”

“ Mine ,” she says in that cutting tone that gets under my skin.

With a shake of my head, I walk over to her closet and wrench the door open. There’s a large pink duffel bag shoved into the corner behind a pile of shoes. I pull it out and start tearing random things off the hangars and shoving them into the bag. Then I move over to her dresser and grab a fistful of her underwear, stuffing those into the bag, too.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I glance over my shoulder at her. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing your shit because you’re moving into Rush House with me.”

“Why?” I can hear the exasperation in her voice.

I turn around to face her, my eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, why ? I already told you why.”

She shakes her head, and I could be imagining it, but it looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “Lucas, there’s something you need to know…”

Fucking chicks, dude. They always want to talk about shit. But me, I’d rather do the thing now and talk about it never. That’s my vibe. That’s how I roll.

I continue packing random pieces of clothing from her drawers and then I notice a couple of vitamin bottles on top of her dresser, and I take those, too. “Whatever it is, you can tell me in the car.”

I need to get her back to Rush House and back into my fucking bed— where she belongs . My blood is buzzing with the need to touch her. And after what she pulled last night, I’m desperate to fuck her, punish her…rip her to shreds.

“No, Lucas,” she says. “It’s important. And…I don’t know exactly how to say it.”

I pause and turn around again to look at her. She’s still on the bed, raised up onto her knees, and those wide moss-green eyes are pleading with me. It’s fucked up, but I can already feel my iron resolve melting.

Goddamn. I can’t allow this.

Grabbing the duffel bag, I turn toward the bathroom. Chicks require tons of toiletries, don’t they? Creams and oils and shit. I take a step toward the open door when Wyn’s voice rings out from behind me. “Lucas, wait !”

With a sigh, I turn back around and glare at her. “What?”

But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at something over my shoulder, her eyes wide. I sense a presence behind me in the bathroom doorway. A presence that wasn't there three seconds ago.

Dropping the bag, I ball my hands into fists, and turn slowly to see who or what has caught Wyn’s attention…

As I turn back around, time slows down, and my breathing becomes heavy. There, in the doorway, is a face I never thought I’d see again. I blink, confused. My brain just doesn’t compute.

Gabriel is leaning against the doorway, looking very much alive. “Hey.”