The Grave Shadows

45. The Trial

Black silk curtains wafted into the room like apparitions leashed on the frames as the inevitable and alarming new day grew bright. Ever since Everett met Cyan, for the first time, he dreaded getting out of bed.

Consequence steered clear of the Watts boys, the one with Crawley as his middle name most of all. But now, Everett felt it—the repercussion, the ramification, the karma. The shards of the things he broke remained on his fists, his feet, his face, and his heart, though the Watts Clan steel armor had always encased him.

When he kissed Cyan last night, lust hit him in full swing. There was no limit. No Bill Watts. No other Watts boys. No David. No public eye. No restriction on any part of her body. Had John walked in on them, Everett doubted that it would be easy to hold back. The old Everett—the Watts boy; Bill Watts's son; the entitled, selfish brat—repossessed the new him. Yet, it wasn't enough.

Wounds and scars, however gruesome, had never terrified the fearless Watts boy like him, but this time he coiled up in bed, afraid of the damages that had long disappeared. He ran out of the audacity to hold what he couldn't protect. What to offer someone better than the Watts boys? What to give someone who would always have another chance? His title, blood, and clan were exaggerated like his ageless great-grandparents' portraits. The truth was money and power wouldn't bring everything. The entire world had to be secretly laughing at this pretentious fraternity. Perhaps Cyan should leave town. Colt was toxic even for the Watts family, and Bill Watts would always be a cutthroat. Hector the Watts Prince and David the Dark Prince would burn the whole town with madness. Cyan should leave—if Everett got to go with her.

Everett trotted down the stairs to the foyer where his sane brothers planted in three different spots like stern figurines. Although Luke was looking out the door, the scorn was evident. Harsh wrinkles deepened on Will's and Simon's faces as they began to move. Amused and frustrated, Everett ducked away from these desperate children who might soon lose their minds.

"You've been lying to us." Luke spun around and glared at Everett from the corner of his eye. Everett had shattered the crucial rule of the glorious made-up law. "You tricked Cyan while Will, Simon, and I sweated blood on Bill Watts's business. Have you slept with her?"

Strutting away, Everett swallowed the bubbling answer back inside his throat. He didn't need to humiliate himself and elaborate that—yes, he wanted Cyan, despite the struggle of feeling as though he always disgusted her. To Will, Simon, and Luke, having Cyan in bed was the end of the ludicrous race—the Watts boys' game. And when another beauty came along, the broken old one would go to the pile of regret. Everett wanted this one. Just one. And they couldn't grant him right of way for once.

Will seized Everett's shoulder. "We don't know what she is for," he said.

"What she's for?" Everett's inside turned into air. "Is that how your brain works? She's not a mysterious present Father gave us to fight over." Rage animated in his voice, his fists threatening to explode. Unfortunately, the habitual explosion would be a terrible idea. He couldn't heal quickly, and his body had a job to do. Everett took to his heels. Perhaps it was the time to depart the den for good. He was done with the ghostly mansion, a garage full of black trucks, the family name that kept bailing him out, and Bill Watts.

When Everett stepped through the front door, John was fumbling through the glaring driveway. He froze, the picture of Cyan's blood on Hector's face taking over his thoughts.

"I've been calling you." John, scented the redolence of stale beer, rubbed his red wide eyes.

Everett checked his cell phone, and there were seventeen missed calls in it. "I'm sorry. I've muted my phone last night when I was watching her. What's happened?"