The House of the Wicked (The snake and the raven #1)

5. Nora

Nora

Could you hand in your two weeks’ notice?

A single bead of sweat runs down the curve of my spine as my eyes meet his.

“This is my Nora.” Ricky introduces me with a broad smile.

“August,” I greet him, overemphasizing his name before stretching out my hand to meet his. So, he lied last night... Because he knows who I am?

Sliding into the vacant seat next to him, panic rages like a wildfire inside me.

August squeezes my fingers almost painfully before letting my hand go. The way the corners of his mouth lift slowly, a subtle smirk just for me.

“It’s good to meet you, Nora,” he says.

The urge to roll my eyes is overwhelming. He practically licked my soul out of my body last night and today it’s good to meet me? If nothing else, he’s a terrifyingly good liar. A delusional part of my brain fills with cautious optimism as I settle deeper into the chair. He wouldn’t tell Ricky. I ’ll bet my life on it. Okay, maybe not my life, but I’ll definitely bet his . If he tells, at best, he’ll be out of a job. At worst...

“Nora isn’t mine by birth.” Ricky’s declaration about my parentage interrupts my thoughts. He stands from his ostentatious chair and walks over to me, resting his hands on my shoulders. To anyone looking at us, the move might seem paternal, caring—it’s not. He’s marking me as his property. He’s telling August that I’m off limits. For anything outside of his protection. “But she is my daughter in my heart. Her parents were dear friends of mine. When they died, well, it was my duty to care for Nora.” Ricky’s words slice into me.

I know he believes them to be true, but the three Glocks in my bedroom tell a different story.

“About thirty percent of your work will revolve around ensuring Nora is safe. She does some work for me, but other than that, she is not involved in my business.” I scoff internally at the remark. Again, the three Glocks beg to differ.

“Other than the people who work in this house, and a handful of my associates, no one knows about Nora. I like to keep it that way, to keep her safe. I expect you to do the same.” His words are casual, conversational even. But no one in this room is unsure of just how much damage he’d rain down on August if he disobeys that instruction.

August’s face contorts into a tight smile before he turns to face me. “Nora.” God help me. The sound of my name soaked in the low, husky pitch of his voice and the briery look in his eyes sends my traitorous body into turmoil. “Are you in college?” he asks.

I simply blink. It’s an effort to force the room back into focus, to forget the sensation of his lips against mine... Hours have passed since he kissed me and now he’s here, and I’m a fucking mess.

“Er, no. I’m done.” I raise my brows slightly, waiting for him to go on.

“How do you spend most of your days?” he asks, “To get an idea of your schedule,” clarifying.

My brain won’t survive another second weathering his steely gaze, which, despite being completely unfriendly, is also unsettlingly devastating—for my horniness. So, I do the most mature thing I can think of: I pick at an imaginary thread on my shirt and shrug.

“I do stuff,” I say, gesturing broadly around me. Ricky’s given no indication of how aware August is of my role in The Court Cartel.

“Don’t worry about Nora’s schedule. If she needs to go anywhere, she’ll let you know,” Ricky jumps in, saving me.

“Is he going to be staying in the cottage?” I ask Ricky, cringing a little at the aggressive tone of my question. Our previous heads of security stayed on site, in the little cottage next door to the one Dima lives in.

“No, I have an apartment close by. I won’t be staying here,” he answers before Ricky can.

I shrink back into the chair as a tight smile twists Ricky’s features. He turns away from August to glance at me. “Well, I just wanted you two to meet. Thank you, Nonny.” Dismissal. Finally. “Don’t forget about those cleaning jobs,” he tacks on. I nod, because how can I?

“I’ll start them now.” The smile I offer him is acerbic and a flash of something like a challenge crosses his face. “They’re urgent after all, aren’t they?”

“T hey are,” Ricky confirms, nodding as my eyes greedily snatch one last look at August before I rush out.

Free from the suffocating atmosphere of Ricky’s office, I sag against the hallway wall. The solid, cold barrier against my back is strangely comforting.

“Dima?” I whisper loudly, before pushing myself off the wall and heading toward the kitchen.

Dima skids to a stop to avoid running into me as she rushes out of the kitchen. “What is it?” she demands, looking around the hallway frantically.

“I need your help.” I grip her shoulders gently to steady her, an overwhelming urge to throw myself into her arms washing over me. Dima’s not a hugger. She hugged me often during my childhood, but they were always brief, awkward, and initiated by me. At some point during my teen years, that just sort of stopped. But there are moments, like today, when I’m desperate for the cool rational brand of comfort only she can provide. She leans back and raises her brows; as she registers the panic that’s settled over my face.

“There’s a new head of security.” I gesture to Ricky’s office as if that somehow explains my erratic mood. “Can you get my laptop from the loft? I need to catch up on some work before dinner.” A lie, but she’s the only person who knows where I store the machine.

“Work? Is that what he’s calling it nowadays?” She tuts, still watching me, still waiting for an explanation for my panic—an explanation I will not be sharing. Because work is the furthest thing from my mind, but stalking August is front and fucking center.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her slight frame moving up the stairs to the loft.

Minutes later she’s back, my laptop tucked under her arm and a frown creasing her forehead. Dima sets the laptop carefully in front of me, watching intently as my fingers move over the keyboard, unlocking it. Cyber stalking August is at the top of my to-do list, but with her hawk-eyes burning into me, that plan is swiftly abandoned. Might as well get to work on the I.D., it’s the least time-consuming task. The guns will take longer and will demand my full attention, which happens to be in short supply today.

Dima potters around the kitchen while I work, cups of tea and snacks appear next to me and without realizing three hours have passed—the I.D. is done. One less thing I owe Ricky. There should be some relief attached to that thought, but all that surfaces is weariness, because the worst of the jobs await me. Pushing the guns out of my mind, I smile at Dima just as the door to Ricky’s office opens.

He swaggers out, August in tow.

Dima’s head lifts, turning to take Ricky in, a scowl twists across her face before it’s quickly replaced by a bland, uninterested expression. It’s a look I’ve witnessed on her face again and again. She despises him. I’m always surprised by her lack of effort to conceal it.

“Dima.” He grins at her. It’s slimy and patronizing, and I hate it. “Nora, August’s staying for dinner. I’m going to take him on a tour of the grounds.” Both Dima and I cast disgusted looks at August—okay, mine’s disgusted, hers is bored.

I drop my head on Dima’s shoulder, now beyond desperate for any form of comfort, before mutt ering, “Great.” But Ricky and August have walked off already.

“Trouble,” Dima says cryptically, as she also turns to leave.

“Wait!” I call after her. “You’re not helping me with dinner?”

She grins over her shoulder at me. “I’ve got a bridge game.”

“Since when do you play bridge?” I whine as the door to the deck shuts behind her. Turning into the kitchen, I mindlessly begin opening and closing cupboards. Dinner... I didn't want to cook dinner. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Dima

Check the oven.

Racing forward, my hands grip the oven door, yanking it open before a satisfied sigh slips out of me. She’d made my favorite—rosemary and lemon roast chicken. With a mind of its own, my head dips forward, closer to the oven’s opening. My entire body seems to soak up the aroma currently filling the kitchen—delicious, warm, lemony, and familiar. It’s the closest thing to a hug she can give me. I grab my phone.

Nora

I love you.

A salad—spinning on my heel, I quickly rummage through the fridge for the ingredients. When the shittiest garden salad to ever be made is done, I take a heat-and-eat ciabatta from the breadbox.

And that’s how August finds me, ripping the plastic off easy-bake bread and smiling to myself. My eyes fly to him the second he steps into the kitchen. Like a weary animal tracking the predator about to devour it, each step he tak es unsettles me. His slow prowl across the room ends when he drops his perfect ass into the chair at the kitchen island.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asks. God help me, it’s an effort to force my eyes away from his mouth.

“Yes, actually.” I glare at him. “Could you hand in your two weeks’ notice, Martin ?” A sickeningly sweet smile stretches across my face as my delusional demand hangs between us.

The same laugh I heard rumbling out of Ricky’s office earlier now fills the kitchen. Deep, throaty, and dangerous.

“Nice try, Nonny , and Martin is the name of my closest friend.” He winks at me.

Lust burns a scorching path through my body. It’s not him. Or maybe it’s partially him, but more than that, it’s my very human need to be touched, to be cared for, to be fucked and kissed and worshipped. His presence is an unwelcome reminder of how empty my life is.

Turning my back on August, I pull the bread from its packaging. The weight of his gaze is heavy on my back, shredding my already tattered nerves. Just as the tension between us rises to an almost unbearable height, Ricky breezes in, diffusing it immediately.

“August, why don’t you set the table for Nonny?” He stares at me, then at August.

“Of course,” August replies before pulling off his sweater.

A sliver of skin along the top of his jeans appears, revealing even more tattoos before he adjusts his t-shirt, setting his sweater down. The snake tattoo on his neck is more visible now, its head attached to a long black body wrapped around his shoulder and arm. Smaller tattoos take up space in the gaps of skin between the snake’s head and August’s throat . My eyes drag down the length of his thick forearms, all the designs inked along them.

I shouldn’t be looking. I shouldn’t notice how ripped his arms are or how broad his fingers look. I shouldn’t acknowledge the tightening that starts in my stomach and drops all the way to my core as his fingers wrap around the stack of dinner plates on the counter.

He sets the table quietly while Ricky watches me, the shadow of a smirk dancing on his lips. I know he’s aware of just how hard I’m staring at August.

“Gracie said Adam joined you at the beach. Did you give any more thought to our marriage suggestion?” Ricky asks, snapping me back to reality, that annoying smirk still tugging at his thin lips.

“He did, yes. With his girlfriend . So, no, I didn’t.” The timer goes off and I pull the chicken out of the oven, setting it down on the dining room table. “I’m not interested in marriage,” I insist softly.

He sighs and walks over to the table, stopping behind his usual seat to look at me with weary eyes. “So you say, Nonny. But I worry about you. All alone. One day I will die and then who will you have?”

Who would I have? I don’t know.

But what would I have?

That , I know, because I hunger for it almost desperately. Freedom .

Walking back to the kitchen, grateful that he can’t see the longing that I’m sure is now on my face, I place the warm bread on a thick wooden board. After taking a moment to school my features into a mask of calm, I walk back to the dining room and take my seat next to Ricky, opposite August.

My m ood’s soured since walking into Ricky’s office earlier. This deranged conversation about marriage is making it worse. Marrying Adam is as far-fetched an idea as me marrying anyone, but the thought of Gracious and Ricky scheming behind our backs sickens me. Fuck this and fuck them.

“Why’s August eating with us?” I ask, brazenly, glaring as they both dish their dinner. “We don’t usually eat with the staff.”

“Nonny, manners.” Ricky stares at me. “He’s new to the house, and I thought it would be good to get to know him better.” Disapproval and reprimand hang off his every word.

Rolling my eyes, I bite back the argument brewing in my mind. The one where I tell Ricky to get fucked. The one where I scream about how much I hate all the eyes on me and all the control and every single restriction. The fucking scheming. The one that might just end with a bullet in my head. Instead of having that argument, my hands wrap around the stem of my wineglass, bringing it to my lips before filling my mouth with a massive, vulgar sip of wine. It’s impossible to miss the way it sloshes over the rim as I slam the glass back on the table.

Picking up my knife, fully intending to slice up some chicken, I stop halfway and point it at August, then gesture to the house. “Where’d you work before this?”

He smiles at me. A wicked smile. Cunning, beautiful, and a little cruel. He’ll fit in with Ricky and Gracious perfectly. “I was in the military.”

“Oh, you were?” I ask with obvious fake interest. “Ricky was in the military with my father when they were young.”

“I was.” Ricky nods, like me sharing this information was normal. I never talk during dinner.

“Y ou never felt the urge to join, Nora?” August levels his dark stare at me.

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. The words I used to describe the painting last night rush at me. I’d all but confessed my hatred of this city’s obsession with gang culture and violence to him.

“I prefer a different pace of life, August.” Glaring at him, the knife’s back in my hand—a prop at this point. Deciding to lean into the unhinged aura surrounding me, waving it in his direction. “You know, art galleries, the beach, getting my nails done.” This statement paints an incorrect picture of my life. One that speaks to vapid pursuits, a girl without a care in the world. It’s probably not far off from his assumption of me.

“Yes, Nora likes her quiet. She wouldn’t do well in a structured environment like the military. And you hate working out.” Ricky laughs at me. I smile pointedly, tense and impatient.

I’d normally join in on the joke. I do hate working out. But saying this in front of August feels like a betrayal.

“It’s getting late. I better head off.” This comes from August, who looks between me and Ricky. Is he waiting for permission to leave?

“Nora, will you walk him out?” Ricky dabs at the corners of his mouth with the napkin like he’s in some Michelin star restaurant, not eating ready-made bread at home. The urge to laugh at the utterly ridiculous display is almost overwhelming.

“I’m sure he knows the way.” Staring at Ricky, my eyes beg him to drop it.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a bit of help. I promise to find my way tomorrow.” August offers me his hand, and I sigh loudly. Setting my fork down, I stand, ignoring his offered hand.

My m outh is quite literally covered in chicken grease, and secretly, I hope an enormous piece of chicken is wedged between my teeth.

“Well?” I practically shout from the archway that separates the dining room from the hallway. “Are you coming?” Ricky laughs as August says his goodbyes.

His heavy steps echo behind me as he follows me out into the hallway. He’s so close the heat of his body reaches for mine, each step like lightning battering my nervous system.

Pulling open the front door, I stalk off the porch onto the gravel driveway. There’s a massive black SUV parked next to my equally massive G-Wagon. Walking over to my car before turning and leaning against the hood, my eyes lock with Augusts.

“Did you know who I was? Last night?” The question rips out of me.

There’s no point in asking. If my mind was capable of rational thought, I wouldn’t have bothered. But something inside me rages at the idea that maybe he knew. That he’s toying with me. I’ve had enough of being everyone’s fucking toy.

“Did I know you were the spoiled little princess I’d be babysitting when I thought about fucking you on the hood of a taxi?”

Taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, by his words, I look at him in shock. “What?” I stammer.

He sighs like he’s dealing with a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. Instantly, I feel small and insignificant. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, August asks, “Do you know the story about the snake and the raven?” With his keys in hand, he closes the distance between us.

“I don’t,” I mutter, cringing inwardly at the soft, docile pitch of my voice.

“I t’s a cautionary tale. You see, the raven lived in the forest. Usually, food was easy to find. But for some reason, one summer, it dwindled to nothing. Many days passed since her last meal, and a hunger so consuming took root inside her.” He brushes his fingers across my clavicle, watching as shivers race down my spine, shaking my shoulders. “One day, perched on a branch of a tree, looking at the forest floor below her, she spotted a snake.” Closing my eyes, as the press of his hips against my stomach overwhelms me. He’s hard, and as that thick length pushes against me, a whisper of his breath dances against my face as he recalls the story, “Where was I?”

I’m spiraling into the most delicious kind of distress.

“Oh yeah, the raven—” he continues. I gasp mutely as his stubble tickles my cheek. “—she knew the snake was dangerous. But she’d seen the eagles feasting on snakes. And the snake? Well, it was asleep. And in this state of stasis, to the raven, it looked as harmless as a caterpillar.” His hips rock into my stomach, his erection completely obvious. “So, with her hunger spurring her on, the raven spread her wings and swooped down to grab the sleeping snake.” August’s hand, calloused and rough, reaches out and gently closes around my throat. Slowly, he lowers his head until his lips brush against the shell of my ear. “But as the raven closed in on her kill, the snake twisted.” The hand around my throat tightens subtly; my thighs squeeze together, as I lean further into his body. “Sinking its fangs into the raven’s neck. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath, watching in silence as the raven’s wings beat once, twice, before stilling completely as it slowly died in the snake’s lethal grip. The raven was stupid. Do you know what made the raven stupid, Nora?”

I shake my head.

“S he let her hunger push her to reach for things that could kill her.” His thumb traces the swell of my bottom lip before he steps away and unlocks his car. “No more sneaking out.”

As soon as the weight of his body lifts from mine, my feet move. I’m desperate to get away from him, to rush back toward the house, back toward the only safety I know, away from the man who’s about to become my greatest distraction.

“Nonny.” Ricky’s voice echoes from the living room. Walking over slowly, I hover in the doorway. “I have plans for him. Plans that don’t include you. Leave him alone.”