Secret places

Thalia's POV

I walked back to my room. Sleep didn't come easy. My mind played Jax's moaning over and over, his crazed look, his hand.

Weird..Sick. 

But then that other feeling, the "darker, sicker" one, would hit. A strange heat. My gut churned. 

I hated it. 

I hated them. But most of all, I hated how my body reacted. 

Tiredness took over me. 

---

The next morning, the house was quiet. The air was thick with that wild, earthy scent. 

My heart raced inside my chest as I stepped out of my room. I didn't know how to face Jax after what I had witnessed. I went down the grand staircase, ready to play dumb.

The kitchen was vast, reflecting painted wood and glinting metal. Rhys was already sitting. He sat at a dark, long table, looking silently, nearly unmoving. 

His golden eyes, sadder than the others, locked with mine for a moment before he looked at a mug of black liquid. 

Jax was not there.

"Morning," I said, my voice bolder than I felt. I took a slice of toast from a plate on the counter.

Rhys just nodded, drinking slowly from his cup.

"Where's uhm... Jax?" I inquired, trying to sound casual.

Rhys looked up, his gaze unfaltering. "He doesn't descend for breakfast. He's always working on his space."

Working on his space or stroking his penis? I thought, the resentful smile curving my lips. 

Perverts. 

I took a bite of my toast, forcing myself to act like myself. 

A couple of minutes of eating quietly, I had consumed my toast and my juice. I didn't want to feel helpless, or like a visitor they didn't want.

"I'll wash the dishes," I said, gathering my plate. At least I had eaten.

Rhys merely nodded once more. He started clearing the table, gliding with a quiet, swift grace that made him look like a blur. 

As he began stacking plates into the sink, I asked, "So, is Robert. around?"

Rhys paused. He didn't glance at me directly. "He has gone back."

"Oh..," I murmured, my own voice barely audible. 

Gone. 

Like that. No goodbyes.

Just left me here with his "troubled" sons. 

"So, I suppose I'm to deal with—"

My hand slipped at the instant. A water-wet ceramic cup, slick, slipped from between my fingers. It hit the countertop with a resounding CRACK! and landed in a hundred pieces on the floor. I swore under my breath.

I bent quickly, hurrying to grasp the broken shards before they cut through my feet. My fingers reached for a piece. But before it was in my hand, Rhys moved.

He moved so quickly. One second, he was on the opposite side of the kitchen. The next, on his knees beside me. 

He did not retrieve the broken cup. Instead, he thrust out his hand, enveloping my injured finger in a soft but unyielding grip. The tiny cut, already spreading a thin trickle, on my skin where I'd scraped along the rough edge.

I couldn't free myself before his head bent. He brought my finger to his mouth. 

His lips, surprisingly soft, came down over it. His tongue, warm and wet, wrapped around the cut, cleaning away the blood!. 

What the—

He sucked gently, once, twice, as if sucking out the pain, sucking something from me. His golden eyes, always so tragic, were now staring and bright, fixed on mine. 

A low, gentle rumble, a purr mixed with a growl, shook deep within his chest. His gaze met mine, holding me where I stood. I sensed a pull.It hardened my belly, and blazing, raw heat ran through me. 

It was not just my finger. 

My whole body burned, fidgety but uncompromisingly pulled towards it.

Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled back. He let go of my finger, his eyes flicking away, with the some struggling look. He stood up in one swift movement.

"When you're done," Rhys said, his voice low, strained, "press the red button on the dinner table." His breathing was in ragged gasps, jaw clenched as if he was holding something back inside him. Before he vanished from the room.

I stared after him, my numb finger still tingling. 

What on earth was that?

Did he just?

Fuck..

My hand trembled as I finished the cleanup of the broken glass. 

Then I walked towards the long, black dining table. And there—sure enough, was a small, red button tucked almost out of view near its center.

Press it. 

To what purpose? 

My brain, screamed just not to. 

But my curiosity won.

Fine. 

Let's see what other weirdness this house is hiding. My finger trembled, then pressed the button.

A gentle click was heard. Then there was the soothing, clear voice from a big, green plant on the table. It was a female voice. "Received query. State purpose."

My mouth opened.

A speaking plant? 

"Uh… Thalia Vance," I stammered. "I…was told to press the button."

The voice was even. "Hello, Thalia. Go to the main hall. Turn left first. You will be directed further."

Crazy.

I did as instructed. I entered the large hall, as if dreaming. I turned left for the first time. The hallway here was different from all the others. 

Rhys was waiting for me. He was standing beside what looked like a solid, dark wall, but it was glowing. 

He extended his hand to touch it. A faint blue light passed across his hand. Then, with a great whoosh, a section of the wall slid aside. It opened onto a shiny, glowing-staircase contraption that plunged into what looked like endless light.

"Follow," Rhys commanded. He stepped out onto the radiating stairs.

The place was fully controlled by technology

The stairs appeared to journey with us, moving us down silently. It was like falling. into another world. 

We came to another hallway, filled with soft, hidden lights. Rhys moved forward to a box-like tool close to a gigantic door. A soft green ray inspected his face. 

Ding. Ding.

The door hissed open.

"Wow, I breathed,while going in. 

This was not a room. This place looked like the most fantastic cyber room in a spy movie.

The walls were huge screens of holographic maps and rivers of code. Holograms floated in space. 

Everyone was inside. 

Blaze was hunched over this huge screen, his brow all furrowed, pointing at this map like it was his life or death. 

Jax was by a console, typing away furiously, his face a picture of seriousness – a total change from that wrecked look on his face the night before. And Milo, the baby, was simply staring at a huge, shining energy field, his own pinched with concentration. 

Their eyes, those crazing gold eyes, were slanted, like plain folk straining with all their might. They looked up when Rhys and I arrived, their eyes flashing for a moment, but then they went back to whatever they were doing immediately.

This wasn't some house. 

This was an underground facility. 

And these guys? 

They weren't simply "troubled" like Robert said.They were a heck of a lot more complex, and really, a lot more dangerous.

So, Blaze turns around from that huge screen, his gold eyes just cutting through me. "Welcome, Thalia," he growled. No generic greeting, just all business.

I was about to snap at him, but he just bluntly cut me off. 

"We've made up our minds," he said, as dull as a pancake. "Since you're gonna stay here for a long while."

My jaw likely fell onto the floor. 

"A while? What are you even saying?" I demanded, perhaps a tad too loudly. "I'm only here for the summer. Robert told me—"

"You're gonna be staying here awhile," Blaze cut in once more, eyes locked on mine. "At least until your mom's deal settles itself back home." He shrugged, actually, as if talking about the weather.

"So, since you're staying, like I said, you need to be totally informed."

He paused.

"Father informed me that you're extremely sensitive to human body language. We have a problem."

Blaze then waved his hand at a big holographic screen right nearby. It lit up, and this video of a man popped up. 

No sound, just the guy talking, moving, showing all these little tensions in his shoulders.

"Please," Blaze said, his voice quiet, but totally a command, "read this guy's body language. Tell me what his body language is saying."

I actually scoffed, crossing my arms. "Wait a minute. You actually want me to play games?" I glared at them, daring them to try and push me around. "What if I don't?"

Blaze's eyes grew dark. The air in the room changed, the electricity of it seeming to thicken so that the air was almost buzzing. 

"I don't think you have a choice." His voice was deep, but it vibrated with this power that just flattened me.

I glanced at Jax. He did not glance over at me. He was still transfixed on the glowing screen in front of him, his hands draped across the keyboard, his face a mask of rapt intensity. His silence was a sign of just how serious the situation was. They weren't screwing around.

I huffed in annoyance. I was still angry, but what could I do? 

I just turned back to the screen and forced myself to actually look at the man on the video. 

His smile was too wide, wasn't it? And his eyes wouldn't hold on the camera just a little bit longer than they ought to have after he stared directly into it. His hands were just constantly in motion, fidgeting over his sleeves.

"He's scared," I said, the words coming to me as if I was destined to say them.

 "He's faking being sure, but he's terrified. He's hiding something huge, something he thinks is going to kill him." I redirected my gaze from the screen and to them. "He's desperate."

Suddenly, Jax, his gaze still fixed on his monitor, started typing with ferocity. His fingers danced over the keys, a furious clattering reverberating across the large room. 

He was muttering, words too rapidly spoken to make out, his eyes reading off lines of code streaming at impossible speed. 

Blaze, Rhys, and even Milo stepped closer, their eyes fixed on the main screen with avid interest. He appeared to be hacking into something, my words serving as the password a gateway.

And then, with a final, insistent slap of his hand on the keyboard, Jax leaned back, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

On the main display screen, the crazed mess of code vanished, to be replaced by confident, green text that covered the screen:

TRANSACTION SUCCESSFUL.

DONATION TO CHARITY: $500,000,000.

A collective, huge breath escaped the brothers. Blaze emitted a low smile, a hearty, joyful sound. Rhys's sorrowful eyes smoothed into a real smile. They appeared as if they'd just won the lottery or disarmed a bomb. Their joy was tangible, filling the room.

But I then looked at Milo. He wasn't smiling. His pale face was still strained, his gold eyes wide. He wasn't looking at the screen, or at his brothers. He was looking at me. 

And his posture, even with the happy ending, was strained. His hands were fists at his sides, his shoulders slumped, like he'd just seen something really, really bad.