After wiping her hands on her pants, she reaches for one of the plentiful notepads left in the basement. She flips to a new page, her tongue peeking through the part of her lips as she writes one word on the sheet:
outside
That started two days ago. Telling me in writing that she was finding it hard to breathe in the basement, that she wanted fresh air, she asked if I would let her go outside. The last time she stepped foot outside of my house, it was when she was trying to flee during Adrian’s visit. The small window in the basement wasn’t doing the job for her. She wanted to see the sun, and I… I couldn’t refuse.
I’m also not completely blinded by my love for Haven. She’s smart and she’s determined and there’s no way she’s given in to me yet. So while I’m willing to let her have what she wants, I’m careful, too.
An hour later, she's leaning against the balcony rail outside my bedroom. I’m right there, ready to stop her if she decides she wants to jump again. Despite the early summer weather, she’swrapped up in her maroon hoodie, face tilted toward the sun. Her loose hair moves gently in the afternoon breeze.
I stand behind her, caging her in with my arms as I stare out into the backyard.
The Heyward house was built on this plot of land purposely. My parents desired privacy, and that’s exactly what they got. Acres of dark woods stretch beyond my property for miles. I have no neighbors nearby. No local traffic, except for the delivery drivers who are instructed to leave packages in a large storage bin at the end of the gravel drive.
Most importantly, there are no witnesses who can sense that there’s something disturbing about the smirking Owed who won’t let the haunted Offering out of his reach.
How can I when it’s obvious that what she’s doing is figuring out a way to escape me? Okay. Maybe not right this very second since her eyes are closed, but I’d be a fucking moron if I thought she’d given up so easily.
Especially since, if our positions were reversed, I'd be doing the same exact thing—unless my captor was Haven Smith, then I’d be perfectly happy to stay right where I am.
She can try. In fact, I’m thrilled that she is. So long as I see that feisty side of Haven, I know that the woman I’ve always loved is still in there somewhere.
I mean, I’m not going tolether get away. But hell if it isn’t a relief to know that she’s going to try. Eventually she’ll want to stay. She has to. Until then, though… whatever makes you happy, sweetheart.
Whatever makes you happy.
FIFTEEN
FAVOR
CONNOR
Adrian told me that he would handle the King of the Order. Since my bro is honest to a fault when it comes to the rest of us, I believed him. At the very least, he has just as much to lose if Jack decides to use his role as the head of the secret society to separate me from Haven.
Three weeks into Haven’s stay at my house, it’s the beginning of July. I’m sure that, outside of my secluded house, Harmony Heights is preparing for the Claiming ceremony in mid-August. In a way, I am, too, just not like how they are.
That’s why, I figure that Jack will either pull rank now or wait until after the ceremony to try to use my position in the Order to get me to fall in line. Not like that’s going to happen. It won’t. I’ll fucking slice my hand off at the wrist to get rid of the Order brand on it before I let the King take Haven away from me.
Now, do I know that there’s no walking away from being an Owed? Sure do. Just cutting my hand off wouldn’t keep the King from imposing the true sentence: death. But since I’d rather die before losing Haven again, that’s fine, too. Cutting my hand off would be more of a statement before he sends Dallas afterme, and since I don’t want to make one of my oldest friends responsible for putting me down, I think it’s best for all involved that the King decide to let me have Haven and drop the whole idea that she was supposed to marry Adrian.
I’m the perfect Owed otherwise. Why mess up a good thing because I fell in love with Haven long before he decided to arrange her marriage to his nephew?
All logical arguments, if you ask me. I pleaded my case to Adrian and Dallas, both fellas agreed, and Adrian made it his purpose to handle Jack. Whether that meant finding another Used to toss at Jack to be his latest mistress or reminding him that Adrian is responsible for keeping the books for the Order, I don’t know, but for the first three weeks, it seemed to have worked.
And then, one afternoon while Haven was napping and I was sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and watching her snore adorably on my phone, the doorbell rang.
Just in case, I checked my texts. Nope. Didn’t miss any from one of my bros. No missed calls, either. After what happened last time, I told Adrian not to come to my house. He passed the message along to the rest of our buddies. Unless I needed them—or there was an emergency—they weren’t supposed to come here and bother Haven.
But if it’s not one of them, who’s out there?
I could’ve ignored it. Who knows? Maybe it was a Jehovah’s Witness or something. I could’ve ignored it.
I didn’t.
Through the peephole, I see a man in his late forties. He has thick dark hair, going silver at the edges. His eyes are dark, his expression annoyed. Like most of the old guard—those at the top of the Order’s chain of command, serving right beneath Jack—he’s wearing an expensively tailored suit. Standing on my porch, waiting for me to answer, he’s anxiously tugging on one sleeve.
I recognize him. It’s Barry Wise, and he obviously doesn’t want to be here.
It’s equally as obvious that Jack must’ve sent him.
