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

34. Nora

Nora

ricky knows everything

T he tiny guesthouse in Mossville looks remarkably unchanged since the last time I stood in front of it. But me? Oh, I’m far from unchanged. Such a short amount of time has passed and in it I’ve learned my parents didn’t trust my godfather, I’ve fucked my head of security, my ex-best friend got shot in the shoulder, and men with assault rifles invaded my holiday home. I’ve always been a self-aware person and right now, all signs are pointing to a hysterical meltdown.

August holds my hand as he walks us to the entrance of the building. Aside from the phone call to Yves, the ride over here was silent. Neither of us said a word. I couldn’t even look at him. There’re no instructions snapped at me today. He makes no demands for my silence, no barked words about letting him take the lead. Today, I know my place. Today, I know the stakes. Today, I will not think of escape or freedom. Not when the need to feel protected and safe burns pathetically in my heart.

The girl who checked us in previously beams as her eyes land on August.

“Back so soon?” She bats her lashes at him.

“Yeah,” he says, the subtle squeeze of my hand a reminder to shut up, a reminder I don’t need. “We need two rooms this time, please.” He hands her a bunch of cash, and I look up at him.

“Don’t we need three?” I ask. Apparently, that reminder, while wasted, is necessary after all.

“Just two.” He glares down at me. A second later, the press of his fingers makes me flinch as he squeezes my hand again.

The girl hands him two key cards and another overly friendly smile. August winks at her and then ushers me out of the reception area toward our room. It’s on the opposite end of the guesthouse from where we previously stayed. The second room he booked is opposite ours. Wordlessly, he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I step inside and pause after moving past the doorway. It’s as lovely as our previous room with one new added perk—it’s a garden suite.

A row of glass doors leads out to a small, enclosed garden terrace flanking the living area. It’s distractingly lovely.

The door shuts behind me and I feel more than hear August creeping up behind me.

“Why did you only book two rooms?” I ask quietly, feeling him inch closer to my back.

“We only need two,” he replies, not touching me, but close enough that he doesn’t need to.

“Adam, Alley, Yves, and Thalia might disagree when they get here.”

“Adam and Alley aren’t coming here, Nora.” His voice licks along the skin of my neck as he drops his head closer to my ear.

“W here are they going?” I ask, taking several steps away from him.

“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you get in the shower? It’s been a long fucking day and we both need to eat and rest. Yves will be here soon with food.”

Standing frozen in my spot, the sound of our breathing mingles with the low hum of the air conditioning as I contemplate arguing. I want to fight, to demand he apologizes for his barbed words, to demand he explains himself, to demand answers. I want to insist that he share whatever convoluted plan he’s cooking up in his gorgeous fucking head. But what’s the point? He’s not wrong; I am exhausted, filthy, and hungry. So, instead of starting the fight I’m desperate to have, I nod and walk into the bathroom without saying another word.

T he white-washed bathroom reminds me of the decor you see in beach-front mansions, little lighthouse-shaped candleholders, a towel holder molded like those red and white life-preserver rings you see on cruise ships. In one corner is a sleek modern shower that looks big enough to house two Augusts and at the opposite end of the room, a circle of bay windows creates a perfect nest for a massive porcelain tub that looks deep and inviting.

After turning the water on, dumping a huge blob of the complimentary foam bath in the tub, and sighing dramatically, I pull my clothes off. Impatient and clammy, I step into the bath, not bothering to wait for the tub to fill.

Warm water envelopes my body and an almost sinful groan slips from my lips as my back settle s against the wall of the tub. My eyes drift closed and a few minutes later, I’m completely submerged in the deliciously warm water. The level is dangerously close to the lip of the tub; lifting my foot to shut the faucet off takes more energy than my libs possess, but once it’s done, I go back to rotting in the warmth of the water.

My mind stills for the first time in days and instead of thinking about Dima, the arraignment or what a mess my life has become, I think about him.

August Hunter . Ruiner of my body, my sanity, and my heart.

Adam insists he’s a Knight, raised in The Heights, sent to do what? It’s not that I doubt Adam or the truth of his words; it’s that I know Ricky. And the only way Ricky might allow a Knight to infiltrate his business, his home, is if he has a plan for them. And it’s possible he has one for August, sure, but if that’s the case, he’d never have elevated August to the rank he’s currently at. He’d never have given him such unchecked access to his life.

Two things can be true at once, can’t they?

August can be from Dahlia Heights and he can be loyal to Ricky—except the latter isn't true. The file containing the picture of Elias Umberto proves that. Adam was probably right. It should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Not after what August said. Ricky was out here ordering hits on people simply so he could build some luxury housing estate. What logical person would rally behind that kind of maliciousness? If anything, August’s dissent makes more sense than Adam’s loyalty.

God, I’ve never craved the pool as much as I do right now. Slipping further into the water, I try to force my mind away from the dark place. I don’t have the pool.

But I have the tub.

Peel ing my eyes open to glance at the bathroom door, my mind silently weighs the pros and cons... Just for a few seconds. Just—

Taking a deep breath, my body slips beneath the soapy surface of the water. It’s different from the pool. Warm, confined, light. I don’t open my eyes. Pushing my feet against the edges of the tub to hold my body in place; oxygen slowly burns away in my lungs. Bubbles slip from between my lips as the familiar urge to breathe takes over. I ignore it. I hold on, desperate for the darkness, desperate for a moment of numbness. The longer I wait, the worse the pain in my chest becomes. If I was in the pool, my lungs would be filling with water by now, my limbs would be going numb. This is a terrible idea.

I shoot up out of the water, sitting upright as foamy waves slosh over the side of the bath, splashing on the floor. My breaths are rough and haggard as my body tries to gorge itself on oxygen.

“Why do you do it?” My head snaps toward his voice.

August’s sitting on the floor of the bathroom, his back pressed against the door, legs stretched out in front of him. He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches me.

Aware of how absolutely naked I am and how utterly exposed my breasts are, I sink back down into the tub, hoping the bubbles will do their job and hide my obviously hard nipples from his gaze.

“It’s a form of self-harm, you know that, right?” he presses as we glare at each other. I don’t know how to answer him. Maybe it’s because he’s hiding things, maybe it’s because some flawed voice inside me whispers that giving him my truth will push him to offer me him… There’s no one left to talk to, and in this moment, it’s easy to lay everything I am at his feet, to unveil my flaws and all the fucked up things tha t have shaped the woman he sees before him.

“My parents died when I was five. It was a house fire.” Turning my body away from him, my eyes fix on the ceiling. “I don’t remember it. There are things like the smell of fires and the roar of flames, but I don’t remember it . Not really. They burned to death in their bed. The fire department said they must have collapsed onto it when they realized that they couldn’t escape. They were found wrapped around each other. Everything about that night is faded and dark. Someone took me out of the house, though. I don’t remember it, but the neighbors found me on the sidewalk. Alone in my pajamas, watching as my entire life burned to the ground in front of me.” Tears stream down my face and I don’t bother to wipe them away as I turn to look at him. “Drowning is the closest thing I have to feeling what they felt that night. It burns and burns until the world turns black, and when I’m at the bottom of the pool, and my entire body is on fire with the need to breathe, I feel closer to them. I feel less alone.”

We stay like that for a long moment; me staring at him from my spot in the tub; him staring at me from his spot on the floor. His mouth opens, like he’s about to say something, but a loud knock on the door silences him.

“It’s Yves,” August says. “I brought you clean sweats.” He nods toward the neatly folded pile of clothes resting on top of the closed toilet .

B y the time I’m dried and dressed, August’s set up whatever food Yves brought over on the terrace table.

“Aren’t they eating with us?” I ask, wanting to check on Thalia. This has to have shaken her. On top of everything she’s endured with Adam, she shouldn’t be alone tonight.

“Thalia went to bed and Yves is doing a quick patrol before he goes to the room to keep an eye on her.” August sits in one of the iron garden chairs.

“Is she okay?” I’m hovering at the side of the table, unsure of where to sit, eventually settling on the seat next to him.

“I didn’t ask,” he says it so matter-of-factly I smile bitterly.

“No, of course you didn’t.” Dinner is burgers, fries, and milkshakes, it seems. “What flavor?” I ask, pointing to one of the shakes.

“Both are strawberry,” he replies before taking a massive bite out of his burger.

Picking at my fries, the burger in front of me ignored. Hunger is the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, questions rain down in my head like confetti—I can’t take it anymore. Shifting my entire body to face August, I decide I need to know.

“Where did you grow up?” I ask, setting him up for the lie I’m sure he’ll tell. He looks at me as he swallows down another bite of his burger.

“Dahlia Heights,” he answers, reaching for his milkshake. Okay, so maybe I was a little too sure.

“Does Ricky know that you’re from The Heights?” My words are quiet, not quite a whisper.

“Ricky knows everything. Isn’t that what you said?” He scoffs, reminding me of the words I said to him the day we went to Dahlia Heights.

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but somehow, his confirmation leaves me feeling more unsettled than my unanswered questions do. There’s a choice waiting for me, to either accept his words as the truth or cling to Adam’s. Both options bother me, but some soft part of my heart sways me. I nod, my silent acceptance of his words, his truth.

“The guys at the house.” I stare as I slowly stand from the table. “Do you know who they were?”

August takes his time, running a napkin across his lips, his gaze fixed on me, his mind crafting his careful response.

“I know they weren’t police, and I struggle with hypothetical conclusions. For now, let’s say no, I don't know. But I will. I can promise you that much.”

I nod again. There’s nothing more to say. Turning, I walk toward the open doors that lead back to our suite, stopping on the threshold. I glance over my shoulder at him.

“I’m going to bed. You’re taking the couch this time.”

He laughs as my feet carry me toward the sprawling king-size bed. Tugging off my sweatpants and hoodie, I climb between the cool sheets and close my eyes. All the trauma and anxiety from everything that happened at the lake house feels like lead clinging to my limbs, dragging me closer to sleep than I’ve been for days.