The Oath We Give (The Hollow Boys Book 5)

coraline

“How much for the night?”

I snap my head toward the voice, pulling my cigarette from my lips.

“Excuse me?” I release a puff of smoke toward the man in front of me.

His blond hair is slicked back, blue suit freshly pressed, and his wallet is out, thumb filing through the bills.

Is he propositioning me for sex work right now?

As if silently answering my question, his eyes wander over my body, and a sick feeling settles in my stomach. I flick my gaze down at the halter dress. It’s a little short and shows some skin with the open back, but it’s hot, and it’s the middle of the fucking day. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“How much for the night?” he repeats, his voice low and almost guttural.

I take a step back from him, scoffing as I shake my head, taking another hit off my cigarette before throwing it toward the street.

My first trip to Portland in months, and this is what the city greets me with?

The sheer audacity and ignorance of some men to assume based on what I’m wearing that I’m for sale? A chilling thought crosses my mind. Is that why Stephen picked me? Because of how I look?

I squash it immediately after thinking.

Getting kidnapped was not my fault. I may have trouble accepting some things about what happened, but that isn’t one of them. I did nothing to deserve what they did to me.

“How about you back the fuck up.”

A thunderous voice, deep and menacing, reverberates from behind me.

I feel him like a dense fog, curling around me, moving like mist.

Intuitively, or maybe because his tone made me jump, I take a step back, my black pumps clicking on the sidewalk as I do. My back hits his chest, head several inches beneath his chin.

Mr. Bank Broker, or maybe a stock manager, takes a step back himself, looking slightly taken aback by the sudden intervention. Fear makes him swallow roughly.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he mumbles, shoving his wallet into his pocket, holding his hands up in defense. “I thought she was—”

“I don’t care. Walk away while you still have the ability.”

I stifle a laugh, not at the words but at the way the man pales, tucking his tail between his legs and scurrying away.

When he’s gone, I turn to face the knight in shining armor I didn’t want or need, intent on telling him I can fight my own battles, but decide to keep my mouth shut when I see him.

Silas’s dark brown eyes reflect the sun, stern expression sorta melting away when he looks away from the entitled man and down at me.

The gray suit he’s wearing complements my dress perfectly, like he’d been in my room while I was dressing and watched so we could match. The way it folds and bends across the muscle of his chest and arms. I bite the inside of my cheek, tilting my head to look a little closer at the tattoos sprawling up his neck, peeking out from the top of the suit.

I feel physically small in his presence.

“Do I look like I’m for sale?” I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms in front of my chest to create some distance between us.

He scoffs, air puffing his lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a soft laugh, but I do, in fact, know better. Silas slowly lifts his pointer finger and slides a strand of white hair from the front of my face, his golden ring glinting in the light.

“You can’t put a price on you,” he whispers huskily, leaning closer, his chest touching my arms. “Men would still pay millions, but that has nothing to do with your looks.”

My stomach flips, heat rushing to my cheeks, but I scoff to cover up the effect his words have on me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mumble, clearing my throat and turning my back to him. “I have to get back to the studio tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hear Silas’s footsteps follow me as we make our way past the concrete front steps and into the entrance of the courthouse.

Once we move through the metal detectors, a security guard nods his head in acknowledgment, waving us forward before searching another visitor’s bag.

I try to focus on the click of my heels as I walk, but all I can think about is the fact I’m headed to get my marriage license.

I’m getting fucking married.

I can feel Silas’s gaze piercing through the back of my skull, as if he can feel my panic, peeling away each layer of apprehension with his eyes as dread seeps into my veins. We wind down a long hallway, reaching the elevator only after passing three security checkpoints.

Silas holds the elevator door open for me, and I step inside. Once our button is pressed, my palms sweat a little. I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him.

I knew this was going to happen. I agreed to this, but there is a sudden burst of panic surging through me.

What if this doesn’t work? What if Stephen kills someone when he finds out? What if Silas’s family learns the truth, that this is all a hoax?

What if. What if. What. If.

The clanging of metal and grinding of gears fills my ears. A gut-wrenching shriek rips through the air as the elevator suddenly jolts forward. My body shoots forward, my hands instinctively reaching out to grab the railings on either side as the lights flicker for a few seconds before returning to normal.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Silas groans from beside me, pressing the emergency help button. A dial tone fills the confined space.

I can barely hear the conversation between him and the elevator operating company over the thudding in my ears. My throat itches, heat crawling up my spine.

As if I needed another sign, the power goes out completely, submerging us in total darkness. The lady over the speaker assures us that someone will be coming to help soon, but it’s already too late.

Small, dark space.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and calm my racing thoughts. No one talks about how suffocating the darkness is. How it forms tangible hands, wraps them around your throat, and squeezes until you forget what the light looked like.

Two years I spent choking on the dark.

“It’s going to be alright—”

“This is a mistake,” I spit out, leaning against the wall behind me. “This is a sign that this entire fucking thing is a mistake.”

A manic laugh spills from my lips as I shake my head.

“We don’t even know each other. We’re strangers, and this is a stupid mistake. We can’t do this—”

“Stop.” His voice bounces off the walls. “Breathe.”

My heart skips as I realize that he moved closer, his minty breath tickling my face. I thought having him so close would only increase my anxiety, but it doesn’t.

I’ve been walking on a tightrope, and he’s become this steady net beneath me. Always there for some reason when my mind spirals and the world moves too fast.

I inhale, filling my nose with the smell of him before releasing it out of my mouth.

“Good girl, Hex,” he praises softly, fingers gently touching my arm. “Ask me.”

“What?” I whisper, taking another deep breath as I open my eyes, even though I can’t see him.

“Whatever you need to know, ask me.” His voice is steady. “Ask me. Let me talk to you. Make me more than a voice.”

Let me talk to you.

That’s how this started, didn’t it? All because I went digging for his number in a pair of shoes. When I was falling apart and his voice helped me pick up the pieces.

Maybe somehow, my brain connected his voice to safety, some type of positive feedback loop. When I hear him, I feel lighter. Not this heavy, damaged person weighed down by pain.

I take my bottom lip between my teeth. How do I tell him I need him to stay a voice? That I can’t want to know him?

How do I say I want to know everything about you more than everything? What you’ll be and where you’ve been. I want to know what it feels like to touch you, really fucking touch you.

How do I tell him that I want that but can’t have it?

That it would kill him if I took what I wanted.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask dumbly.

Silas moves next to me, his shoulder touching mine before I hear him slide to the wall, sitting down. Knowing we will be here for a while, I join him on the floor, stretching my legs out in front of me.

“Orange,” he breathes out, sighing around the words.

I stifle a laugh. “Like neon orange?”

“Like a reddish orange.”

I’m surprised by his answer. He seems like a gray kinda guy. Most people include their favorite color in their home or wardrobe. I’ve never once seen him wear orange and didn’t see it in his apartment.

It’s probably a personal thing.

“What’s our story?” I direct my gaze ahead of me, watching the black stretch before us, letting the pressure of Silas’s leg pressing against mine act as a reminder that I’m no longer trapped in that basement.

“You saw me and fell madly in love. Demanded I marry you.”

A smirk tugs at my lips as I swivel my head toward him, even though I can’t make out his features in the dark. “Did you just make a joke, Hawthorne?”

His shoulder lifts in a shrug beside me, confirming what I heard in his voice, a smirk.

“Seriously, you can’t send me into your family’s home and expect me to make this realistic if I don’t have a lie ready to go. If things were different, how would we have met?”

There is silence for a beat, just the sound of our level breathing before he speaks.

“Your studio,” he says, his leg pressing harder into my thigh. “Hedi told me to come see the work you were doing for Light. You were finishing up with a class, wearing something old and baggy, overalls or a T-shirt with too many holes in it. And I couldn’t leave without knowing you.”

My breath gets caught in my throat, and I roll my lips together. It’s just a story, only make-believe. But a secret part of me wishes it were real, even for just a moment.

“I somehow convinced you to go to dinner, which will be the hardest part of this story to get my family to believe.”

“Why?” I ask, furrowing my brow in confusion.

“Because you’re fucking stubborn.”

I laugh, loudly. A real laugh that I feel deep in my stomach, an uninhibited sound of joy, because he’s right.

“I spent the rest of the night trying to make you recreate that sound.” He leans into my side a little more. “The rest my mother doesn’t need to hear about.”

The elevator jerks, and a gasp slips from my lips. A god-fucking-awful noise rings in my ears, and my hand shoots out, gripping his thigh. My nails dig into the skin as my stomach plummets.

My eyes squeeze shut, as if that will prevent my impending doom. Then my heart starts to race for an entirely different reason. Silas’s arm reaches across me, gripping my hip in his large palm and hauling me into his lap.

Instinctively, my legs spread, straddling him, and my hands rest on his shoulders to balance myself as he forces me into his space further.

“Ask me another question, Hex.” His breath is molten hot on my neck, the gravel in the back of his throat rubbing across my skin.

The heat radiating off his body is making it impossible to resist pushing myself against him. His fingers trace patterns on my hips.

This is bad.

So fucking bad.

An ache, deep and relentless, throbs between my thighs. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to ignore it, feeling the hot flush spread across my skin. Trying not to do something stupid like grind myself against his lap like a needy cat.

“I, um.” I stutter and stumble over words. I pull back from him just a little bit, hands pressing firmly on his chest to steady myself. My knees dig into the floor beneath us. “You ask me a question.”

“Your tattoo,” he says softly. “Why Medusa?”

I’d nearly forgotten about the black-and-gray tattoo on my upper back—out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. But the memory comes flooding back, the flash of needles and ink as it was etched into my flesh.

That’s exactly what this moment feels like with Silas.

A deep burning, faint tugging as the needle penetrates skin. It’s sharp and dull all at once and leaves you with a permanent reminder of the experience.

Again, the elevator jolts and shudders around us, sending me tumbling forward into his chest once again. My head is tucked tight against the side of his neck, palm pressed flat behind his head against the cold metal wall.

“I turn men to stone, why else?” My voice is tinged with heat I have no control over.

His grip tightens, painfully squeezing at my sides so hard my skin buzzes with the sensation. Everything is so warm—the pressure between my thighs, his breath hot against my ear—it feels like fire burning through my veins.

“Mhmm,” he hums, lips pressing against the side of my throat. I feel the vibration of the sound on my skin, making my thighs squeeze his waist.

“That isn’t an answer,” I choke out through the heat, letting my weight fall on his lap, nearly whimpering when I feel his hardened length beneath me pressing into my damp panties.

“I’m trying to decide if I should keep letting you tell me pretty little lies so you can continue pretending.” His teeth graze the sensitive skin on my neck. “Or tell you that I see right through you.”

My breath comes out faster, and I use my hand behind his head to create space, looking down. It’s dark, but I can feel his eyes on my mouth.

We lean toward one another, my forehead touching his.

I can feel his breath, like a secret. Hidden and irresistible.

“Don’t.” I shake my head slightly and feel him freeze beneath me. “This isn’t real.”

My words are meant to remind him that this arrangement is fake, maybe pierce the veil of lust with reason.

“Nothing in the dark is,” he mutters, the tip of his nose bumping mine, “If it’s dark, it’s still not real.”

His hand moves up from my spine to the base of my neck before he pulls me in close with a bruising grip.

Our lips are so close now they are almost touching, so close yet not close enough.

Reason starts to bleed out.

Whatever happens in the dark stays here, I tell myself. I could kiss him in the shadows, and we’d forget it happened when they disappear.

But the elevator jerks one final time—the only thing around us with a clear mind, apparently, is a piece of machinery. I pull away, chest heaving as I look down at his eyes. 

We are no longer covered by the darkness. 

The light has returned, and so has reality. 

We manage to detangle our limbs from one another, standing on our feet and naturally moving to opposite ends of the elevator. I curl an arm around my waist, cheeks warm as the silence only makes things more awkward.

Silas clears his throat just before a ding resounds and the doors open.

Outside are several staff members with looks of concern on their faces. When we step out, they immediately begin speaking to Silas. He is this man, after all, and I’m but a dainty, frail woman.

I refrain from rolling my eyes before walking a few feet away, just to get some space. My mind does that thing where it blocks everything out, falls into itself, and has conversations others aren’t privy to.

The first time I’d stumbled into Vervain, searching for someone to hook up with, I was desperate to erase the memory of Stephen’s body inside of mine. Wanted to shed the skin cells he’d burnt with his fingertips, shut my eyes, and not see him on top of me.

I found the only way I could do that was if I was in control. I had to be on top. It had to be quick and only for the mindless bliss that came with an orgasm. It wasn’t about connection or feeling, just trying to fuck away the memory of the man who robbed my body.

Silas Hawthorne had his hands all over me, and even though I was straddling his lap, never once did I think of anything except him. I smelled nothing but his tobacco-and-oak scent.

Even in the pitch-black, it was still Silas’s face in my mind. That never wavered for a second.

I’m not afraid of sex with him. I’m scared that it won’t just be sex between us. Not when there is this connection between us. A whispered language, one he hears when I’m in distress that lets him know how to anchor me. Words that feel like a soothing balm on my skin after years of standing in scorching flames.

Needing a distraction, I reach into my small handbag, grabbing my phone. I’m planning on texting Lilac, asking her what she wants for dinner so I can pick it up on my way home, but there is an unknown number on my screen.

Unknown: I wouldn’t have hurt her, Circe. You know I wouldn’t do that to you. It was only so you could get my gifts. Did you like them? Make sure you tell the Schizo to keep his hands where they belong, yeah? I miss you. I’ll be seeing you soon.

How the fuck does he keep getting my number?

“Silas,” I call above the noise of courthouse staff members.

His eyes immediately shift to mine, tuning out everyone but me. His strides close the short gap between us. Without uttering a word, I turn my phone for him to see the screen.

“Can I have that?” He motions to the phone when he’s finished reading, the energy from the elevator gone, replaced by a man who carries a look of anger. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

I nod, letting him take it from my hands.

“We need to prepare for what he’s going to do when he finds out we’re married,” I say. “He won’t take it well.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”