Wrath of an Exile: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (The River Styx Heathens Book 1)

Phi

September 4

Have you ever wondered how many rolls of Saran Wrap it takes to completely mummify a Nissan Skyline?

Three.

Ten if you’re feeling petty.

Fifteen if you’re me and Atlas.

It took a little over an hour and five hundred bucks to bribe campus security to turn a blind eye in student parking, but I just know the look on his face was worth every cent.

Or at least Atlas said it was.

I hadn’t been able to see the reward of my pranking efforts because I had a chem class I was already late for and couldn’t wait around to see Jude’s reaction to his car being wrapped tighter than a Christmas present, complete with a big red bow on the hood.

Thankfully, I’d snapped a picture of my handiwork, and I’m seriously debating on making it my screen saver.

Did it make me a bitch? Maybe. Especially knowing he’s still working on his bike after the wreck at the Graveyard. But it could’ve been worse.

I could’ve slashed his tires or cut his brake line. Or, you know, stabbed him with a kitchen knife this morning when he swiped the last blueberry muffin.

But I didn’t. Like the angel I am, I behaved myself.

Choosing vandalism over homicide is personal growth.

“That was clean!” Nora jumps to her feet, yelling at some poor guy in stripes.

For what? I have no clue.

I’m just here for moral support and backup in case she decides to fight the referees again. Which I’m hoping doesn’t happen—last year, it did, and I left with a split lip.

After my phenomenal practical joke and a full day of classes, I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to continue avoiding the roach for as long as humanly possible, so badly I’d resorted to filling my time with sports.

Soccer’s the only sport I know anything about—probably because I spent summers being Reign’s personal target, pretending I was a goalie.

The field sprawls just beyond the Irvine District, with towering stone buildings looming in the distance. My eyes flick to the green, and it’s impossible to miss Reign.

He moves like he’s part of it—fluid, fast, with the kind of grace that comes from knowing every inch of this game like the back of his hand. His cleats rip into the grass as he tears past the opposition, buzzed brown hair slick with sweat.

I may not know a lot about the game, but I know my brother dominates at it.

“Dude, what the fuck! You’re blind, zebra!” Nora shouts again, her white shirt riding up to flash her toned stomach before she settles back into her seat, brow furrowed.

“Is it bad that every time he runs that fast, I secretly hope he trips?” I shout above the crowd, bleachers groaning under the weight of too many bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder.

“You two still fighting?” Nora grins, that knowing look in her brown eyes like she already knows the answer.

What Atlas is to me, Reign is to her.

We all love each other; we’d all die for each other. But those two—they just get each other.

“He’s a dick.”

I’m not mad at Reign.

I’m mad at myself that I deserved his anger.

Guys like Jude are my kryptonite, and I’m not known for making great decisions when it comes to boys. Reign was just trying to look out for me, for our family. The delivery could use some fucking work, but I get it.

It’s only been six days since Jude moved in, and he’s like a termite.

Crawling around my house with those secret, filthy smirks. Burrowing through the walls of my composure every time I see him on campus. I turn, and he’s there—dark blue eyes following my every move, like a predator stalking its prey.

The other day, I went to the kitchen to grab my stash of Oreos, and there he was, in all his shirtless glory, drinking milk from the jug like a caveman.

It’s bad enough he was in my kitchen at all, but it’s worse that I think Jude is a living work of art.

Specifically, that one artist who sculpted Lucifer so beautifully that it was too tempting for the church, so they commissioned his brother to try again—and he made him even hotter? That kind of art.

Sinful. Forbidden. Perfected.

The fridge light was taut over his abs, highlighting the ridges of his toned torso. Every muscle carved with precision. Every tattoo painted and placed to move with each breath.

When milk dripped down from his chin, following the hollow groove between his pecs, this tug pulled in my gut, urging me to lick it up. And I’m fucking lactose intolerant.

But then he opened his mouth. Which ruined everything.

“Enjoying the view?”

He’s a fucking infestation, and I don’t know the number of a good enough exterminator to get him the fuck out.

My brain has been on board with avoiding him since day one, but my vagina has not jumped on the bandwagon just yet.

I can’t trust myself around Jude.

“True.” Nora snorts, her button nose wrinkling before she nudges me, snapping me out of my thoughts, “But he loves you, Phi. You’re our little sister.”

I love Nora Hawthorne.

She’s soft in the way willow trees are, swaying gently with the breeze of life’s challenges. Bending but never breaking. The most kind yet ruthlessly dedicated person I’ve ever met.

The only person who will eat all the purple Skittles for me ’cause I hate them, someone who iced my knuckles after I punched a guy in a bar for trying to smack her ass.

She’s peace in a bottle. Our favorite tiny dancer.

Even though she stopped being tiny years ago. Girl grew to six foot overnight.

“I know,” I mutter, grabbing a fistful of popcorn and shoving it into my mouth. “How’s it been, being home?”

Nora lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing, “Minus the cracked knee and fleeting dreams, it’s great. I like being home, missed Mom and Dad. I blinked and missed so much. I’ve been on a ballet hamster wheel my whole life. It’s nice being able to slow down and enjoy things.”

No one deserved to lose their dream less than Nora. She’s three years older than me, but I grew up watching her ballet recitals. It wasn’t just that she was a great dancer; it was her dedication to being a great dancer that set her apart.

All her life, it’s been ballet.

Now, at twenty-two, she’s restarting her life without it.

“I’m sorry about New York, Nor,” I offer, cringing as the words leave my mouth, knowing my apology does nothing to soothe her pain. Broken dreams are an ache that never goes away.

“Wasn’t meant to be. Sucks, but I can’t do anything about it.” She shrugs, looking back out to the field, her brown curls tied back in a long pony that brushes the middle of her back. “This is a fresh start, not the end. Plus, Reign is set on making me enjoy college.”

My heart aches for her, knowing all too well what it feels like to picture your future as one thing only for it to turn out differently.

You dedicate years of hard work. Hours of time.

Just to lose it in a matter of seconds.

Dreams are fragile.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

You can hold on to them, you can cherish them, protect them. But sometimes, they slip through your fingers and shatter. All you can do is pick up the pieces and try to find joy in the fragments that remain.

I look up at her, giving my best smile. “Wanna share some of your optimism, please and thank you?”

Nora grins, all white teeth and sunshine. “It’s a⁠—”

The crowd quickly interrupts her.

The stadium around me shakes with excitement as we both turn to the field just in time to see the checkered ball hit the back of the white net.

Reign rushes toward the bleachers, hitting his knees and sliding across the grass, leaving a trail of dirt and sweat in his wake. His shirt comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the tattoos that snake down his sides.

His skin is slick with sweat, his chest heaving from the sprint, and he’s grinning. Wild and bold, the embodiment of everything he was ever meant to be.

Untouchable.

There are times—rare—but there are times when I’m glad to be his sister. Most of those moments are when I get to watch him and Andy shine.

I shake my head, feeling my own lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “He’s literally the human equivalent of a male peacock.”

Nora leans over, her arm draping around my shoulders like a familiar weight, bringing with her the faint, salty scent of the ocean. She presses a kiss to my forehead, soft and reassuring, the way she always does, the way the Hawthornes always do—like they know the exact moment when the world gets a little too heavy.

Her dad does the same thing whenever he sees me, as if with each press of lips to skin, Silas is stitching me back together.

“Gotta let him fly,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my temple. “It’s a bad day, not a bad life. We’ll work it out, the both of us. We always do.”

It’s a bad day, not a bad life.

Maybe if I hold tightly enough to that belief, I’ll believe it too. That maybe one day, I’ll be just as good as Nora at pretending it’s true. Even when we both know it’s nowhere close to the truth.

“Dude, peacocks don’t even like flying.”

I wonder if I could pay someone to remove my brain, bleach it, and then put it back in.

A deep sigh expels from my lips, fingers pressing my glasses up onto my head as I rub my eyes, sinking back into my chair. I let my eyes roam the vaulted ceiling of Caldwell Library before glancing at the clock.

10:47 p.m.

At least I think that’s what it says. My eyes started crossing after the last two paragraphs on rotational motion.

It’s so fucking loud in my head. Recently more than average.

I can’t seem to find silence anywhere.

Not at home, not at parties, not at the Graveyard.

It’s like the second Jude walked through that door, my peace packed its bags and peaced the fuck out. He’s everywhere—every damn corner I turn—and every glimpse of his face drags up memories I’ve fought tooth and nail to bury.

No matter how deep I shove them, they claw their way back to the surface. With each inch of uncovered dirt, the nightmares creep in, drowning me in shame that clings to my skin like a second layer, impossible to shed, no matter how hard I try.

After the soccer game, which nearly broke my eardrums when the Hellhounds won their third game of the season, I just needed some quiet.

I didn’t want to feel the weight of Jude’s presence at the house. Wasn’t in the mood to be the vixen for Ponderosa Springs at some random house party. So I went to the only thing that makes sense when nothing in my life does.

Schoolwork.

Rotational motion occurs when an object spins around an axis. Similar to linear motion, rotational motion can be described in terms of angular displacement, angular velocity, and angular acceleration. For this next section, you will refer to textbook⁠—

I drop my head onto the open book in front of me, the thud echoing throughout the library. Have we not evolved as a species enough to put everything regarding a singular topic in one book?

My chair scratches against the floor as I stand, the sound pulling a couple of students from their quiet, their eyes briefly flicking in my direction. I ignore them, the soft yellow glow from their tiny lamps barely casting enough light to reach my path.

Caldwell Library breathes at night, the shelves rising like dark monoliths on either side of me. The further I walk, the more the light thins out, the weak glow from the overheads swallowed by the shadows that seem to close in tighter with every step. It’s quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that creeps under your skin, heavy with the weight of history and secrets hidden in the dusty corners.

When I was younger, Andy and I used to play hide-and-seek in here during summer visits to Aunt Lyra. Our giggles would echo off the walls as we darted between the shelves, unaware of how suffocating this place could be in the dark.

My fingers glide over the spines of the books, their leather cracked and worn, each one seemingly daring me to pull it from the shelf.

There’s a distinct creak, faint but unmistakable, somewhere ahead. It’s probably just the building settling, but the hairs on the back of my neck prick to life as I instinctively flinch toward my phone, resisting the urge to flick on the flashlight.

Old places make creepy noises. Chill the fuck out.

I push the unease down and turn toward the section I need. Squinting at the spines ahead, I pull my glasses back onto my nose to make out the faded lettering. My hand slides to the book I need, and I pull it free with a muted groan.

When I spin around, I quickly realize I’m no longer alone between the stacks.

A wall of shadow looms in front of me, so close I barely register what’s happening before a large hand covers my mouth, cutting off any sound I might have made.

My back slams into the bookshelf with a thud, my spine protesting as books rattle in their places, heart racing in my chest as panic claws up my throat.

But it lasts only a second before a familiar scent hits me.

Books. Smoke. Black Ice.

My eyes widen, not in fear but recognition.

Jude.

“What the fuck did I say about keeping your hands to yourself, Van Doren.”

Uh-oh. Looks like he isn’t happy about my little prank.

Jude’s words are venomous, his breath hot against my ear, and the mix of fury and heat inside me is so intense it feels like I might combust.

I’m usually more prepared for our encounters, but he’s caught me off guard. It’s hard to think of anything, let alone the history between us, when he’s this fucking close.

His hand drops from my mouth, but the relief is short-lived as his dark blue eyes lock onto mine. They track my every move like a predator sizing up its prey. A hunter that knows its prey wants to be caught.

No. No. No.

No catching. Not hunting.

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

“Next time you’re feeling needy for my attention, Geeks, just ask. Might save us both some time and Saran Wrap.”

“What?” I force a pout, letting my lips curl in fake innocence. “You didn’t like my gift?”

His jaw flexes, irritation rippling across his face.

Jude’s pissed, and I love it.

Maybe if I keep pushing, he’ll break and move to Iceland.

I want him the furthest point from me he could be. Separate planets. Different goddamn dimensions. I’m so petty that I would dedicate my entire life to space travel just to transport him to Pluto.

Jude’s eyes darken as he drops his head closer, his lips brushing the curve of my jaw, but I don’t react. I don’t move as his hand remains braced beside my head, trapping me between the bookshelf and his body without touching me—yet his presence alone is enough to suffocate.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Phi.” His voice is a threat, a jolt of heat searing through me. “Knock it the fuck off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so desperate for my attention I can practically smell it.”

Anger flares in my chest, a scorching heat that makes my hands shake. With everything I have, I shove him away, hard, until I’m stepping out from under the shadow he casts.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sinclair,” I bite.

Jude lets out a bitter laugh, giving a shake of his head. “You’re a fucking joke.”

“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “I’m gonna be real hilarious if you put your hands on me again.”

The threat is anything but hollow, and I think he knows that. He just doesn’t give a shit. I track his hand, watching how it drags slowly across his jaw, revealing that twisted, infuriating smirk.

He’s always so smug, so goddamn cocky, and I hate the twisted, shameful part of me that finds it intoxicating. I need to see a doctor immediately. I want an MRI stat to figure out which wires in my brain have crossed flirting and fighting.

“It’s pathetic, really,” he murmurs condescendingly, sending a ripple of fury straight through me. “You trying this hard to get me riled up with your stupid fucking games just cause you can’t admit you want me to screw you again.”

“You think I want your attention?” I snap, voice rising, fueled by the anger that lives in me. “I want indifference, Sinclair. I want fucking neglect. I want you out of my life. You’re the one who crashed into my world, not the other way around. And now you’re pissed that I’m not rolling out the red carpet for you? Cry about it, bitch.”

Jude’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring as his hands curl into fists at his sides. “Hate to break it to you, you spoiled goddamn brat, but you’re not the sun. The world, especially mine, doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Then what’s your angle, huh?” I cross my arms defensively. “Why the hell are you here? You and Oakley got some sick fucking bet going on?”

The mention of Oakley does something to him. It’s subtle, barely there, but I catch it—a flicker in his eyes, a shift in his expression. His jaw tenses for the briefest moment before it’s gone.

But I saw it.

It makes no sense that he’s here instead of staying with his piece-of-shit best friend in West Trinity Falls. Oakley and Jude are thick as thieves. I’d avoided the both of them the best I could in high school, but when I did see them? They were together.

Before Jude moved to the Falls, Oakley would show up to our middle school just to eat lunch. They were always together, a toxic duo clinging to each other like worn-out pieces of Velcro.

Go where you’re wanted, right? So why the fuck is Jude here?

It’s only a matter of time before he brings Oakley by the house. I can feel it, the anticipation simmering beneath my skin. Tiny firecrackers in my veins that threaten to explode the moment he walks through my front door.

That moment might be the day I go to jail. And I wish I was kidding.

I made a promise to myself.

That what happened between Oakley and me would die with me. Not to protect him or some weird sense of guilt. It was for my family because they’d never survive the damage my truth would bring.

And I’ve been doing it. I’ve carried this weight with a smile and will continue for the rest of my life because my family is worth it.

Jude’s words are harsh, pulling me from my thoughts. “Your hard-on for Oakley has fuck all to do with me. My angle is to get this year over with. I wanted it to be easy. But no, you’re too fucking stubborn to make that happen.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His eyes lock onto mine.

My heartbeat ticks in time with the clock on the wall. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just stares, letting the tension stretch between us like a wire about to snap. The silence stretching between us feels like it lasts forever before he strides by me, making sure to hit my shoulder as he passes.

“You hard of hearing, Sinclair? I asked you a question!” I call to his back, brows furrowed.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn around. But I hear him, his voice slicing through the silence in the library like a knife.

“Congratulations, Phi. You’ve got my attention.”

His words hang in the air as his footsteps fade into the distance. I know Jude Sinclair is a storm, and if I keep pushing him, he’s going to destroy everything in his path.

Including me.

He’s stolen some of my secrets, carved them out of me without my permission. And now, I want his. I want to see what’s lurking below the surface. I want to know what makes him tick, what makes him come undone.

And I don’t care what I have to do to get them.