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“Channing, about—”
But he cuts me off, shooting up from his stool and raking a hand through his dirty blond hair. “You need to watch your back.” He echoes Sasha’s words from earlier. “I don’t know what Kingsley’s obsession with you and Easton is, but it isn’t going to end well. For anyone.” He stalks off without so much as a backward glance.
But his warning stays with me long after he’s gone.
13
Bexley
My entire body screams as I stumble through Marcus’ once again unlocked front door. I have no idea if he's expecting me or not, but he's about to discover I'm here.
"MARCUS," I bellow as loud as my ribs will allow. It might have been more than thirty-six hours since Cade and his friends beat the crap out of me, but they still smart.
Silence ensues.
"MARCUS."
Still, there's nothing. But he's here. I know he is. His car was out the front, and there are lights on.
Remembering my first visit to one of his hidden rooms last night, I go in that direction, staring at the grand staircase as if it’s Mount Kilimanjaro. Sucking in a steeling breath, I wrap my fingers around the polished mahogany bannister and begin dragging myself up.
We might have managed to walk out of Cade's mansion way easier than we were expecting to, but I’m not foolish enough to think that’s the end of it.
The streets were deserted yesterday morning as we escaped, and neither of us had our cells to call for a cab. I wanted to go straight to Marcus, but Alex insisted on dragging me back to campus and sleeping off some of the pain. Considering I slept most of yesterday, waking only to take a piss and shove more pain pills down my throat, I guess he had it right.
I suggested that Alex come with me this morning, so we could get some answers together, but he wanted to see his mom and unearth the truth about his father. I don’t blame him. I've got a million and one questions for my mother, too, but Marcus is more pressing.
I need to know what the hell is going on here, and what he meant when he told me that I had to see this through. Hell knows I need a solid reason to continue with this farce.
Cade wanted to kill me last night, I could see it in his eyes. But he can't, and he knows it. If all of this is true and Alex and I are Quinctus heirs, then he can't lay a hand on us. I guess that explains why he hated me on sight, because I have no doubt he's known this little secret all along.
It takes what feels like a year to get to the door I want. I come to a stop beside it, resting my hand against the wall as I try to catch my breath, squeezing my eyes closed tight as I will the pain to subside.
This isn't my first beating—and I somehow doubt it'll be my last. I can deal with the pain, and, much like events in my past, I use it to fuel my own anger and my need for answers.
Knowing that I either need to do this or go and find my old bedroom and curl up in a ball, I take a step forward, not bothering to knock. After last night's revelations, I think we're a little past that.
I throw the door open and stumble inside. The scent of the incense he was burning in here and in the chamber last night assaults my senses, and my fists curl in frustration.
As I expected, Marcus is sitting behind his desk. He was staring at a notebook sitting atop it, but at my interruption, his eyes lift to find mine.
He gasps, pushing to stand the second he takes in my injuries. It's not hard. My face is littered with cuts and bruises, one of my eyes almost swollen shut.
"What the hell happened?"
"What do you mean what happened?" I ask, mocking his tone. "You sent me into that bullshit initiation with zero knowledge of what to expect. That's what fucking happened, Gramps."
"Take a seat," he encourages, pulling one out for me.
If it weren't for my legs being minutes away from giving out, I'd refuse, but as it is, I gratefully accept the help. Marcus walks to one of the ornately carved cabinets and pulls out a decanter of amber liquid and two glasses. Despite the time, he pours generous amounts into each before placing one on the desk before me and keeping his own in his hands.
“Caedes?” he asks, running a hand over his jaw.
"Yeah," I mutter, knocking back the whiskey. It burns all the way down, but I welcome the warmth.
"I didn't think Alex had that in him," Marcus mutters, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Alex? Alex didn't do this," I spit, pointing at my ruined face.
