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

17. Nora

Nora

you're not min e

A ugust props his massive body against the side of Ricky’s sleazy matte black G-Wagon. He looks relaxed and unbothered as he drags his eyes over every inch of me. Doing my best to mirror his sense of ease, I take a slow walk toward the car. Reaching past me, he pulls the back door open and waits for me to climb in. Not a single word is spoken as my ass slides across the soft leather seats. But a giggle ruptures out of me as he slams the door quite dramatically behind me.

Ricky hasn’t graced us with his presence yet, a huge win for me, considering he’ll likely force me to change if he notices my dress before we leave.

When Ricky climbs in a few seconds later, he’s on his phone, not looking at me. His expectation of my obedience is so high, he doesn't even consider a version of reality where I might defy him, where I might make choices of my own.

“August,” he looks up briefly, finding August’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’re to stay close to Nora tonight.” Ricky issues the order casually and then w aves his hand, signaling he’s ready to go. Two more cars follow us out of the driveway as we head into the city. Seconds pool between Ricky’s command and August’s confirmation that he’s heard it.

My eyes are glued to the side of his face, watching in rapt fascination as August’s jaw tenses, before his quiet confirmation comes, “Absolutely.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror, trading equally annoyed glances.

“Nonny, you know what I expect of you.” Ricky spares a quick look at me; I smile again as his brow furrows, noticing my dark makeup.

“Two dances with you,” I nod. “One with Adam, networking for the rest of the night. And not too much wine.” I add, dropping my voice to a gruff pitch in an attempt to impersonate his own voice.

“Don’t be a smart ass.” He grins at me before going back to his phone.

The city skyline looms in the distance as we drive in, the silence in the car making the tension between August and me feel so much more palpable. A song plays softly on the radio as we speed toward the East Precinct of the city. August exits off the highway and unease pools in my gut as the cityscape changes from unfamiliar to painfully familiar.

Twisting to face Ricky, my features flatten into a mask of absolute disinterest. “Where’s the ball, anyway?” I ask, smothering the hesitation in my voice.

“Some gallery.” He waves dismissively as August stops in front of the Victorian building where we first met. Catching his eyes in the rearview mirror, a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he watches me.

“L ooks nice,” I whisper as we park in front of the waiting valet. Seconds later, he’s at my door. The perfectly tailored black suit hugs the strong contours of his body. My hands grip his shoulders gently as my body tried to steady itself while I clamber out of the S.U.V. August offers me his arm, and it’s my turn to bite back a grin. This must be hell for him. I don’t know August. Not really. Not in the ways that count. But I know an event like this must set his stoic hackles on edge.

Ricky comes around the front of the car, joining us on the sidewalk before August hands me over to him. My arm twists through the crook of his elbow, and that’s how we enter. Me on Ricky’s arm, August trailing next to us, alert, watching every person who comes too close.

The three of us walk through the beautiful foyer of the gallery, coming to a stop at the small coat check booth. Ricky shrugs out of his slick black jacket and offers it to the attendant. He turns to me.

“I’m heading in, Nonny. You and August behave.” He smirks briefly before turning and leaving us in his wake. Pity, he’s about to miss my silent rebellion. Wriggling out of my coat, I feel, more than hear, the subtle gasp as August inhales deeply behind me. Turning slightly, my brows raise as our eyes lock.

“Everything okay?” I ask, smiling before turning back to the attendant and handing over my black fluffy coat and face August again.

“Everything is perfect, Nora,” he whispers, his throat bobbing slightly as he swallows. Side by side, we walk into the gallery. I beeline for the bar, and he follows diligently behind me.

The gallery comes to life around us. A cello hums nearby, drifting toward us as my nails tap rhythmically against the bar counter. It’s impossible to ignore the stark contrast between the crowd gathered here tonight and the one from the night I met August.

Tonight’s attendees, for the most part, are wealthy Port Manaus residents. If the cars in the valet line didn’t already tip me off, the excessive wealth decorating the necks, hands, and ears of the women laughing nearby would’ve clued me in. Then there’s the heavy security presence, which can be attributed to the mayor or to all the other ridiculous high-worth men—like Ricky. The ones who have more to lose than anyone else. August’s overwhelming presence looms behind me, turning to face him, fully expecting to find him watching me; I’m a little surprised to see him scanning the sea of faces in the gallery. The bartender finally returns, placing two shots of tequila and a glass of white wine in front of me.

“Nora.” August’s voice is a reprimand I’m not interested in hearing.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, throwing my head back, swallowing the first shot. After a full body cringe, I grab the second and repeat the motion. With my hand wrapped around the glass of wine, I turn to face the gallery again. But instead of a swarm of people filling my line of sight, it’s Adam's chest that accosts my eyes. “Jesus,” I gasp, taken a measured step back. Adam’s hand wraps around my wrist. “Let me go,” I demand. His face crinkles with confusion before he finally drops his hand.

“Norman…” His voice cuts through some of the tension resting thickly between August and I. Adam’s eager eyes creep along the length of my body as a slow whistle leaves his puckered lips. “Damn, Nor.”

“W hat?” I ask before taking a huge gulp of my wine, already tipsy from the two shots. I have no desire to pace myself tonight.

“Nothing.” He winks at August. “Nothing at all,” he says, dropping his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s dance.”

Shrugging out of his hold, I follow as Adam leads us to the open space marking the dancefloor just as the woman playing the cello starts an instrumental version of Lana del Rey’s ‘Young and Beautiful’. “You love this song,” he whispers against the side of my head, his arms circling my waist. I don’t reply as he guides us in what probably looks like a graceful attempt at a slow dance.

“Where’s Thalia?” I ask, curious to hear if I’ll get the truth from him.

“Came down with something,” he says as he pushes me into a twirl.

“She’s sick?” I ask, determined to force him to commit to the lie.

“Yeah. Poor thing.” He smiles down at me. My stomach twists.

“We need to talk about that weirdness in the kitchen the other day,” I announce softly. He grimaces, he’d rather never talk about it, that much is clear. But something niggles at the back of mind about his behavior lately. We need to clear the air.

“We really don’t.” He grins again as he pulls me flush against his chest, his hand dropping lower on my back, making me squirm internally.

“We actually do,” I urge.

“Okay.” He groans dramatically. “I was just thinking... About what my dad said.”

“What about it?” My words are cautious, uncomfortable with the direction this is headed in.

“W e could be good, Nonny. You and me.” He says it with so much apprehension; a laugh bubbles out of me.

“We’d be so bored, Adam.”

“Maybe not? I mean, you know I love Thals, I do. Fuck. But I see the merit of being with someone like you.” My mouth drops open as my body rears back at his words.

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah, you know, someone who knows this life. Who plays the same games that I do?” That stings. He sees me as he sees himself. The knowledge of how he perceives me sickens me more than his words do. “And Ricky doesn’t have a son, no one to take over. We could, you know?” he continues. It finally clicks into place.

It’s not me.

It’s never me.

It’s this .

This life.

The money, the murder, the malice. This is what he wants.

“Thank you,” I say, before moving out of his arms and meeting his eyes. “You’ve always helped me forget, Adam. With you, I allow myself to fall into a kind of amnesia, a vacuum where I forget who you are. What you are. I needed this reminder.” With that truth hanging between us, I storm off the dancefloor and away from Adam.

“Nonny, wait.” He calls behind me, but I keep moving. Away from him, up the stairs. Toward the safe little alcove, I know will be wrapped in the kind of darkness I’m now desperate for.

I t looks different tonight. Instead of the single dramatically murderous painting, they’ve set up temporary screens, effectively splitting the small space into two distinct sections. One section is visible from the main area of this floor. The other is hidden in the back of the darkened nook.

Small spotlights rest on the ledge of the screens, illuminating the different framed pictures hanging against them, washing the entire space in a soft, golden glow. Stepping closer, my feet carry me further into the alcove and away from the loud buzz of conversation drifting up from the ground floor of the gallery.

The framed pictures are of Dahlia Heights throughout the ages, scenes shifting from vintage sketches to black and white stills of an empty but picturesque mountainside. As I move to the end of the timeline, the scenes shift again, depicting the Dahlia Heights I know today. The one that’s simultaneously both familiar and foreign. Moving to the back of the alcove, I slip behind the screen.

Now hidden from anyone who might hover outside my dark bay, a few deep breaths saw into my lungs, Adam’s words wash over me. The worthlessness of my existence settles. That’s who I am. To Ricky. To Adam. Maybe to August? A tradable commodity. Someone to keep safe, to further their interests. Not someone to cherish. Not someone to love.

Brushing away a tear that slips from my eye, I force myself to find my calm.

Glancing at the pictures in front of me… They’re different from the pictures on the other side of the alcove, and the difference is jarring. The photographs of Dahlia Heights are forgotten as schematic drawings—the kind of renderings you’d see in an architect’s office—stare back at m e. The Dahlia Estate is stamped onto a gold plaque stuck to the frame of a drawing in front of me.

Ricky’s chatted about it before, not to me, but around me, usually with Gracie or Stephen, our lawyer. He’s invested a huge amount of money in the project, but a surge in gang violence in The Heights delayed the project from breaking ground last month. Part of the reason for the mayor’s ball tonight is to celebrate the city’s final approval and the confirmed date for construction crews to get moving.

More guilt and anger than I know what to do with rage inside me. What will it mean for the people who live in Dahlia Heights? People like Eli’s mother… Her baby. Ricky doesn’t care about them. I don’t need to know him as well as I do to know that.

As my hand brushes against the glass casing of another drawing, the air inside the alcove shifts. A familiar sense of unease fogs my mind as someone steps into the space behind me.

Not someone .

Him .

August .

“Are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut as the soft cadence of his usually sinfully dark voice cocoons me. Silence pulses between us as his question remains unanswered. Did he see me walk off the dance floor? Did he hear Adam calling me?

“What do you want, August?” I turn to face him. “You all want something. What’s your something? The pound of flesh you hope to carve out of my back?” The words might have sounded aggressive if every part of me wasn’t already so utterly defeated.

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he watches me like a predator waiting to strike a lethal blow. Brown eyes like deep pools of midnight crawl across my face. My breath rushes out of me before turning my back on him again, mentally dismissing him as I absentmindedly look over the drawings.

Again, the air shifts around us as he steps closer. One single step, and then another, and one more. Until the soft scratch of his suit jacket brushes against the bare skin of my back. Heat licks into me as everything around us stills. I inhale sharply as the gentle whisper of his fingers traces the skin between my shoulder blades, delicately moving down my spine. Everything in me stills, the anger, the hopelessness, the guilt… My mind switches off, falling into the sensation of his touch, of his rough fingertips slowly dragging a trail along my soft skin.

“Why do I need to want something?” he asks, his voice dropping to a rasp on the last word.

“Everyone does,” I murmur, his fingers continuing their tortuous path down my back. Leaning into his touch, a harsh exhale rushes out of me as the granite-like ridges of his body push against all the softer parts of mine. Seconds pass. We’re frozen in this moment, both of us lost in the shattering amount of pleasure that lives in his subtle touch.

Until he drops his fingers.

The loss of his touch is devastating. I barely have time to register it as his arm snakes around the front of my body, pulling me gently but firmly against his chest. Thick, warm fingers trail along the warm skin of my thighs, exposed by the slit in my dress. Steady, deep breaths slip in and out of my lungs as August gathers a fistful of the fabric, holding it aside. Clenching my thighs, I soak up the heavy weight of his palm as it creeps up the seam of my tightly closed legs, one excruciating inch at a time.

The entire world holds its breath, waiting with me, as his hand crawls higher and higher, closer to my drenched, naked pussy.

“W hy do you enjoy touching me like this? In public? Here…” The question tumbles out of me in a whisper that’s almost too soft to hear. My heart races as his hand continues to move higher. “The bus,” I add, barely able to breathe those two words out as his touch trails higher.

“I’m not allowed to touch you at all, Nora,” he says in a hushed tone as his lips dust the slope of my neck.

“You don’t look, you don’t touch,” I murmur the words Ricky used that day in the driveway, as my legs slowly part, urging him to move closer, faster—to reach for the pieces of me burning for his touch. All thoughts of Bassey and Adam and Ricky and my fucked up little life leech from my brain when August grinds the rock-hard length of his cock against my back.

“I was hard then, too. Not because I hurt him, but because you were watching. I wanted to drag you down to the gravel right then and fuck you raw, little raven.” His words send a fresh wave of heat barreling through me as he pushes his hand further up, so fucking slowly I want to cry out. “What do you think Ricky would do to me if he knew?” His thumb kisses the top of my thigh a second before he pulls away and lifts my hand, wrapping his fingers around my index and middle finger.

With his hand holding mine, he guides my fingers to the apex of my thighs. The heat building there is unbearable. I sink into his touch. My body tenses when the warm slide of his tongue drifts along the shell of my ear. “If he knew how I was touching you now? If he knew about all the depraved ways I dream of touching you?” Wet heat pools between my legs as his words whisper to my soul. Then, lifting my fingers, he drags them through the wet folds of my pussy before plunging them inside me .

Gasping, before August’s free hand moves up my throat, clamping down over my mouth, silencing any future moans.

“Do you think I’d leave with my hands?” he asks, working my fingers inside me, only to withdraw them with tortuous slowness. “Do you think I’d leave with my eyes?” Finally, arching into this madness, I anticipate the next thrust of my fingers as he uses my hand to fuck me.

Hot, searing pleasure races through me as his rough hand guides my fingers out of my pussy, only to plunge them back inside. He moves relentlessly, fucking into me, stretching me almost painfully with each searing thrust of my hand. Moaning softly against his hand, his grip on my fingers tightens, driving them deeper inside me. The corners of the world go dark—here, in this dimly lit alcove, this man fucks me in a way no man ever has, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. Everything about this moment is filthy and tender, and I never want it to stop. “No, little bird, I doubt I’d even leave with my life.” He whispers the words as he brushes his thumb against my clit, finally letting himself touch me.

I’m unraveling in his arms.

The scratch of his shirt on my bare back as he draws me tighter into his hold.

The slow drag of my fingers as he works them in and out, again and again.

The way his breath punches out of his lungs, lips kissing the slope of my neck.

Us.

Here.

This dark little alcove.

All of it unravels me.

Whil e I splinter apart, August keeps that slow pace, moving in and out of me. His hand pressing firmly against my mouth, muffling each of my moans. I bite down on my lip as he shifts his hips, dragging the thick ridge of his cock along the seam of my ass, finally increasing the pace of the already punishing thrust of my fingers.

“I don’t like touching you like this.” His words sound strained. I’m not the only one struggling to hold on. He’s unraveling too. “If you were mine, Nora? I’d hoard each of your sighs, and every moan. I’d lock them in a room where only I could hear them. In public, like this, I’d starve myself of you, saving every touch for that room. And then, I’d lose my soul there—in that room when it’s just you and me, I’d fucking gorge myself on the sight of your nipples, the way they harden every time you heard my voice. I’d lose everything that makes me who I am as I feast on that heavy look in your eyes, on the sounds of you panting against the desire only I get to tease out of your body.” His thumb circles my clit while my fingers continue to fuck into me, pulling me toward an orgasm I know will shatter a vital piece of my heart. “I’d keep you to myself. For me alone.” The hushed words land against the slope of my neck as pleasure crests like a wave in every part of my body.

The pressure on my clit increases. I’m on the edge. As his hand presses harder against my mouth, I struggle between the need to come and the need to breathe. I don’t struggle for long. The rough thrust of his hand guiding my fingers—lancing into me over and over, harder than each time before—finally snaps the last thread of my restraint as a thousand sensations shatter inside me. August drops his head, pressing delicate, warm kisses along my neck, stopping as he arrives at the shell of my ear.

“B ut you’re not mine, Nora. And even though I keep reminding myself of that, I crave the feeling of your body almost desperately. So, I allow myself this.” He slides my fingers from my pussy as my body shudders with the aftershocks of my release. Gently, turning my body to face him, he pushes my fingers between my slightly parted lips.

“I steal these moments in front of people who’d happily kill me for touching you.” His eyes bore into mine as I suck my arousal deeper into my mouth. “I choose to touch you like this in front of them because those monsters out there are my only anchor, my reminder that I can never take more than this.” Forcing my fingers further into my mouth, he whispers, “These shadows are my home, Nora. And I can pull you inside my darkness for a moment, but I can’t keep you here.”