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

Jude

September 13

I’m seriously starting to question why I put my morals above tossing Seraphina Van Doren to her death when I had the chance.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

I stand and take in her handiwork all over again. As if Saran Wrap hadn’t been enough the first time, she’s taken to red chalk paint. From the hood to the back glass, there are words, stupid hearts with wings—I even spotted a dick on the passenger-side door.

Phi took her time to cover every inch of open space on the car I’ve spent years building up.

Dealing with Hollow Heights and the Van Doren house is fine, but this? Had me debating walking right back onto campus and dragging her little ass out by her throat.

I drop the sponge into a bucket of suds, the water stained the same color as Phi’s hair.

“Damn. What happened?”

My jaw clenches as I glance over my shoulder at Ezra Caldwell.

He sets another bucket of clean water beside me, smirking as he shakes his head. Grease smudges the tips of his fingers, crawling up his arms before disappearing beneath the sleeve of his worn graphic tee.

Ezra is the perfect mixture of fuck you arrogance and I don’t give a shit detachment, daring the world to challenge him while simultaneously not giving a damn about its response.

“I existed,” I mutter, eyeing the fresh water, jerking my chin at him. “Thanks.”

I’d thought my little paper swapping would be enough for her to back off. Naively, by the way she’d been dodging me, I’d thought we’d called a silent stalemate.

Unfortunately, the vixen had only been lying low, waiting to strike.

Not only had she once again fucked with my car, she’d taken it upon herself to decorate every single cigarette in my pack with various phrases.

Fuck you

Bite me.

Cancer kills.

The upside, if there was one, was I finally fixed my bike, so if I couldn’t get this shit cleaned in the next hour, I was leaving it here to be tomorrow’s problem.

“Don’t mention it. Figured you needed it to clean ‘Bow down, bitch boy’ off your windshield.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. “Phi’s many things, but subtle has never been one of them.”

A snort escapes me as I drag the wet rag across the hood of my car, wiping away her lovely fucking artwork. “Yeah, no shit.”

Inferno Garage is a gritty, grunge haven. Walls covered in graffiti, old posters peeling off, and neon signs humming above workbenches cluttered with tools.

Despite the person who got me the job, I like working here.

There’s something almost comforting in the chaos, in the way everything here is just a little bit broken. It feels honest, familiar, in a way that nothing else does in Ponderosa Springs.

A blue neon sign reading Six Seconds or Less flickers above us, casting a cold glow across the garage. The sponge squeaks against the glass as Ezra’s tattooed arm extends across the windshield.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, watching his steady movements under the neon haze.

“Uh, helping you?” He arches a dark brow, that distant, glazed-over sheen on his face. “Phi’s like my sister, but fucking with a Skyline? That shit hurts my soul, dude.”

“I don’t need your help, dude,” I grunt.

“Is being an asshole genetic, or did you get that sparkling personality all by yourself?”

“Ask your dad.”

I’m expecting anger, maybe even a fight.

I brace myself for it, ready for the sharp retort, the flash of temper that usually follows when I push someone too far. But instead, Ezra shocks me. He doesn’t lash out or throw back some biting remark.

Instead, he laughs—low and almost to himself, a sound that catches me off guard. He gives a little shake of his head, amused, as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“We all have our shit, Sinclair,” he says on a sigh. “You’ve just let yours turn you into a bitter asshole who can’t tell a friend from an enemy.”

“Sorry, not in the market for friends.” I grab the clean sponge, the wet plop echoing in my ears as I toss it on the hood of my car to scrub off an upside-down smiley face.

“Yeah, well, I’m too high to be your enemy. Get the fuck over it.” He leans across the roof of the car, scrubbing off another upside-down smiley face.

We work together, but that’s circumstance. We’re half cousins, but that’s blood.

Prior to starting this job, I’d never even spoken to Ezra. Not once. Not a quip or a hello. Hell, since starting here a week ago, the most words we’d exchanged was Oil change in bay 4.

My point is, we aren’t friends, and we sure as fuck aren’t family. So it begs the question, what the fuck does he want from me?

“Thought you’d be at the Gauntlet by now,” I probe, cautious of the Heathen everyone calls Shadow.

“Fuck no.” He chuckles to himself as he lifts my windshield wiper. “That’s all them. I’d rather not witness the carnage they’ll unleash.”

The whites of his eyes are tinged with red, veins threading through the corners, caught in a web of a dreamlike haze.

He’s not wired enough to be on coke, but he’s far more talkative here at the garage than he is on campus. If I had to guess, Ezra’s rolling with a dash of weed in the passenger seat.

It’s the second time this week I’ve noticed it. I can’t tell if his family is just turning a blind eye or giving him the benefit of the doubt, but he’s definitely leaning toward a problem over it just being teenage fun.

“Them?”

The soft thud of the wiper hitting the window echoes as he jerks his head toward the exits. “The fantastic four. Nora, Atlas, Reign, and Phi. Competition fiends. My brother didn’t speak to Reign for three months over a game of Monopoly. They hate losing. Me and Andy always hang back to help with the bloody aftermath.”

I pause mid-wipe, my curiosity piqued without my consent. “Phi competitive like that too?”

“Used to be. She’s wicked smart, did a shit ton of scholastic competitions and won most of them. Got early acceptance into some MIT her junior year.”

Interesting.

“Might’ve been better for my car if she went.”

Ezra smirks, dropping the windshield wiper back into place with a soft thud. “Maybe. But then you wouldn’t have the pleasure of her artistic expression.”

I roll my eyes, the sarcasm not lost on me. “Pleasure’s one way to put it.”

He leans against the car, arms crossed, his gaze distant for a moment before he looks back at me. “Wasn’t always like this. She used to be different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Just different, ya know? Kept her head down, did what she was told. Quiet, focused, almost invisible. But life pushes you, and you either push back or get trampled. And she…”

Ezra pauses, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his glassy eyes before he continues. “She pushed hard as fuck. And she’s been pushing back ever since. Against everything, everyone. Especially herself.”

Her drunken words and sober thoughts the night of the party had sparked something in me. A feeling I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Curiosity.

I’ve watched her these past few days without her knowledge.

I know she has an everything bagel with whipped cream cheese for breakfast every morning. That she sneaks out and goes for night rides every single Thursday night. She also has a blind cat that fucking loves me. I found Galileo curled in my bed this morning.

It doesn’t take much to figure out who she is either.

Her public social media is a gold mine. An entire grid filled with pictures of family and friends—so much smiling, so much pretending. But what stands out the most is her.

Always in the frame but never really in the moment. It’s like she’s just…there, a ghost haunting her own life, posing for photos she doesn’t belong in.

She’s a Van Doren, but she’s not really part of them, not the way I expected. There’s this distance she puts between them, this invisible line she refuses to cross.

At every family gathering, she hovers at the edge, close enough to be counted but far enough away to keep from really being seen. Always watching, never joining.

It’s strange, considering how much she loves being the center of attention.

“Did she⁠—”

The vibration in my pocket shuts me up mid-sentence. I pull the phone out, wiping my hand on my jeans before pressing it to my ear without checking the screen.

“Yeah?” I mutter, already irritated.

“Jude, my man,” Oakley’s voice slurs through the speaker. “How’s it feel living it up in the Van Doren mansion?”

I grit my teeth. He’s fucked out of his mind right now. I can hear it in the way his words trip over each other, too loose, too careless, like he’s forgotten how to talk. Hell, maybe he has.

There’s laughter in the background, followed by the sharp crack of glass breaking. I shake my head, knowing Oakley is too far gone in his world to ever be saved.

This isn’t my friend. He hasn’t been my friend in a long time.

“I told you I was done. Lose my number, Oakes.”

“Aww, come on, don’t be like that, buddy,” he whines, and I can almost see him stumbling around in some dimly lit room, surrounded by people who don’t even know his name. “You’re really gonna throw away our friendship over some drugs? I was the only one there to toss you ice after your daddy kicked your ass. I had your back, man.”

His words hit like dull punches, but it’s the past he’s dragging up that makes my jaw clench.

The blood, the bruises, Oakley standing there with a bag of ice and a grin that never quite reached his eyes. We were close, but after his dad was shipped off, things shifted.

Oakes became…a piece of shit, for lack of a better word. Stopped caring, lost compassion, turned into someone I didn’t recognize.

He refuses to crawl out of the gutter his family threw him in, and I wasn’t going to rot there with him.

“Bye.” My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to end the call, when his voice spikes, desperate.

“Wait—wait, Jude! Just hold on, man. I gotta ask you something!”

I hesitate.

Maybe it’s the stupid part of me still holding on, giving him the benefit of the doubt. The part that hopes, maybe this time, he’ll ask for help. That he’ll mean it.

Because if he did, if he actually wanted to get clean, to crawl out of that mess he’s drowning in—I’d help. I’d drag him through the dirt if I had to, just like I tried to do with Dad.

I fucking hate myself for this.

“Make it quick,” I grunt, jaw clenched.

He doesn’t respond right away. He lets the silence drag out, stretching it until it’s unbearable. And then I hear it—the smirk in his voice, slimy and smug, crawling through the line like a parasite, burrowing beneath my skin.

“Is Phi still as sweet as I remember?”

My shoulders tense, blood running cold. “What the hell did you just say?”

“That piece of shit Judge tossed my dad in the slammer for life. I got even, stole that bitch’s cherry. Best Halloween of my life. Phi’s a sweet little treat.” Oakley laughs, deep, and the sound makes me sick to my fucking stomach. “I can’t believe she’s kept her mouth shut this long.”

My heart becomes this uncaged animal. Feral as it slams against my chest, beating and banging along the walls, the screaming of my pulse in my ears.

Rage.

I can feel my hand tremble as I clench the phone tighter, knuckles bone-white.

“You’re lying.” The words barely make it past my throat, strangled with fury.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that’s worse. The silence drags, and I can hear his smirk, feel it crawling through the line like a goddamn parasite.

“If I’m lying, why’d she try to set me on fire?” His tone is mocking, dripping with satisfaction, like he’s enjoying every second of this. Like this is his twisted version of fun. “How long did you think St. Gabriel’s was because of you? Four years? Pathetic, sad little Sin. You even apologized to me for it.”

I had thought it was because of me that he’d served three months in juvie.

I did apologize.

Over and over again, I let that guilt weigh on me like a fucking anchor, dragging me down into the dirt where Oakley wanted me. I let him use it. I let him sink his claws into my head, wrap my guilt around his fingers like a leash, pulling me wherever he wanted.

I let him con me into selling his shitty drugs.

I let him control me, play me like a pawn in whatever sick game he was running, all while he was hiding this.

I was friends with a fucking rapist.

The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, cold and suffocating, and I feel it. This violent, uncontrollable fury rising inside of me, boiling over until I can barely see straight.

The phone is ripped from my ear, and before I even register what I’m doing, it’s flying across the room, smashing into the wall with a loud crack.

“Whoa, dude, you good?” Ezra’s shocked voice tries to pierce the sound of my blood pumping in my ears, but I can barely hear it. Can’t think straight with the rage pulsing through my veins.

My hands are shaking, my chest feels like it’s going to explode, and all I can think about is her.

Seraphina.

Her name beats against the inside of my skull, relentless, sharp, as everything Oakley said loops through my mind in this grotesque, never-ending reel.

The fire four years ago, the way she looked at me like I was something to be crushed beneath her heel. The hate in her eyes. It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t some family feud or petty revenge.

She thinks I know.

All these years, she’s been carrying that weight, burning alive in her own hell because she thinks I’m part of it. She thinks I stood by and let Oakley destroy her.

I hate it. I fucking hate that she thinks I’m the same as him. That I’d ever let something like that happen. That I’d be capable of standing there, watching her or anyone else get hurt like that, and do nothing.

And why wouldn’t she think that? I stayed. I hung around.

I was his best friend. I was fucking there, and I let it all happen.

I let Oakley drag me down into his mess, let him use me like a pawn, and I didn’t see it.

Didn’t see her.

How long had it been since anyone had seen Seraphina Van Doren?

“Jude, what are you doing, man?” Ezra’s words fall away as I grab my jacket, my movements rough, like I can’t move fast enough.

Soon, I’m going to make Oakley Wixx regret breathing.

Right now?

I’m going to make it crystal fucking clear that I’m not the villain in her story.

the gauntlet

“As tradition goes, West Trinity selected the location, and Ponderosa Springs has chosen the game. The game this year is Finders Keepers.

Keys to your respective town halls are hidden within the bounds of Gallows Reef. X marks the spot. Find your key and return it to your marked area.

Stealing isn’t just allowed; it’s expected. The key can be passed between teammates, but once you have it, it stays in the play area. Work as a team, work solo. Step out of bounds, and you’re out—no second chances.

Ponderosa Springs will start at the beach. West Trinity in the woods. A siren will let you know when the game has begun. You will have till the witching hour. First town to find and return their key to the marked area wins.

Winner takes all, and as always, try not to die.”