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

9. August

August

Sorry to disappoint, princess, I don’t cower for anyone

T he usually quiet house is crackling with an unsettling kind of energy today. Standing in the hallway outside Ricky’s office, I’m about to head out after another pointless meeting with the man himself. Aside from explaining why none of the men in his little folder of death are dead, there was nothing else to report. My jaw ticks with the force it takes to rein in my anger; I have shit to do and killing elderly gangsters is all the way at the bottom of my list.

Pausing as the wide archway marking the entrance to the kitchen appears in front of me, my head tilts forward as their voices float toward me. His grating, hers sensual, as always. My race to get out of the house is forgotten as my entire being comes to a complete stop outside of the kitchen. I’m close enough to see them without being seen by them.

“What?” Adam sets something down on the counter and turns to face Nora. Deep frown lines stretch across his forehead as his eyes crawl down the length of her body. My fists ball at my sides, white knuckled and ready to s lam into something or someone.

“It’s because you’re short.” Nora grins, watching as he tries to take something off the top shelf of the pantry… with a pair of fucking barbecue tongs.

He isn’t, not really. But the light in her eyes tells me she’s trying to provoke him. Smiling when he finally gets it down, his gaze tracks the soft curves of her body.

Her pink bikini bottoms are tied in little knots at her hips, creating small rolls where the string presses into her skin. My fingers ball at my sides as the urge to trace each tie suffocates me. God, what I’d give to map every inch of her with my hands, my tongue, my everything.

Her brow furls as she considers something. Sitting there on the kitchen counter laughing with him… She hasn’t noticed me standing in the doorway—neither of them have. I’m about to clear my throat, to force her to see me, but her words stop me.

“Do you think I’m fat?” The question leaves her in a shaky whisper, one that hints at what she’d been thinking about seconds ago. “It’s not an indictment on me if you do. I’m just curious about, you know? What men think when they see me, I guess.” The words rush out of her.

Adam’s silent, too fucking silent. While I want to grab those words; rip them out of her mind and lock them in a dark dead place so she can never think them again.

“I just want to know what you think…” she whispers, over-compensating for his lack of response, softening the severity of her question. It pisses me off that he looks so uncomfortable, that he doesn’t immediately rush to reassure her.

She’s fucking perfect .

“Nor.” The nickname burns at me. The familiarity of it, the way he uses it as a catalyst to close the small space between them.

Her legs dangle off the edge of the counter, his palms land on her knees, before he pulls her legs apart, before as he takes a step forward, settling his body between her spread thighs.

“Your body is incredible,” he says, as he runs his hands along the tops of her thighs. Eyes burning with fury, I freeze as he leans into her space, waiting for the moment I’m sure will come next, the one where he kisses her.

Why the fuck do I care? She’s not mine. We had one incredible kiss on a quiet street. I’m not here to fall for her. I’m here to work. And yet, standing in the kitchen's doorway, I can’t squash the feeling that he's touching someone that belongs to me.

“What’s happening right now?” Her question snaps me out of my rage.

“Nothing. Maybe something?” He grins at her. She laughs awkwardly before pushing him back.

Enough—the word thunders against the walls of my mind as I clear my throat.

“Nothing. Definitely nothing,” she confirms, before looking at me.

Nora’s eyes slowly crawl up my body. I lean against the wall, waiting for those eyes to find mine again. She lingers on my still-clenched fist before locking her gaze on me.

“Who the fuck are you?” Adam’s voice is hostile and flat. His eyes move over me, and I fight the urge to grin. Nora could easily introduce us, but she’s watching our exchange like it's a test, like she wants to see how Adam will navigate this. Or maybe how I will… Is she hoping I’ll cower? Maybe apologize for intruding?

“W ho the fuck are you?” I glare at Adam’s hand, still resting on her thigh.

Sorry to disappoint princess, I don’t cower for anyone.

“If you’re in this house, you know who I am.” Adam steps away from Nora and moves around the kitchen island, toward me.

Awkward laughter bubbles up Nora’s throat. Adam’s ridiculously ill-equipped to take me on. Our height difference alone puts him at a disadvantage. Then there’s his obvious lack of strength despite the stacked muscles. I know he won’t last a second in a fight. It’s not ego, it’s instinctual. I just know I’ll kick his ass.

Before Adam’s attempt to lure me into a dick measuring contest can truly kick off, the sound of the front door opening and closing rushes toward us. Turning in my spot, I glare at Sebastian as he walks into the kitchen a few seconds later.

In one quick move, Adam pulls his t-shirt off his torso and tosses it to Nora.

“Go get dressed, Norman.” He nods to the stairs leading to the loft.

Tugging the t-shirt on, she turns her back to Sebastian and me and slides off the counter.

T he kitchen’s silent when Nora comes back downstairs fifteen minutes later.

“Adam?” she calls out from the hallway.

“He left with Bassey. Something about a meeting.” The words leave me in guttural rasps. Anger over Adam’s reaction to Sebastian still burns through me. Do they all know and not care? Are they happy for her to share her home with a man who’s clearly a fucking predator?

She’s alone with me now and I’m going to get some fucking answers. Nora strolls into the living room a few seconds later. Her feet stutter as she takes me in. Seated on the edge of the sofa, my knees are spread, elbows resting on said knees, hands fisted beneath my chin. I’ve been in this exact spot for ten minutes, waiting for her.

“A meeting?” she asks, staring at me vacantly.

She looks like she wants to ask more, but unfortunately for Nora, we have more urgent things to discuss.

“What was that about?” I glance toward the kitchen.

“What was what about?” She’s hovering just outside the living room.

Is she intentionally playing dumb or is she genuinely confused? Maybe she thinks I’m referring to the way Adam behaved…

“The t-shirt?” I raise my brow, waiting for her to explain.

Slowly my words seem to register in her mind, her face changing from indifferent to nervous. Yes, princess , this isn’t about the way my eyes narrowed when Adam touched you. It’s time to talk about Bassey.

“Nothing,” she mutters, stepping into the room. Choosing the sofa opposite me, she flings her body into it and a short, painful silence stretches between us.

“Did Bassey hurt you?” I finally ask, dropping my hands from where they’ve been resting under my chin and leaning back on the sofa.

“No.” She punctuates her rushed denial with a firm shake of her head.

“A dam didn’t insist you get dressed in front of me, so why did he do it with Bassey?” I watch her with so much intensity. The way she shifts in her seat tells me she finds it unsettling. I’m waiting for a sign, any sign, that might lead me to an answer.

“Just drop it. It’s not important.” Breaking the pressure of our locked gaze, she looks out over the garden.

Turning in the direction of her gaze, deep green, well-manicured lawns stare back at me… And the pool. Dammit.

“Except it is important.” I push off the sofa and walk toward her, dropping onto the coffee table directly in front of her. “And it’s my job.”

She drags her legs up, no doubt needing to put more physical space between my body and hers, and tucks them under a cushion before answering. “Bassey just gives me the creeps.”

Leaning forward in a silent rebellion against the space she created. “Why?”

“He just does.”

Intense brown eyes stare into me. “In what way?”

“Jesus, August.” She sighs. “In every way, okay? He’s always watching me. A few weeks ago, I found him upstairs in the loft. No one’s allowed up there. I just feel like he wants to hurt me.” The last part a whisper, a confession.

Something screams at me that this is the part she hasn’t shared with Ricky or Adam.

Considering her, and the truth she’s just shared, the wheels of my brain turn this information over and then over again.

“What did Ricky say about it?” My question is met with more silence. It hangs between us. “Nora, you have told Ricky, right?” I press.

“I told him that Bassey gives me the creeps.”

“T hat’s not the same thing as telling him that Bassey was in your bedroom, that he makes you feel unsafe.”

“No, I guess it isn’t.” Sighing, she looks out of the window again.

I’m losing her, she’s drifting off—she’s somewhere else, her eyes slightly glazed as she zones out staring at the pool. I can’t stop myself. I brush my fingers against the side of her neck. Her eyes snap to me.

“Why are you here, anyway? I’m not going anywhere today.”

“King,” I say simply.

“What about him?”

Ricky told me she’s been raised with the constant commentary that King’s behind her parents’ death. She dedicated the first two years of college to an almost hysterical pursuit of knowledge. At least that’s how Ricky tells it. Nora chews on her bottom lip, watching me. Waiting for an explanation.

“Ricky asked me to do some digging, said you’re good with computers and might be able to help.” She scoffs at my answer. I tilt my head, confused by her reaction. “Apparently the other 70% of my time is going to be spent hunting down your godfather’s nemesis,” I clarify further.

“Why you?” She blurts out the question.

“I was an exfiltration specialist. When I was in the military,” I say vaguely, like it explains everything. Judging by the expression on her face, she has no idea what it means, but I want to draw her into this conversation, not bore her to death until she bolts.

“What’s that?”

“Kind of like a hunter.” My hand slides over her ankle, tugging slightly until she twists to face me completely. “I’m trained to use technology and intelligence to find people. The ones that want to be found, that need rescuing.” My fingers trace small circles around her ankle. “And the ones that don’t.”

“Cool.” She shakes off my touch despite the shiver that racks her body. “Well, I can help with the tech side. I’ll get the files I already have, and you can tell me what else you need.”

“Before you do that.” After moving into the spot on the sofa next to her, I continue. “Why don’t you talk me through your research first?”

“It’s not extensive. If you think I’m a ghost, King really is. We have a vague idea of his age. We know he’s from Dahlia Heights. And we have a few physical descriptions that have been worked into sketches over the years.”

I think about that for a few seconds. “Do you think he’s real?”

“What do you mean?” She asks.

This is new to her; she’s not used to sharing her opinions because she probably isn’t used to being asked for them.

“Maybe he’s made up?” I offer.

“Except the Knights have to have a leader,” she insists.

“Yeah, but maybe it’s more of a collective leadership. Using the idea of King to keep The Heights in line?” I muse, and she smiles bitterly; we both know it’s unlikely.

Because men like Ricky are here to lead. Men like Gracious don’t share power. Men like me are driven by ego. Men like King claim their violence. Either with our names, or our reputations.

“That’s an interesting theory. Good luck selling it to Ricky,” she says.

“Come on.” I tug her arm as I stand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“And go where?” She tries to shake me off while glaring up at me.

“Dahlia Heights.”