Chapter 5: The Ultimatum
The silence in Jace’s black Chevy Silverado wasn't just thick; it was suffocating. It pressed against Vera’s eardrums, a physical weight that made the roar of the engine and the rumble of tires on asphalt sound distant, muffled. She stared straight ahead, unseeing, at the blur of suburban houses sliding past the rain-speckled windshield. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the seatbelt crossing her chest, the rough nylon strap biting into her palm. She was drowning in the scent of him – stale smoke, clean sweat, and the lingering sharpness of the soap from his shower – emanating from the massive grey hoodie that swallowed her whole. The borrowed sweatpants were rolled up so many times they felt like leg shackles.
Jace drove with rigid focus, one massive hand gripping the steering wheel at ten o'clock, the other resting on the gearshift. The intricate ink on his fingers and forearm seemed stark against the leather. His jaw was set in a hard line, the muscle ticking rhythmically near his temple. He hadn’t spoken a word since handing her the clothes and gruffly telling her to get in the truck. Not when she’d hesitated at the apartment door, fragile as spun glass. Not when she’d struggled to climb into the absurdly high passenger seat. Not when he’d peeled out of the alley behind the tattoo parlor onto the wet streets of Prouis.
The silence was worse than yelling. It was a chasm filled with everything unsaid: the brutal, raw sex in the cabana, the terrifying warmth inside her, her choked confession, the cold panic in his stormy hazel eyes this morning, the bitter chalk of the Plan B pill still coating her tongue. And Adam. Her brother. His best friend. A ticking time bomb threatening to obliterate everything.
They were a few blocks from the imposing iron gates of the Cunningham estate, winding through the manicured streets of Oak Hill, when Jace suddenly slammed on the brakes. The truck lurched violently, tires squealing on the wet pavement. Vera gasped, thrown forward against the seatbelt’s unforgiving restraint, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Before she could catch her breath, before she could even process the abrupt stop, Jace wrenched the gearshift into park with a harsh clunk. The engine idled, a low, angry growl. He turned. Not slowly. Not cautiously. He wrenched his entire massive frame towards her, his movements sharp, jagged with barely contained energy.
His face was inches from hers. Close enough to see the flecks of gold and green churning violently in his hazel eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to taste the faint, bitter tang of nicotine on his breath. His expression wasn't just intense; it was feral. Panic, frustration, and that terrifying, possessive hunger she’d seen earlier tangled together into something raw and dangerous.
One large, tattooed hand shot out, not towards her face, but fisting brutally in the thick fabric of the hoodie covering her chest. He didn't pull her gently. He dragged her closer across the console, the movement sudden and jarring, the seatbelt locking painfully against her collarbone. She cried out, a small, strangled sound lost in the confined space.
"Tell me," he growled, the sound scraping harshly from his throat, low and guttural. His eyes bored into hers, demanding, desperate. "Tell me you want this to mean nothing, Vera."
His grip tightened on the hoodie, the knuckles of his clenched fist stark white against the dark ink. His breath hitched, a ragged sound. "Tell me it was just… fucking. A mistake. Blame the tequila, blame your asshole ex, blame the goddamn rain. Tell me you want me to walk away. That you never wanna see my face again unless Adam’s standing right fucking there."
He leaned impossibly closer, his nose almost brushing hers. The raw need in his eyes warred with the stark fear of what they’d done, of the consequences looming. "Tell me it meant nothing to you," he demanded again, his voice dropping to a rough, dangerous whisper. "Lie to me, princess. I fucking dare you."
Vera froze. Time seemed to slow, crystallizing around the frantic drumming of her own heart, the frantic pulse beating visibly in the base of Jace’s throat, the sharp scent of his panic mixed with cigarettes and sweat. She saw the fine tremor in the hand clutching her hoodie, the desperate plea buried beneath the aggressive demand. He wasn't pushing her away; he was begging her for an out, for denial, while simultaneously daring her to acknowledge the terrifying reality they both felt. The raw echo of his possessive claim in the cabana – Mine – vibrated in the charged air between them.
Her pale green eyes, wide with shock and the lingering haze of exhaustion and hormonal chaos, met his stormy gaze. She saw the fear – fear of Adam, fear of the potential life they might have created, fear of this tangled, impossible thing sparking between them. But beneath it, blazing undeniable and terrifyingly real, was the same hunger that had consumed him last night. It hadn't vanished with the morning light or the bitter pill. It simmered, banked but potent.
The carefully constructed numbness she’d wrapped herself in shattered. Anger, sharp and sudden, flared alongside the terrifying vulnerability. He wanted her to lie? To make it easy? To absolve him with her denial? After everything? After the way he’d looked at her this morning, equal parts horrified and hungry? After the way his hand felt fisted in the fabric over her heart?
A shaky breath escaped her. She didn’t look away. Her voice, when it came, was surprisingly steady, though quiet, cutting through the truck’s rumble and the drumming rain on the roof.
"Okay, Jace," she said, her gaze locked defiantly on his. "You first."