Chapter 12: Wrath of an Exile: Chapter 11

August 31

I feel fucking dirty being here.

Everything in the Van Doren house screams wealth.

I don’t mean just monetarily wealthy. It’s worse.

It’s rich in love. The kind you can feel in every perfectly framed family photo, in every careful brush of paint on the walls. It’s suffocating, really. A gluttonous amount of togetherness, of everything I’ve never had.

My dad blew every penny he ever touched on booze, women, and whatever fix he could get his hands on. We had money sometimes, but love? That was never in the budget. Our house in West Trinity Falls—the one he died in—was just as broken as the man who raised me. Yellowing linoleum, wallpaper that peeled in every corner, cracks running along the ceiling like veins, like the place was barely holding itself together.

But here? Here, everything shines. It’s too perfect, too clean, like even the air has been polished and buffed. Marble floors that gleam like they’ve never known dirt, surfaces that reflect too much light.

It makes me feel like I can’t touch anything.

Not without living dirt behind. Every step of the tour Sage gave me, I kept looking down, just to make sure I wasn’t dragging ash and soot across their spotless world.

The moment Sage left me alone, I sprinted for the shower.

But it doesn’t matter. It never matters how many showers I take.

I’ll never be able to scrub the grime of my past off my skin. The scars are too deep, bruises too permanent. I could rub my flesh raw, and the nights spent flinching from my father’s fist would remain etched into me like tattoos I never asked for.

There is something filthy in my veins that nothing could ever wash clean, and as I look down, hot water streaming down my shoulders, I half expect to see thick sludge pooling into the drain.

I slam my fist against the wall in the shower, all the steam making the road rash eating up my shoulder sting like a fucking bitch.

Again, the cracking of my bone against marble rings in my ears.

Again, again, again, again.

I do this until the only color swirling down the drain is red, deep crimson leaking from the cracked skin of my knuckles. My muscles ache in protests as I drag a shaky hand down my face.

This place is a house of mirrors. It’s fucking hell.

Everywhere I go, I catch my eyes in the reflection. The eyes my father gave me.

I’m painfully reminded of who I am.

That I’m a Sinclair. No matter where I go or how I change, that will never change.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My brows furrow as I turn my head to the bathroom door, expecting someone to knock or burst inside, but silence follows. I strain my ears, listening above the running shower for another noise. I’m about to brush it off as one of the Van Doren children getting home until the floorboards in my bedroom let out a whiny creak.

It had only been me and Sage here earlier, but someone is definitely home now, and they’re in my newly appointed bedroom.

I push open the glass door, snatching the gray towel on the hanger and encircling it around my waist, making sure to keep the shower going. Just to make sure whoever is snooping doesn’t hear it cut off and bolt before I catch them.

Water drips from my hair as I walk toward the door, cracking it just enough to see into the bedroom. Steam rolls from the opening, and when it clears I catch my Peeping Tom.

Well, well, what do we have here?

Seraphina Van Doren has her back to me and is rifling through my shit like a rat.

She plucks a thing of condoms from the drawer in my bedside table. Her dainty fingers pull it open before she peers inside, searching for fuck knows what inside the Magnum box.

When Phi doesn’t find what she’s looking for, she tosses it back inside the drawer. My lips twitch as she lets out a frustrated huff as she stands straight, cherry-colored waves brushing right above the hem of her jeans.

I’m about to call her out from where I stand, but then she moves one of the pillows, revealing the black spiral-bound notebook hidden beneath it, and my blood runs cold.

“Keep your sticky fucking fingers to yourself, shithead.”

I rip the book from her hand after crossing the short distance from the bathroom to her.

Phi whirls around, her eyebrows to her hairline, shocked to see me and even more shocked that I’m partially naked.

There are three things I notice immediately now that she’s facing me.

One, Phi is definitely checking me out.

It’s not subtle. Not by a long shot. She’s straight-up devouring me with her eyes.

Her gaze dips to my bare chest, lingering like she’s memorizing every line, and when it slides lower to the towel slung low on my hips, her cheeks flush with that telltale blush. A dangerous, deep pink that makes it clear she’s seeing more than she’s supposed to, and she likes it.

Two, she’s got on what some might call a shirt.

But it’s more like a tit-hugging scrap of fabric, with bold red letters that read Make Boys Cry.

And three, she’s not wearing a bra, and my cock is the first to notice. The cropped white material strains over the swell of her breasts, nipple piercings pressing against it, begging for my teeth.

Her wild, endless red hair is damp, cascading down one shoulder in a tangled mess. No makeup, nothing but raw, furious beauty—better than any eyeliner could ever hope to be.

Goddamn, she’s hot. So mind-numbingly hot that I almost wish I hated myself a little more just to use it as an excuse to fuck her again.

“You can’t be looking at your new foster brother like that, Geeks,” I murmur, a slow, arrogant grin playing at my mouth.

That blush deepens, but I’d be stupid to think she’d admit to eye-fucking me. Not in this lifetime.

“Oh, sorry, I was trying to disassociate from this fucking nightmare.”

Bullshit.

Phi says that, but I catch the way her eyes flick to my chest again, the necklace dangling at the hollow of my throat. She wants me so fucking bad she can’t stand it.

It’s all over her, like a rash she can’t hide.

She just doesn’t wanna be responsible for what happens after she takes what she wants.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head I lean over to shove my notebook beneath the pillow once again. “Sure you were, princess.”

“You should find a better hiding spot for your diary. Wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands,” she teases, crossing her arms in front of her chest like she’s got all day to annoy the shit out of me.

My eyes roll as I stand up straight. “Didn’t know there’d be a human raccoon rifling through my shit, but duly noted.”

“So, it is a diary? That’s cute,” she shoots back, her lips curving in that maddening way.

“Why are you still here, Phi?” I tilt my head, narrowing my gaze as I study her. “We had a deal, right? I hate to break it to you, but I’m not interested in fucking you again.”

Her eyebrow arches, and I can see it, the defiance, the need to prove me wrong. She’s good at that, turning every word I throw at her into some kind of challenge. Phi thrives on attention, and if she doesn’t get it, she’ll claw it out of you, kicking and screaming if she has to.

This back-and-forth game we play? Trying to out-hate each other? I’m done with it. I’ve got my reasons for not liking her, and she knows them. This isn’t something I want to keep hashing out just so she can watch me lose my temper.

I need this year to fly by, to go as smoothly as possible, so I can get the fuck away from here.

That won’t happen if her dad and brother try to kill me because we got a little too close behind a closed door. Which is what will happen if we keep at it, especially when all that’s separating me from her hot mouth is a towel.

Arguing with her? It’s like foreplay. We rile each other up until someone snaps and sheds the first piece of clothing.

Sex with Seraphina Van Doren is a fucking death wish.

It was good, but I’m not risking my future for an orgasm.

“Trust me, Sinclair. I’d rather stick forks into my eyes than touch you again, but don’t be a liar, Jude.” She flicks her gaze down, right to where my dick’s pitching a tent beneath the towel slung around my waist, then wrinkles her nose. “It’s not a good look, dude.”

God, I want to tear that smug little grin off her face, rip that pride she’s holding on to into pieces with my teeth.

I release a heavy sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, forcing my body to relax despite the lust pooling in my gut.

“My dick’s not blind, and you know what they say about you, Van Doren.”

“Oh yeah?” She cocks her head, daring me. “Enlighten me, Sin. What do they say about me?”

I step closer, closing the distance between us. Her breath hitches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough for me to know she feels this tension. The pull. That dark, slithering thing between us that neither of us wants to acknowledge, but it’s there anyway.

Lurking beneath the surface, just waiting for one of us to break. To give in.

I hook a finger into the waistband of her jean shorts, yanking her close until her palms land on my chest. My teeth grab at my lower lip the moment her waist rubs against the towel, stirring my cock beneath the fabric.

Phi’s a pretty liar.

Smooth and won’t think twice about lying to get what she wants. But the truth, her truth, it lives in her eyes. And right now, hers are drowning in desire, dancing in pools of lewd want.

I could kiss her right now, and she’d let me. She’d let me do whatever I wanted as long as I promised to take that ache between her pretty little thighs away. I could fuck her raw on this bed, with her parents just down the hall, and the only thing she’d have to say is more.

My finger slides below her chin, lifting it up as my voice drops to a whisper. “Hottest piece of ass from here to the Falls.”

This is the first time I’ve been this close to her in the daylight, and I tilt my head, curiosity getting the better of me as I study her.

Green.

Her eyes are green—soft, translucent, like sea glass worn smooth by the ocean.

It’s a pity a girl with eyes this beautiful has such a savage fucking heart.

“But that’s boring. Easy. And I’m not interested in easy.” I flip her chin as I take a step back, forcing myself to put distance between us.

The blood from my knuckles stains her chin, a crimson mark left behind. She’ll have to walk around this house with my blood marring her skin until someone either asks her about it or she looks in a mirror. Either way, she’ll remember this little conversation and just how easy I could get her to cave if I wanted.

Her lips press into a thin line, the flush spreading from her cheeks to her neck, and I know, whether she likes it or not, I’ve hit a nerve.

Good.

She holds my gaze for a second longer, her jaw clenched tight. I’m sure she had a plan creeping in here, trying to find dirt on me, and now she’s gonna leave horny and irritated she failed.

Technically, I’m doing her a favor.

Pissed off and wet is her best look.

Phi’s mouth opens, but whatever comeback she’s got ready dies on her red lips.

A knock at the door freezes both of us in place, like we’ve been caught.

Rook Van Doren’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp as ever. “Jude, mind talking to me in my office?”

I don’t bother hiding the smirk that tugs at my mouth. If I had my phone on me, I’d snap a picture of Phi’s face right now. Her eyes are wide as hell, like a deer caught in headlights, and there’s nothing but raw, unfiltered fear swimming in them.

She likes to act tough, like she’s untouchable, this vixen who devours boys like her morning snack. But it’s all smoke and mirrors.

Underneath all the bravado, she’s still the good little girl who plays by her daddy’s rules.

“If I say no?” I call out.

“I wouldn’t,” comes his calm reply, laced with a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

There’s a brief pause before his heavy footsteps retreat, leaving us in silence.

I walk past Phi, taking my sweet time, feeling the weight of her eyes burning into my back. “I’ve got a hearing to attend, Geeks,” I say, grabbing a shirt from the closet. “If I were you, I’d sneak out. Wouldn’t want anyone else walking in on us.”

The tension between us thickens as I pull the shirt over my head, her frustration practically radiating from across the room.

“There was nothing to walk in on,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t say anything stupid to him.”

Laughter rumbles in my chest, the sound unapologetic, as I drop the towel. I know damn well her eyes are glued to my ass, and I take my time pulling on a pair of jeans, deliberately skipping the underwear. I zip them up slowly, turning to face her once they’re snug, the smirk on my lips widening.

“Worried about me, Geeks?” I arch a brow, my tone teasing.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out, just a flicker of something in those green eyes—panic, frustration. More than anything, it’s fear.

Hopefully, that fear will keep her the fuck out of my room next time.

I close the distance between us, the space between us shrinking until I can practically feel the heat rolling off her. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me away.

I lean in, just enough for my lips to brush her ear, my voice low, deliberate.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll be a good boy and keep your secret.” I pause, letting my words linger. “For now.”

The walk to Rook’s office is a slow one, giving me plenty of time to appreciate the Persian rugs and fine china. I even stop at the grandfather clock ticking softly in the hallway for a few moments, just to prolong the inevitable.

This house is everything you’d expect in a multimillion-dollar estate on the coast. Yet, despite all the wealth, it feels lived-in.

The walls are lined with pictures of family trips, stacks of board games sat on the living room coffee table. I’d even spotted a fucking growth chart on the kitchen entryway.

I remember times when I’d come home from school starved, just to open the fridge and find only two-week-old takeout. If I was lucky, which was rare, there would be almost sour milk to wash it down with.

Before I can even push the heavy wooden door open fully, the Judge’s voice hits my ears.

“Have a seat.”

My eyes sweep the room as I walk inside. Dark, polished wood dominates the space, every surface oozing with wealth and power. Intricately carved bookcases line the walls, filled with leather-bound books that look like they’ve never been touched, let alone read.

Rook sits behind his desk, watching me through the dim lighting.

“I’ll stand,” I grunt, leaning against the doorframe. “Can we get this rolling? I’m trying to go to bed. School tomorrow. Early bird gets the worm and all that shit.”

I watch as he carefully drops the papers in his hands, leaning forward to flick open the box on his desk. “Sage mentioned you were looking for work. Inferno Garage is hiring. Your first day is next week.”

My jaw clenches so hard I can feel the strain in my neck. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste copper.

“I didn’t need your⁠—”

“Help?” he cuts me off, his tone cool and measured. “From where I’m standing, I beg to differ.”

“Then beg,” I bite.

If he wants to play this game, we can play it.

A smirk pulls at his mouth, dim lights catching the streaks of silver threading through his brown hair. One tattooed hand calmly plucks a cigar from his collection, one that probably cost more than my liver.

“Defying authority. Smart-ass mouth. Short temper. You might be a Caldwell after all.”

Fury ignites in my bones, raging and crackling through every inch of me, turning my blood into molten iron. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms.

Every single time my father hit me, it was him he saw. The number of times Dad called me Rook just before he broke a bottle over my back is painful.

The Hollow Boys are a physical manifestation of my abuse. Their past plagued Dad into an addiction, and those demons are the reason I found him on the floor of his bedroom with a needle in his arm.

Where were the Caldwells when I begged someone, anyone, to save me as a kid? When I was innocent, and all I wanted was a family that loved me back?

Nowhere.

They left me alone, rotting and in charge of handling the consequences of their actions. I’m collateral damage they locked in the back of their closets, in their big-ass houses, with their happy fucking families.

And I’m supposed to what? Be thankful for that?

Fuck him. And fuck them twice.

“Never,” I grit out, teeth aching. “Got that? The only thing that family gave me was blood. My presence hard to swallow when you don’t think of me as his nephew? Tough shit, Judge. I’m a Sinclair. Choke on it.”

Rook says nothing. Just watches me.

But his irritation is palpable, thick enough to cut through, and it fills the space between us.

Ponderosa Springs’s judge doesn’t exist in these walls.

This is just Rook Van Doren and his demons crawling up from hell for their pound of flesh.

Flicking the wheel on his Zippo, engraved with his initials, he lights his cigar. The harsh edges of his aging face are illuminated by a deep orange glow before it’s hidden briefly by a cloud of smoke.

“You’re here because of my wife, because she is patient and kind,” he says finally, voice steady as ever. “I don’t share those qualities.”

“Is this supposed to scare me?” I counter, my voice edged with mockery.

He cocks his head, the scent of tobacco and authority clinging to him like a second skin, making me sick to my fucking stomach.

“Stay away from my daughter.”

“Just one or both?” I arch a brow.

I’m pushing him, taunting him. Seeing just how far I’d need to push before he snapped, broken in half and showing his true colors. Not this honorable family man he pretends to be.

The man that melted the side of my dad’s face off. The one everyone in this town is so afraid of.

Rook’s jaw tightens, and the look he gives me is one of pure disdain. He’s fed up with my bullshit, that much is clear.

“If you hurt Seraphina—if you so much as breathe too close to her, I’ll⁠—”

“You’ll?” I interrupt, stepping into his space, daring him to make a move. “You’ll what? You gonna kill me, Judge?”

A slow grin spreads across Rook’s face, like the idea of my death brings him nothing but pure joy. He takes another slow drag from his cigar, smoke curling in front of his face.

“I’ll show you why Ponderosa Springs called me the Devil long before they ever called me Judge.”