These Monstrous Ties: New Adult Dark Romance (Unsainted Book 1)

by K. V. Rose

  I hear Nicolas cough at my back, warning me. But Jeremiah shifts his gaze to him, and there’s silence stealing through the house again. Nicolas is twenty-five. Two years older than Jamie. Five years older than me. But he cows to him like everyone else.

  Everyone except me. When I can stand it.

  “Did you say ‘no’?” Jeremiah presses. He looks delighted. He likes this game. Sometimes, in these moments, he reminds me of Lucifer. Except Lucifer was much crueler. I wonder if my brother knows that. I wonder if he has any idea how he pales in comparison. I think he thinks of all of the Unsaints, he was the worst one.

  He’s dead wrong.

  “I’m not touching him. Let’s go.” I turn to go. I catch Nicolas’s eye.

  He coughs into his fist, loudly. Warning me again. But Nicolas can go to hell for all I care. He had tended to me when I’d been in that cell the first two weeks after Halloween last year.

  By tended to, I mean he force fed me and stood guard day and night. Through everything.

  “Your arrogance is astounding, Sid.” Jeremiah pauses, letting me take a step. I’m tense, because I know what’s coming. But he’s keeping me on edge.

  I take another step.

  Finally, he grabs my wrist, jerking me to a stop. I still. It doesn’t surprise me.

  “Touch him,” he says again, his words brushing against my ear, his voice a growl.

  I stiffen. Fear crawls down my spine.

  I yank my hand away from his and turn back to the body. The man was probably in his thirties. He’s fit, lots of tattoos on his torso, some torn away by the knife my brother plunged into his flesh again and again. He’s lying in a pool of his own blood which means my black boots will probably get in it. But his head is untouched. His eyes are unseeing, he’s got closely cropped blonde hair, not too different than Nicolas’s.

  That’s where I’ll do it. Because I can’t keep disobeying Jeremiah. It’ll only get worse.

  I carefully walk around the body, avoid the coffee table he’s lying a foot from. I crouch down, take a breath, and reach my hand out to the man’s clean-shaven face.

  He feels weird under my fingers. Not quite cold. Not really warm, either. I stroke his cheek. Then I snatch my hand away and look up, meeting my brother’s gaze.

  “Are you done?” I ask him.

  He smiles. My stomach churns.

  “Not even close,” he purrs.

  I get to my feet. “Fuck you,” I say to him for the second time that night. “I’m done, Ja—Jeremiah.” Sometimes I forget he changed his fucking name. Changed his name and sold his soul, it feels like sometimes. “Done. Take me home.”

  But I don’t move.

  Jeremiah laces his fingers together in front of him, flicks his jade eyes from the body to me.

  We’re blood. But in these moments, I feel like nothing to him.

  “I need you to be strong, Sid.” His voice is low. “I need you to be brave. I need you to learn how to look out for your own goddamn self. But if you’re not strong, you won’t be able to do that, will you? Like you couldn’t last year?”

  We’re not on a merry-go-round anymore, but I still want to puke when I think of that night. When he found me after fourteen years. At my lowest.

  I feel that familiar anger growing in my skin. I’m always angry. But unlike the Hulk, it isn’t something I even want to control. And it isn’t a superpower. Not where my brother is concerned.

  I stand to my feet. Beyond my brother, Kristof, meaty and bald, is smirking at me. Nicolas is frowning and he shakes his head. Another warning. I ignore him. I walk around the blood soaking in the carpet and stand toe-to-toe with Jeremiah.

  “Let me go,” I say, my fingers flexing wide at my sides to keep them from curling into fists. I glance again at the muscle lining the room that my brother keeps with him at all times—even when he fucks Brooklin. But neither Kristof nor Nicolas reach for their weapons or take a step.

  It makes me feel a little better. But it makes me angrier, too. My brother has never taken me seriously. Even less so since he found me in that underground asylum, bloodied and hungover, nearly naked the morning after Halloween a year ago. I had been alone. I wasn’t supposed to have been alone.

  Before that night, I’d been free of him for over a decade. Now, he has me trapped again.

  “I tried to let you go, Sid. We know how well that turned out.”

  Kristof dares to laugh.

  Jeremiah turns to him, his eyes narrowed. Kristof sobers up, wiping that smile off of his broad face.

  Hell, if he keeps this shit up, the man on the floor won’t be the only one leaving this room in a body bag.

  “Then give me a different job,” I snap, tearing my eyes from Kristof. My brother regards me like he regards everything else: Coldly. His head is cocked to the side, his obsidian watch gleaming beneath the sleeves of his grey shirt. “Let me do something besides viewing your leftovers.”

  But it’s what he says next that’s the reminder. The reminder that I’m not an employee he’ll kill instead of fire. I’m not someone he will ever let go, in any way. No, I’m his. I belong to him, no matter how much I might hate it.

  “My sister won’t be food for the wolves.” Meaning I can’t be an escort again. The only other job under the roof of the Order of Rain that I might be qualified for.

  But not quite.

  “Housekeeper? Chef? Fucking pool boy? Give me something else. I’m done with this shit, Jeremiah.”

  “I’m going to let you reconsider what you’re asking me right now,” he purrs, looking down at his hands. He runs one through his hair. We’re inches apart, and I want to reach out and strangle him.

  “I’m not going to reconsider. What am I doing here? Why…” I choke on the words. I look down at the bit of carpet between us that isn’t bloody. I swallow, the scent of blood hitting me like raw meat kept in an airtight container. “Why do you do this to me, Jamie?” My eyes meet his. I let the name he was born to hang between us. Maybe he’ll remember that he wasn’t always this nightmare. Whatever the Unsaints did to him, I think it might be worse than what they did to me.

  No one breathes in the room. But it’s too late to take the words back now. The plea. Even as I regret it already, even as it feels as bitter as the blood in this room on my tongue.

  Fuck him. Fuck the Order of Rain. Fuck. This. Shit.

  “You want a different job?” He steps closer.

  Involuntarily, I step back. Jeremiah isn’t just older than me. He’s taller than me. Richer than me. Stronger than me. Loved more than me. Or maybe it’s hated more than me...it’s hard to tell the difference between the two these days. He nods to one of the men.

  Kristof. The biggest of the two of them. Blue eyes and arms bigger than both of my legs. Not that that is particularly impressive, considering I’m a stick. But still. I think I know what he’s getting at.

  My skin crawls, but I don’t look away from my brother. There’s got to be something human in there still. Something with a shred of compassion.

  “Kristof. My sister is yours every night this week. Keep your girl at home. She’s yours.” He reiterates the word, and fucking Kristof can’t get the stupid smile off of his face.

  I shake my head. “No fucking way.”

  Jeremiah sighs, glancing up at the high ceilings of this dead man’s house. He crosses his arms.

  “You don’t get to say no,” he finally says, dipping his chin, holding my gaze. The tension in the room is getting thicker. And fear finally begins to set in. Too late, Sid.

  I shake my head and make to step back, but he grabs my wrists.

  “Get back down there,” he says, nodding toward the body. His grip tightens against my wrists so hard I swear I feel the bones rub together. “Get back down there and lick the blood off of his dick, Sid.”

  I swear even Nicolas draws a sharp intake of breath.

  “Jamie…” I say, shaking my head, my lip trembling. “You don’t mean that. You don’t want me to
do that.” I’m pleading with him, because the anger is gone. Fear is setting in thick and heavy, in my lungs. My bones. My heart.

  This is my brother.

  God, what happened to us?

  “I do want you to, Sid.” He pulls me to his chest, and I place my palms on him, to keep some space between our bodies. He wraps his arms around my back, trying to press me closer, but I push back.

  He laughs.

  “Do it, or your Kristof’s,” he says, leaning down to kiss my temple.

  I shake in his arms.

  “No, Jamie.” I only learned of his new name last year. When I learned other things about my brother, too. How he had joined the Unsaints. How he had betrayed them. For me.

  He turns his head. I hear footsteps, but I can’t see anything. And then Jeremiah pushes me. Into Kristof’s arms.

  They wrap around my body, squeezing me to him.

  Jeremiah doesn’t even flinch. Jeremiah, who hasn’t let anyone in our house so much as hug me. Jeremiah. My own goddamn brother.

  He only watches as Kristof’s hands rise from my waist, up under hoodie, under the black cotton shirt, to my breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs over my nipples.

  I never wear a bra. I don’t have enough for that. I’ve got no curves to speak of. But right now, Kristof doesn’t seem to mind.

  My eyes search once more for something human in Jeremiah’s as I feel Kristof harden behind me, his dick pressing into my back.

  “Jeremiah...” I whisper.

  “You don’t get to say no,” he says, pinning me with his gaze. “When we get back to the house, you’re his for the night.”

  But I squirm in Kristof’s grip. I try to step on his foot, as hard as I can in my combat boots. He just laughs. I throw back an elbow and he pins my arms down by my sides, runs his hot tongue up and down my neck.

  “Jamie!” I scream, twisting in Kristof’s arms. “Get him off of me!”

  My brother only laughs. My hair hangs in my eyes, ash brown and cut to my chin, it’s too thick to see out of. And I can’t move my hands thanks to Kristof. So I don’t have to watch as my own brother says, “If she lasts the night, bring her to my office at dawn.”

  And then he walks out of the house, and a minute later Nicolas’s footsteps trail after him. Everyone but Kristof and me. Still in this house.

  I thought we’d go back first.

  I can’t do this. I freeze in Kristof’s arms.

  Not for the first time, I think of Lucifer. I think of how he’s done this to me. How he fucked me over, sent me here.

  He had crawled out of the pits of hell on Halloween night and damned my entire fucking life.

  Chapter Four

  Halloween, One Year Ago

  Raven Park is full of people.

  Still oddly hand-in-hand, Lucifer and I dodge our way through cars parked haphazardly on the gravel lot, the sound of music thudding in the woods ahead of us.

  He glances over at me as we walk down a gravel path. I know the gravel will soon end, and this trail will lead us to Raven River. Another to a creepy little merry-go-round. I used to run here, when I gave a shit. But I’ve had this date marked for months. I no longer give a shit at all.

  The sun has set. I see several fold-out tables with drinks and food, and there’s a small fire in the center of it all.

  A fire.

  In the middle of a state park.

  Lucifer drops my hand. I turn to stare at him.

  “There’s a fire.” I throw my hand vaguely toward it. “A fire. In the middle of the fucking woods!”

  He doesn’t laugh. “Buckle up, Lilith. This is hell. That’s where fire is born.”

  Okayyyy...someone took their Halloween costumes a little too seriously. But who am I to judge? I have a real-life gun on my thigh.

  Someone calls Lucifer’s name. By actually shouting, “Lucifer!”

  That cannot be his name.

  I would have laughed if it wasn’t all so...strange. A guy breaks away from a gaggle of girls and comes striding toward us, a beer in his hand. He isn’t dressed up, save for the fact he’s wearing a t-shirt that hugs his shoulders with a creepy skull on it.

  His eyes narrow my way, but he doesn’t speak to me when he says, “And who’s this?” He doesn’t sound thrilled I’m here.

  Lucifer’s shoulder brushes mine. “She’s here tonight. For Lover’s Death.”

  I arch a brow, but this dude’s eyes suddenly light up. The corner of his mouth twitches in a menacing smirk. He nods, takes a pull from his beer.

  “Fun,” he purrs, and then turns to walk away.

  “Atlas,” Lucifer calls after him. Turns out they aren’t all demons of the underworld here. Some guide the way down.

  Atlas halts, turns back.

  “She’s mine.”

  Atlas frowns. “That’s not how Lover’s Death goes, and you know it.”

  Lucifer takes a step toward Atlas and I swear he almost flinches. “It is tonight.”

  Atlas looks like he wants to argue but instead he only nods. “Whatever you say.” His eyes flick to me. “Shame, though.”

  He walks away with a shrug and a girl runs over to him, slinging her arm around his shoulder. He turns to look at her and whatever she sees, she moves away. Real quick. She glances at Lucifer and I can’t be sure in the dark, but I swear she glares at me.

  I look to Lucifer. “Do you wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  I know the Alexandria University students have parties here, although I’ve never seen a fire here before. I know that this is a college town. But I have no idea what ‘Lover’s Death’ is or why the gorgeous dude in skull paint beside me is called ‘Lucifer’.

  Lucifer smiles. He pulls a cigarette from his back pocket, along with a lighter. He lights up, takes a drag, blows smoke my way. I take a step back and then he finally answers my question.

  Kind of.

  “You’ll see.”

  This isn’t what I had planned for the night.

  “Look, I don’t really want to party tonight. And it seems all your friends—” I fling my hand toward the horde of people gathered around the fire, some of them definitely staring as us, “—are waiting for you. I’ll just...” I cough, “go.” I finish. I don’t know why, but Lucifer is staring down at me while he smokes as if I’ve just said something truly amusing.

  He watches me for an unnerving moment, blowing smoke out of his full, skeletal lips lazily.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Lilith.”

  I feel anger rise up in my gut but before I can tell him to ‘Fuck off’, he continues, “Tonight, I need you by my side.” His eyes flick to the gun on my thigh. “Weren’t you planning to go to hell anyway?”

  I stiffen. How can he know that? How does he even know this is a real gun?

  He can’t. He’s bluffing. He’s referring to my Lilith costume.

  “Why do you need me?” I protest. “What is ‘Lover’s Death’ anyway?”

  He smiles as smoke comes through his nose. He looks truly devilish. Beautiful and haunting all at once.

  “You’ll see.” He takes my hand and pulls me forward, to the people standing by the plastic tables.

  They stop talking as we approach. Only the crackling fire and music from a portable speaker—Ghost by Badflower—sounds in the park.

  I notice every man here is fucking gorgeous. It shouldn’t surprise me. Like calls to like and all that. The women are too, but it seems the men have some sort of sway here. Like whatever this is, they’re leading it. It’s evident in the way they stand. The way they appraise me as I approach, like I’m their next meal.

  Far off from the rest of them is a tall man in a hoodie, pulled down so far over his face, I can only make out a chiseled jaw. He has his arms crossed and his lips are pulled down into a scowl.

  Lucifer’s voice draws my attention back to him.

  “I don’t answer questions,” he’s saying. He has a black plastic cup in his hand and he’s pouring an obsc
ene amount of vodka into it.

  “But Luc—” a girl is protesting across the table from him. She’s got long black braids, and she’s wearing a pink crop top and high waisted shorts. It’s chilly out here and her arms are crossed, as if she’s trying to ward herself away from the cold.

  Or maybe the weight of Lucifer’s stare. He silences her with a look. He sets the bottle down, screws the lid back on. Still watching her, he opens the lid of a cooler, scoops out ice, dumps it in the cup, puts the scooper back in, and closes it. His hand still resting on the cooler lid, he flicks his brows up.

  “Why’re you here?” he asks the girl. His eyes snake over her frame. “And why are you wearing that?” His lip curls.

  I see her deep brown skin redden as she glances down self-consciously. I don’t want to give a shit. But I do. I feel for her.

  “I-I didn’t know we were dressing up. Atlas didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t ask, doll.” Atlas breaks off a kiss with another girl dressed as a vampire at the far end of the table long enough to say those words.

  But the girl with the braids is too startled to look at him. She’s drowning in an excuse and I don’t know why. I don’t know why the fuck it matters. This is a public place.

  I put my hand on Lucifer’s arm, his hoodie sleeves pulled up to his elbows.

  He stills under my touch and I swear everyone is holding their breath. I see his jaw clench as his eyes pivot to me.

  I drop my hand.

  I’m frozen. I don’t know what I was going to say. I meant to stand up for the girl but now I’m speechless.

  I brush my bangs out of my eyes and I swear something in Lucifer’s gaze softens.

  “Can I have a drink?” I ask quietly, glancing at the vodka.

  For a tense moment, he says nothing. No one says anything, although I hear a girl whimper and I know it’s the one with Atlas. He shushes her. Otherwise, it’s quiet.

  Then Lucifer smiles. He hands the drink to me.

  “Of course, Lilith.”

  People start to chat amongst themselves and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I take the drink from Lucifer.

  He leans down, his lips over my ear as he speaks. “Drink it all,” he growls. “Every drop.”