The Roots That Bleed (The Bloodroot Book 1), page 22
“One second!" I yell, standing up and nearly tripping over the blanket around my ankles. It's heavier than I expected, and I mutter a curse under my breath.
I whip around, searching for the clothes I wore this morning, but they're nowhere in sight. They're probably tangled in the crumpled sheets, and I don’t have the two minutes it would take to find them.
As the door opens, I look up to see Aaron in the doorway. I freeze.
“Shit, does anybody respect privacy in this place?" I squeal, tightening my grip on the covers. He glances at me, dressed in tragedy and sin—gray sweatpants and a plain white tee—and I don’t know what it is about it, but somehow it’s making his pale blue eyes, platinum hair, and the black tattoo around his neck stand out even more. It’s like a male equivalent to a body shaper or something.
“I knocked, Street Girl," he replies with a casual shrug, striding in, pulling a chair from under the window, and sitting down with an ease that belies the tension in the room. He places an album on the table and looks at me. “You had your warning."
He's clearly unfazed by my shock, not reacting at all as I stand there, and my mouth only opens agape at his nerve. Even at Highmont, in that rundown hive with no rules between the students, respecting each other's privacy was key. Otherwise, one could earn a knife between the ribs in the least expected moment and would have nobody to blame but themselves.
“It’s rude to just barge into a girl’s room. Person of power, or not," I manage to say, my lips pressed into a thin line, wondering how I’m supposed to get dressed without giving him an eyeful.
The nagging thought that he might have already seen me naked crosses my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. Judging by his expression, I don’t think he peeked. He has this fuckboy persona about him, sure, but his skin is so pale that it's bound to blush, if anything.
“This is my property, you know. That includes this room," he retorts, raising his eyebrows and fixing me with a stare that chills me to the bone.
I grit my teeth as I hear him snort. Here, my privacy must be just a pipe dream. Point taken: better not to look for it.
The tattoo on Aaron’s neck stands out starkly, like bold ink on a blank canvas. Oh, how I’d love to wrap my hands around it now to show him just how ‘welcome’ he is… not. It’d earn him a nice Highmont-style greeting and send a message. Maybe I should try manifesting a dream about it…
“You know what? Forget what I said," I tell him, forcing sweetness into my voice. His eyebrows shoot up, obviously not expecting niceness from me, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he's aware of my insincerity and waiting for me to snap. “It’s all yours and stuff. I get that. But you see these covers I’m clinging to?" I nod toward the blanket. “I’m completely naked underneath."
The warm material burns in my hands, but I clutch it even stronger now. For some reason that heat travels all the way to my cheeks when Aaron swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the process. His eyes widen, the blue in them piercing right through me. It's all too intense, too quickly, so I spin around not to look at him.
“I did knock before coming in," he repeats from behind me, his voice carrying a hint of strain. There's an edge to his tone that throws me off—he sounds almost like a normal guy my age who blushes because of a girl being naked next to him.
He’s not supposed to sound like that. He’s not supposed to blur the lines between us. He’s the bad, bad rich heir, and I’m his teeth-gritting victim. And neither of us has the luxury of acting young and free out of the sudden.
I can see the abyss in his eyes. I know that he might be a spoiled guy with dollar bills for toilet wipes, but he’s no child.
“I was asleep; I didn’t have time to react," I defend myself, stomping around the bed and dragging the cover with me. When I don’t find what I’m looking for, I spin around once more, only to see my black, wet panties lying in the tense space between us.
Shit.
“In the middle of the day?" Aaron asks, acting like he doesn’t see them, even though he's staring right at them. There’s a drenched spot right in the place where they cupped my pussy. It’s all shinier, deeper in color, and right on display. He swallows hard.
“I've been dealing with Irvin all morning," I say, quickly grabbing my underwear from the floor as if it’s scorching hot. The fabric, damp under my fingers, shows for the excitement I felt earlier. As I stand back up, a wave of heat rushes through me, making my voice a bit higher. “Both of your brothers, they’re quite a handful."
That heat in me doesn't care for tone or tact. It's only after the words spill out that I realize there's venom in my voice and a scowl on my face.
Damn, I just bitched out. And if I want to improve my situation, I need to get a handle on that, fast. Badmouthing Aaron’s brothers isn’t the way to win him over.
I glance back at him and notice his gaze shift away, his eyebrows raised slightly upward. Just as I’m about to smooth things over, he speaks up.
“Yeah, tell me about it," he drawls with a sigh. Whether it’s because of me complaining about his brothers or the underwear incident, I don’t know, but his voice quivers a little. “Living with them can really get under your skin. Trust me, years of experience here, and I'm still not immune."
Well, a reaction like that is not what I expected…
He offers me a half-smile that's so disarmingly casual that my heart skips a beat. Suddenly, the invisible line between us seems like a spider silk thread rather than a thick rope. What the hell happened that, in the span of a day, he turned from an arctic prince to… this?
Just a… guy. Somehow broken, but sincere and charming.
“They might not seem as bad unless you're practically their prisoner," I say, trying to keep it light as I head to the bathroom with the blanket trailing behind me. After slipping on the wet panties, I return to the room.
I don’t want to wear them. I really, really don’t. But there’s not much choice around here, and obsessing over a hot, albeit wrong, guy seeing my cunt naked is not a better option.
“I wouldn’t bet on it," he replies as I reappear, casually resting his gaze on my legs. I wonder if he’s thinking the same as I am. That these panties make me feel literally every single gush of wind as I walk. “Irvin is always... well, Irvin. And Snake, he likes to control everything and everyone."
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the chair so that his knees naturally spread. He sits in this power pose that is apparently infectious for the men in this household, because I swear I saw others sit like that too, and I try not to be so conscious of my very sensitive clit right now.
“Are you guys… actually related?" I toss out, strolling over to the little table by him and pulling up another chair. “All of you just look different, and... well, Ryder was not blood related to me, so..."
“Nope," Aaron replies, popping the “p" and leaving his mouth open. His jaw tenses when he says, “I'm the lone Lionhart here. The golden heir."
The way he stresses the last part suggests he's heard it too many times, and from his strained voice, it's clear he's not fond of the title. I wouldn’t be either; it sounds so… pretentious.
“That must be rough," I respond, my nose wrinkling. I fiddle with my nails, continuing, “I mean, I’ve never been wealthy, right? Where I’m from, people would kill for a life like this. But after a few days here, it’s obvious: all this wealth means nothing if you’re..."
“Alone?" he interjects.
“Lonely."
I look back at him and notice a subtle lift of his eyebrows, just enough to show surprise but not enough to break his cultivated 'I don’t care' facade. He's silent, so I press on.
“You know, on the streets, we think money can solve all our problems. But looking at you three, ‘happy’ isn't the word that comes to mind."
The need to direct my attention anywhere but between my thighs is making me ramble. I can feel it as it comes, but I can no longer stop it than I can turn off the sensitivity of my pussy. Shit, why did I even say that in the first place?
“You think you've got us all figured out?" His tone is light, but I sense a deeper edge to it. It reminds me of Ryder and how he always hid his true self. I always knew there was something more than what he let on, but I could never find out what. It’s like Aaron hides something, too.
“Well, I can see there’s more to you than just a privileged exterior," I say. “There's something you're all hiding."
His eyes darken, and the thick, tense silence before he speaks tells me I’ve hit a nerve.
“Just how you could tell that Ryder Knox was hiding something?" he asks, his mouth tightening.
Oh. Oh. There he is—the arctic heir to a fortune. He came back to say hello. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to calm my racing heart and keep my cool, but it's a struggle. The pain of being seen as Ryder's useless sister, the expendable one, is still fresh.
Or maybe it’s not fresh at all? Maybe it’s so old that it kept being reopened for as long as I can remember. Maybe it could never heal.
Regardless, the cold prince I can deal with. It’s the cute, charming Aaron Lionhart that I have a problem with.
“Say what you want about me, but lay off Ryder, alright?" My voice is thick. Suddenly, there’s a clot in my throat, stopping me from speaking. “I don’t want to hear it," I assert.
“Sounds like a defense mechanism to me," he shoots back. “You going to keep deflecting about him and never really get over it. Maybe you should learn something from Snake."
I frown, confused.
“What does Snake have to do with any of this?" I ask.
“Well, for starters, his background," he says, and my mouth falls open in surprise. “He grew up in your neighborhood, and I don’t think I have to tell you what baggage it comes with sometimes."
I tap my fingers nervously on the table, processing this revelation. It's unexpected, but somehow, I believe it. Thinking about Snake's stormy brown eyes, so reminiscent of Ryder’s yet so different, I scoff in surprise. I suddenly become acutely aware of the police-issued phone hidden on my bed, entrusted to me to dig up dirt on these men.
Snitches get stitches. Everybody on the street knows that. Snake knows that, too.
But this changes nothing. I owe Snake nothing. Growing up in the same neighborhood doesn't absolve him of kidnapping Dig or the threats he’s made.
Still… This whole thing begs a question. How the hell did Snake go from living on the streets to running a goddamn Lionhart empire? It doesn’t add up.
Aaron shifts, breaking my train of thought.
“It's not my place to tell his story. I've said too much, but… if you're curious, ask him. Maybe he’ll help you, or whatever." He glances away, then nods towards the album lying between us. “Anyway, let's drop that subject. I’ve brought this so we can go through my family together. It’s probably gonna take some time."
My eyes fall onto the big chunk of glued paper and foil that is the book. It’s the size of my chest and as thick as my arm—a sight that makes my stomach churn. The last thing I want to do is open it, but it seems like I don’t have much choice. Aaron has offered to help, whether out of genuine kindness or some hidden agenda I don't have the energy to figure out, and it’s a chance I shouldn’t squander. God knows that trying to study this behemoth without his assistance would likely end in disaster.
“It couldn’t be thicker, huh?" I quip, cocking my brow. School was never my thing, and the perspective of drilling faces into my brain feels even worse than learning etiquette with Snake. Pure torture.
“Yeah, they're big on legacy," he mutters, almost to himself. Something tells me that he doesn’t want to do it nearly as much as I don’t. And yet, he’s here, opening the first page and making the cover hit the tabletop with a thud.
“Do I really need to learn all of them, though? What’s this engagement party even gonna be like?" I ask, feeling a headache brew the moment Aaron scoots his chair next to mine.
“Well, if these people have stayed the same since the last time I saw them, then it’s going to be a big pain in the ass," he says, fidgeting when he stares at the passport pictures of people spread out in front of us. “Even bigger than Snake. If you don’t get all this into your head, that is. We won’t take any chances."
He tries to pass it off as a joke, a smirk playing on his lips, but there’s a serious undertone beneath it. A shiver of dread traces down my spine. Suddenly, this task of learning faces feels bigger than before. Like something inevitable and daunting is approaching soon. I sense it, and I think Aaron does too. That’s why he tenses in his seat, too.
Not all lions are equal, after all. Maybe the ones I’m with are wicked, but they sure have their scars. I guess I’m about to learn about the ones who left them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Surrounded by dozens of screens, only two of them are accompanied by sound. The rest display silent hallways or guards who have long understood that silence is the key to their employment.
I have my eyes and ears everywhere. There's hardly a whisper they might utter about the way we run things that escapes my notice. And I don’t take such comments lightly. For each snarky comment, there is a price to pay.
The other remaining ten monitors are mute, humming with empty static that lets me know that everything is as it should be. In case anything happens, I’ll see it.
Normally, I dedicate my time to monitoring these screens for security purposes. You can never be too cautious, especially when you're relying on others to carry out tasks and not yourself. But recently, my attention has been increasingly drawn elsewhere.
Lorelei pulls my focus like a vacuum chamber. It doesn’t matter how long I watch her; I want more. Always more.
I haven't been this distracted since I first came to the Lionhart mansion years ago. My head is still in the game; it always is. The mechanism that I’ve built ticks like a well-maintained clock. Some might say I don't even need to keep an eye on it; it runs fine on its own, but just fine isn't enough for me.
But there's always some human mistake I could fix: maybe a shift in drug shipments I should keep an eye on, tweaking my workers' schedules based on the day, or even weather conditions that might mess things up. There's always room for improvement.
Our pharmaceutical business isn't just the source of our wealth; it's my damn creed. And I'm too distracted by this petite blonde vixen who's entered my world to give it everything I've got.
My eyes zone in on the way she’s sitting next to Aaron in the room that I signed for her. Something about this makes my beast purr with contentment. She's in the room I chose, with the man who's my family, doing the things that I told her to do. This feeling, it's more gratifying than running Lionhart Pharmaceuticals. It’s… staggering. And distracting.
Now, at this moment, she seems more relaxed than ever before. I can hear her talk with Aaron about something about the Lionhart line, a topic that still tenses her pretty mouth because of its sheer fucking gravity, but not as much as before. She’s somehow different. Lighter.
Maybe it's Aaron's influence. He's oblivious to the impact he has on others, to his ability to draw them out—that is, when he's not wallowing in self-pity, which is almost always. I hear him scoff as Lorelei confuses one dreadful uncle from his father's side with another.
Or maybe… it’s because she used my gift.
The corner of my mouth quivers as I recall the memory. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it. One thing’s certain about our deal with her: that one-year contract is just for show. The real truth is, we're never going to let her go. I am never going to let her go. Especially not after what she did today. That little performance of hers has sealed her fate irrevocably.
Plus, she knows too much at this point.
Earlier, I overheard Aaron letting slip bits of my past to her—just enough to pique her interest and just enough to annoy me, even though I knew she'd start uncovering things about us eventually. Logically, I can see the benefit of that. Her getting closer to me might benefit us all, and open communication is one way to ensure that.
Yet Aaron was right in one respect. My story isn't his to tell; it's mine. He knows how much I hate it when others make decisions that are mine to make. As much as I liked seeing Lorelei light up with curiosity, leaning in eagerly at Aaron’s every word, it made my fists clench regardless.
Now, the screens flicker, and for a moment, that same curiosity sparks in Lorelei’s eyes. It’s odd how such a tiny thing—a quiver in her lower lip, a softness in her gaze—can stir the beast within me. It wakes up, hungry for more. Always more.
I stand up from the gaming chair and roll my neck, LED lights blurring in motion. This place is my personal bat cave, hidden and discrete, and rich in technology worth thousands.
My child self would probably drool buckets if he saw what I’m seeing now: machines with the power of half the Interpol’s headquarters all casting their aquamarine glow in the darkness. I have about everything one might need in here: a towering server rack humming in the corner, files stored securely about nearly every person that has ever crossed me or is yet to do so.
Power. Knowledge. Money at the tips of my fingers.
This is my sanctuary, a place filled with possibilities and structure. And most importantly? All my fucking cables are tied and hidden from the eye.
It’s a masterpiece.
Yet, even in this sanctuary of mine, I can't find peace. Lorelei invades my thoughts, wreaking havoc with each moment I'm awake. She haunts me, corrupting everything sacred in my mind and twisting it under her control.
I move towards an old radio, the only object not bathed in LED light. And even that makes me go insane. Inside me, my beast conjures images: Lorelei, bound with cables, held still, her lips parting only to whisper my name.
Taking her was either the best or the worst idea we had as a group. I can't pinpoint what about her gets under my skin, but it's clear I'm not the only one affected. Irvin and Aaron are too; the former doesn't hide it, while the latter utterly fails at trying.
