The 1st Rule Of Blood

Reed’s POV:

I took the gamble, and like always, I lost.

I’ve got the worst luck in the world—no, that’s a lie. Luck implies it was out of my hands. I’m the one who put every cent my aunt and uncle gave me on a single football game. I’m the one who watched that fumble at the last second and felt my stomach drop right through the sidewalk. Now, standing outside this research clinic in the city, I’m staring at my phone like it’s going to tell me it was all a joke.

Every penny. Wiped out.

I sucked in a breath and shoved the phone into my jeans. How many times are you gonna do this, Reed? How many times are you gonna jump without looking and wonder why the ground hit you so hard? Maybe it’s in my blood. DNA coiled up like a bad spring, making me crave the risk even when it’s stupid. Now I don’t even have gas money to get out of the city. I will have to go home with my tail between my legs and tell my family I’m a failure.

Again.

I rubbed a hand over the right side of my face, feeling the familiar ridges of the scars, and pulled open the clinic door.

Whoa.

I’m used to people looking at me. Ever since the fire when I was fifteen, I have been a walking rubbernecking accident. People flinch, sometimes they whisper, or they stare a beat too long at the puckered skin and the patch where my hair no longer grows. When I’m working plumbing jobs with my uncle, I can ignore it. I’m just a guy in a crawlspace.

But nobody has ever looked at me like this man was looking.

I froze inside the glass doors of United Hematology and Research Labs. A tall stranger was standing by the reception desk, and he turned his head slowly, really slowly, like he was moving through freshly poured tar. His eyes locked onto mine. He didn’t look away, and he didn’t look sorry for me. It was something sharper.

Appreciation?

I blinked, feeling like a straight-up doofus for clogging the doorway. I shuffled inside, the fluorescent lights stabbing at my eyes. The place smelled like lemon cleaner, trying to hide the scent of old air filters. I slid past a fake Ficus tree, tugging at my plaid shirt like I could hide my scars.

The lobby was full of folks who were probably as desperate as I was. The group huddled around plastic chairs, all tapping on phones, faces washed out by blue light. They glanced at my scars, then politely turned away.

But Mr. Sexy-ass didn’t.

He was standing there in a three-piece black suit that most likely cost more than my trailer. This guy looked like he belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine, not a clinic for folks scraping by. He had black glittery polish on his nails and eyeliner that made his dark eyes look deep enough to drown in. I was never one for make-up on a man, but on him, it looked fucking hot.

I told myself there wasn’t any harm in a bit of eye-candy. My uncle always says you can look at cars on the showroom floor, even if you can’t take them out for a ride. But God, I wanted to take this one for a ride. I’d marry a man like that and spend the rest of my life pounding his sweet cheeks on one of those expensive four-poster beds.

“You cannot enter the research area.”

The receptionist’s voice cut through my daydream like a saw blade. She was a sweet-looking blonde named Rosa, but her smile looked as if it were held up by wires.

“Please leave,” she said, her tone getting sharper. “Sir.”

The way she spat that word made the hair on my neck stand up. Now, she didn’t appear so sweet. She was watchful. Dangerous, almost.

I wasn’t sure why I thought that.

My gut told me to turn around, get in my truck, and drive. But I wasn’t here for her or the man with the ass that wouldn't quit. I was here for my little brother. I’m a gambler, yeah, but I wasn’t going to bet against my own blood. I was here to beg for a miracle.

Mr. Sexy-ass nodded, his lips pulling into a frown. He smoothed his wavy black hair, gave me one last look with those incredible brown eyes, and strode out the door.

I gave that hot butt one last longing look.

The air felt heavy after he left, like the sky right before a lightning strike.

“Can I help you?” Rosa asked. Her voice was bright and bubbly again, like she hadn’t just been hissing at a stranger. Big bizarre.

“Yeah,” I said, stepping up. “I’m here for a consultation. Reed Jaco.”

She typed away, then her smile faltered.

“I’m sorry. Doctor Jenna is not in.” She sighed, seeming way more upset about it than a normal receptionist should.

My chest tightened. It was just one more loss on a day full of them. Once I’d lost the whole mortgage payment on one hand of poker, and I survived that. I could handle this.

“Can I reschedule?”

“Please place your finger here.” She set a gray tube on the counter.

“Why?”

“We need a blood sample to go with your information. I can’t call you without it.”

I frowned. I’d never heard of a clinic needing blood to make a phone call, but my head was spinning with thoughts of my brother, so I shoved my finger in. A sharp prick made me scowl, and I yanked back my hand, popping the finger into my mouth to stop the bleeding.

“All set,” she said, her eyes glittering. “We will call you soon. I can’t wait.”

That horror-movie chill crawled up my spine again. I gave her a slow “Okaaay…” and headed for the exit.

The cool evening air felt good. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in gold and pink. I just stepped outside when a voice came from my left.

“May I escort you?”

I whipped my head around. Mr. Sexy-ass from the lobby was leaning against the brick wall like he’d been waiting for me. What in the actual fuck?

“Did I scare you?”

“Did I scare you?” I repeated, laughing under my breath. “Buddy, look at me.” I gestured at my half-burned face. “I’m the scary one.”

The man chuckled, deep and smooth, like velvet.

“My oh my. You’re something.”

“Welll, you’re a handful.” I could tell when someone was a bit much. Ten bucks said this guy was a lot.

The stranger’s laughter was woven with sweetness and smoke. His eyes, dark as melted chocolate, bottomless under the eyeliner, burned with amusement, with focus, with… sexual interest? Yeah, that’s what that was, except didn’t Mr. Sexy-ass see my face? I was never one to catch a man’s eye.

“May I escort you?” the stranger asked again, bowing.

Really? Bowing?

“Escort me?”

“Escort you to your vehicle. To ensure your safety.”

My safety? I blinked. I’m five-eleven and built like a guy who hauls heavy pipes for a living. I wasn’t exactly a little old lady holding groceries. The parking lot was quiet, neat rows of cars under the fading sky. No trouble in sight. Not even a tomcat on the prowl.

“I am Brother Addison,” the stranger said smoothly, long fingers adjusting his coat. A fat and chunky gold bracelet peeked from under his sleeve. I bet that thing cost a pretty penny. “From the sacred order of Lex Sanguis. I would be honored to escort you.”

“Riiight.” I stared. “Escort me to my truck?”

“Yes.” Addison nodded. “I would like to be gentlemanly and gallant.”

“Gallant?” My instincts told me to say no. This was weird. And who in the hell used the word gallant?

But that gambler in me? I wanted to see where this went. My pulse spiked like dice tumbling across a table. I leaned forward, chasing the thrill. I wanted to see what would happen if I said yes.

“I would be honored to escort you.” The stranger smiled with perfectly white teeth.

“You can be with me.”

Welll, hell, the words were out before I could stop them. My heart was slamming against my ribs, giving me that same rush I get at the horse tracks. It was official. The gambler side was in my blood.

It was a risk. I felt it down to my toes.

Addison held out his hand, and I took it.