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

Phi

November 8

Rich kids will do just about anything for a cheap thrill.

Including, but not limited to, trespassing on a closed container yard, because apparently, it makes for the perfect drag track.

Spoiler alert: I’m one of those rich brats.

The Port’s locked up for business tonight, but wide open for the reckless few who get off on dancing with disaster. Though I should say it’s open for now. Too many people have shown up, and we’ve got maybe two hours before blue lights flash and kill the mood.

It’s been a good night. I’m up on cash, my record’s spotless, and the rush from the races is still thrumming through my veins.

The only problem? I can’t stop staring at him.

Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to the finish line just in time to catch Jude and his murdered-out Skyline gliding through a flawless drift. The car doesn’t just move—it prowls, sleek and dangerous, born from the night itself. Black on black, sharp lines cutting through the darkness, it devours the asphalt with a savage grace that demands attention.

That car…it’s sex on wheels. A deadly beauty. My wet fucking dream.

Every inch of it is designed to make you weak. The midnight-black curves, the aggressive angles, the growl of the engine reverberating through the air like a low moan.

It’s not just a machine—it’s a promise whispered in the dead of night.

Thick clouds of smoke curl from his tires, shrouding him for a split second, leaving the crowd on edge, caught between awe and fear. His back tires flirt with disaster, skimming dangerously close to the bystanders just feet from the finish line.

The smoke clears just enough to catch a glimpse of his smirk through the rolled-down window. Leaning back in the driver’s seat, one hand draped lazily over the wheel, the other resting on the window frame.

And then, the bastard winks.

Right at the crowd.

Cocky fucker.

It’s unfair, really. A car that lethal and its driver? Just as sinful.

I want to touch it.

Scratch that. I want to touch him.

“You’re staring at a Sinclair. Should I call 911 or a priest?” Atlas’s voice cuts through the hum of engines, his hip bumping mine.

“I’m not staring. He drove into my line of sight.” I mutter, knowing I’m full of shit.

Besides there isn’t a priest on earth qualified to exercise that demon from my life.

He arches a brow. “Uh-huh.”

My gaze briefly flickers back to Jude, before cutting away, because unfortunately for me, I have been staring.

Lately, I can’t seem to quit.

I can’t cross that line into our universe, so I’ve been hovering outside of it. Watching, trying to hold onto the last pieces of my sanity.

It’s becoming a problem. I’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear in a tutu than admit this, but I’ve started compiling a list. A physical list.

Let me repeat that.

I’ve taken the time to write out things about a fucking guy.

Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.

The proof of my insanity?

Jude drinks hazelnut coffee creamer. Mornings in the kitchen, I can smell it on him before I even see him.

He only smokes menthols, and I’m starting to think he likes the snarky notes I’ve been leaving on his cigarette packs. Always choosing chicken over steak, and he falls asleep to horror movies that would keep me up for a week if I didn’t put headphones in before bed.

Then there’s the ring.

The one he wears on his pointer finger, always twisting it absentmindedly, the cool metal sliding beneath his thumb in a rhythmic pattern. He does it when he’s lost in thought, like it brings him comfort.

Kind of like the way he bites the chain of his gold medallion necklace between his teeth when he’s leaning over the hood of a car at Inferno Garage.

Not my finest moment, but I might’ve caught that when I just so happened to show up yesterday to see Ezra.

Did I actually need to see Ezra? Absolutely not.

But he didn’t question me when I lied, saying I needed help upgrading my coilovers. Even though we both know I could do that in my sleep—with both hands tied behind my back.

At the garage, Jude looked harder. Colder. Like nothing outside of his own mind touches him. Furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin line, dark eyes completely unreadable. That’s the Jude everyone sees.

But when he’s alone, buried in that tattered notebook on his balcony or flipping through the pages of a book in the Commons, the rough edges he gives the world peel away.

What remains is the version of himself that exists in our universe.

All this intel? Collected against my will.

My curiosity’s got me in a chokehold, and I swear to God, I’ve been trying to tap out for a while now.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“You’ve got it so bad,” Atlas laughs, pulling me back to the chaos of the container yard.

I roll my eyes. “Bad? I don’t even have it mild.”

The smirk on his face says he knows I’m full of shit as I turn my head to look at him. Atlas’s dark jeans cling to his lean legs, his hoodie stretched over his broad shoulders as he leans against my car.

Atlas has always carried himself with effortless confidence, the kind that makes me want to punch him if I didn’t love him so damn much. Everything about him is unfairly cool.

“Phi, I love you, but⁠—”

“Aww, Attie, I love you too,” I cut him off with a grin, batting my lashes dramatically. “Let’s just leave it there, okay?”

His eyes narrow, as he leans toward me just a little. “Can’t cute your way out of this, Phi. You’re staring at Jude like you’re two seconds from carving his initials into a tree.”

“Please,” I snort. “I have standards.”

“Yeah, and Jude’s the guy who proves they’re flexible.”

“You’re so hilarious.”

“I try,” he shrugs, poking me in the ribs, his tone shifting just enough to let me know he’s serious. “Look, I’m not gonna try to change your terrible fucking taste in men. Never have. But Jude? I don’t trust him, Phi. So be careful.”

Even if I could tell him the truth, what the fuck would I say?

Atlas, I don’t actually like him. I think we might still mildly despise each other. He just, you know, killed someone for touching me, became the one person on this godforsaken planet who’s seen all my messy bits, and, oh yeah—we had sex once, and he ate me out right next to a corpse. No big deal. Totally normal Tuesday stuff.

Yeah, that’s gonna go over real well.

“Nothing’s going on,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “He’s hot. He drives a nice car. But there are twenty other guys here doing the same thing.”

Atlas gives me the look.

The “I’m onto your shit” look he’s perfected since we were kids.

“Okay,” Atlas sighs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Just remember, when this blows up in your face, and it will, I’m always here to scrape you off the pavement.”

I smile despite the situation. “Love you always, Atlas.”

“Love you more, Phi,” Atlas grins, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. “But I’m not missing the chance to roast Reign for that tragic second-place finish.”

“Send my condolences to his ego,” I say, waving him off as he starts to walk away from the car.

Atlas spins around, walking backward with a wicked grin. “I’m thinking black balloons for the funeral. Maybe a ‘Gone Too Soon’ banner.”

“Oh, closed casket for sure. His pride’s way too bruised for an open one.”

“I’m writing the eulogy: ‘Here lies Reign’s self-esteem, taken too soon by terrible driving.’”

“Dibs on the playlist. Nothing but the world’s smallest violins on repeat.”

We go back and forth, his laughter ringing out above the rumble of engines and voices, until he fades into the crowd, his body disappearing as he goes to find Reign.

I’d almost feel bad for all the shit we give Reign, if his ego wasn’t the size of Texas and built to survive a nuclear apocalypse. Dude’s unshakeable and deep down he knows it’s our love language.

The air around me buzzes, heavy with exhaust fumes, fog swirling like a restless tide around the rows of shipping containers. The towering metal boxes rise into the sky, their bulk casting long shadows across the slick asphalt.

Above, the floodlights hanging from massive cranes bathe everything in a yellow, industrial glow, making the night feel thick, almost impenetrable.

I scan the chaos, when my gaze finds Jude.

Parked sideways in a shadowy corner between shipping containers. The glow of the overhead lights barely touches him there, shrouding him in a darkness that feels like it belongs to him.

Even in the madness of The Port, Jude’s managed to carve out a pocket of space just for him.

Naturally, I’m staring again.

At this point, I might as well get him tattooed on my retinas.

He leans against the passenger side of his car like he’s been carved straight from marble, all lean muscle and sharp edges. His white shirt clings to him, stretched across his chest and shoulders as if it’s barely managing to contain the strength underneath. The fabric molds to the sculpted ridges of his torso, each line drawn with precision, making it impossible to look anywhere else.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek when I move lower. Dark jeans worn-in just right, hugging the powerful lines of his thighs in a way that feels almost indecent.

My eyes trace the ink that snakes out from under his sleeves, a patchwork of tattoos covering him from his neck down to his fingertips. The art winding up his forearms, climbing over his biceps and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt.

A soft red glow from his cigarette flares in the dim light. He’s both shadow and flame, flickering in and out of view, the flare of the cigarette between his fingers casting him in a smoky halo.

When I finish eye-fucking his entire body, the universe politely reminds me that it’s out for my head, because the moment my gaze reaches his face? I find him already looking at me.

Busted. Fantastic.

I’ve spent my whole life being nothing but a loyal, respectful nerd to the universe—just trying to understand its mysteries, appreciate its vastness—and this is what I get for my devotion?

Screw that. Screw the Universe.

A slow, lazy smirk curls on his lips, like he’s been waiting for me to finish devouring him with my eyes

The space between us feels too small, suffocating, as if the crowd has vanished, leaving only us. Blurry figures move in the periphery, but they’re nothing more than background noise.

The world collapses into a singular point: him.

The distance between us shrinks with every passing second, locked in a silent battle I’m not sure I’m equipped to win.

His grin grows wider, head tilted just so, eyes never leaving mine. There’s something predatory in his gaze, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Hell, maybe he does.

Jude Sinclair has this infuriating way of making me feel like he’s always ten steps ahead, like he’s already mapped out every move I’m going to make before I’ve even thought of it.

And that smirk? It’s a weapon, wielded with surgical precision, designed to unravel me.

My pulse races, caught between the slow burn of desire and the frigid reminder of what’s at stake if I close the gap between us.

I need to leave. Right now.

I’ll just turn around, get in my car, and drive away.

That’s exactly what I’m about to do—until a pair of skyscraper legs and a perfect rack strolls right into my line of sight, making a beeline for Jude.

She’s beautiful. Infuriatingly beautiful.

The kind of girl who can walk in stilettos across gravel without so much as a wobble. Her hair shimmers like liquid gold under the dim lights as she flashes him a smile so bright, it should come with a warning label. And her sun-kissed skin practically glows.

How the hell does someone even get a tan like that here?

You know what, this isn’t my problem. Not my business. I exhale sharply, trying to convince myself that I don’t care and that I’m definitely leaving.

But my feet stay rooted to the ground, and my nails bite into my palms, carving tiny crescent moons that whisper, Liar, liar, pants on fire.

I bet she’s soft. Sweet. The kind of girl who giggles at his jokes, never snaps back, never builds walls to keep him out. She’s the princess, all golden smiles and easy warmth, while I’m standing her like a fire-breathing dragon.

Too sharp. Too dangerous. With edges that cut and flames that scorch. Only fools with a death wish get close to me.

Jude’s gaze finally slips from mine, shifting toward her with all the effort of a lazy cat stretching in the sun. My jaw clenches so hard, I’m surprised I don’t crack a molar. I didn’t suffer through two years of braces just to have my teeth ruined by Victoria’s Secret’s finest.

I watch her move closer, hips swaying like she owns the ground beneath her feet. When her hand finally lifts—perfectly manicured and all—I feel a wave of heat slam into my chest.

Can I still be considered a girl’s girl if I have the urge to it run her over with my car?

I’m not jealous.

I’m just…mildly homicidal.

Because she can do the one thing I can’t. The one thing I’ll never be able to.

She can touch him.

In front of everyone, without hesitation. Her fingers glide over his jawline, lingering there as if she’s tracing a familiar map. And no one here even blinks. No one cares, because she gets to have him. Out in the open. With nothing to hide.

It’s not just the touch; it’s everything it represents. She can laugh at his jokes without feeling like she’s betraying herself. She can flash him a smile that doesn’t taste bitter, hold his gaze without all the tangled history lurking beneath it. She gets to have him without having to create some hidden parallel universe.

It’s easy for her. Simple. While every inch I get closer to him is another step toward ruining everything.

But right now, as her laugh rings out—light and musical, like she doesn’t know what it’s like to choke on her own broken pieces—it’s not enough to stop me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet start moving. It’s instinct, driven by a jealousy so raw it feels like it’s ripping through my chest. The crowd blurs around me, faceless bodies shifting aside as I cut a path straight to them.

Jude’s blue eyes flick to mine the second I get close enough, his attention abandoning her entirely. That smug, lazy smirk curls at the corners of his lips, like he knew I’d break.

Like he’s been waiting for me.

“What’s up, Geeks?” His voice a low, slow drawl soaked in amusement, like he’s eating this shit up.

I stop right in front of him, fists clenched and pulse roaring in my ears. “Fuck you, Loner.”

Fuck you for knowing this shit would make me crack.

“Oh, hey, Phi.” The girl’s voice stumbles, her earlier confidence unraveling. “Uh, killer win earlier?”

I take my sweet time turning my gaze toward her, relishing the way the color drains from her face.

I’m Ponderosa Springs’s Queen of Disaster, and everyone in this town knows better than to test me.

Little miss sunshine does too.

I arch a brow, letting my eyes drift down to her hand, still resting on Jude’s chest. She flinches, yanking her hand away like she’s been burned.

“Good girl,” I say, jerking my chin. “Run along.”

“Right, sorry,” She mutters, taking a shaky step back. “I’ll just…yeah, I’m gone.”

Without another glance at Jude, she spins on her heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving behind only a faint trace of expensive perfume.

If I weren’t so pissed I could barely see straight, I’d probably ask her where she bought it, because it smells incredible.

Jude’s still propped against his car, amusement flickering in his eyes as they trace my body. Unhurried, as if he’s memorizing every inch. It’s slow. A slow, sensual drag that feels like a burn.

“That skirt’s doing you all kinds of favors, Van Doren.” He murmurs, laced with heat as teeth catch his bottom lip, “But jealousy? That’s deadly on you, sweetheart. Absolutely fucking lethal.”

I’m suddenly aware of how reckless I’ve been—charging over here on pure impulse, driven by a jealousy that’s twisted my gut like a vice. Now, I have to quickly figure out how to salvage what’s left of my pride.

Karma, for giving Reign so much shit, no doubt.

“Jealous? Not in this lifetime.” The lie slips easily, my arms crossing over my chest.

Jude straightens from his lean against the car, the movement fluid, calculated, like he’s been waiting for this all night. His eyes darken, and the air between us thickens, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” His chin tilts, challenging.

“Yeah, dipshit.”

“Then why the fuck are you cockblocking me?” His words are sharp, cutting through the tension.

My jaw tightens as I stare at him, knowing he’s waiting for an excuse I can’t give.

“You wanna screw Bubbles from the Powerpuff Girls?” I spit, jerking a thumb toward where she disappeared. “Be my guest. Go get your dick wet. I’m not stopping you.”

He steps closer, heat rolling off him like a furnace. His voice drops, colder, more dangerous. “Aren’t you, though? Throwing a fit because someone else wanted to play with the toy you don’t even want. Standing right in my way, like a brat.”

That slow, cruel smile tugs at his lips, sending my pulse into overdrive. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to let him see just how much he’s affecting me.

But it’s pointless. The heat is overwhelming, dragging me under like a riptide.

I force myself to step aside, throwing my arm toward the clear path. “Go get your girl.”

The words taste bitter, but I force them out.

“Just remember, you asked for this, Geeks.” He shrugs, a cold, detached look washing over his face.

I brace myself.

Prepare for the sting of him brushing past me, for the brutal reminder that this thing between us doesn’t go both ways. That I was a good fuck, nothing more. That whatever kindness he’s shown me comes from guilt and that’s it.

But then, his hand wraps around my wrist, a sudden, sharp grip that sends a jolt through my system. He yanks me toward him, spinning me around and pressing me against the side of his car.

The metal is cool against my skin, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My body arches into his on instinct, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath.

Jude is everywhere.

His body pins me against the car, all hard edges and rough heat. The warmth radiating off him sinks into my skin, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. His breaths brush my neck, maddeningly close, each one hotter than the last.

I feel his hand wrap around the back of my neck, fingers firm but not harsh, holding me in place. His breath fans against my throat, before he inhales deeply. Dragging his nose up the column of my neck, savoring me like I’m his first taste of air after drowning.

“Got her.” His voice is a low growl, rough and primal, the sound vibrating against my skin, sending a shudder ripping through me.

My pulse spikes, heart hammering so fast it’s dizzying. My mind is a chaotic mess, barely keeping pace with my body’s reaction—every nerve firing. He lifts his hands, caging me in, palms flat against the car beside my head.

Jude’s gaze drops, tracing my lips, lingering like he’s considering whether to kiss me or devour me whole. When his eyes lift back to mine, they’re darker, stormier, burning with an intensity that makes it impossible to breathe.

The air between us is thick, charged with a tension that’s raw and electric, like it could snap if either of us makes the wrong move. My body presses harder into his, drawn by a force I can’t control, even as my mind screams warnings I refuse to listen to.

God, I hate how much I want this.

How much I want him.

“No,” I manage to whisper, my voice breaking. “Not here. Too many people. Anyone could see. We can’t…”

His jaw tightens, muscle ticking once, twice, a third time, each twitch sharp and precise, like he’s barely holding himself back.

The silence between us isn’t just tense—it’s volatile, crackling with barely-contained hunger, his restraint coiled tight, ready to snap.

“Get in the fucking car.” The command rumbles from his chest, vibrating through the air with an intensity that seizes every nerve in my body.

I blink, momentarily thrown off. “What? I drove here, I⁠—”

Before I can finish, his hand shifts to my throat, fingers curling around it, firm enough to make my pulse hammer beneath his grip. It’s not rough—it’s possessive.

The pressure is intoxicating, sending a shockwave straight through me, making it hard to think, let alone resist. He leans in, his breath scorching my ear, his voice a rasp that hits me like a live wire.

“Want to find out what happens if you don’t get your stubborn ass in my passenger seat, Phi?”

The words roll over me, slow and deliberate, each syllable soaked in challenge. A soft moan slips past my lips, involuntary, betraying just how much his touch unravels me.

“I’ll bend you over this hood and make you scream for me right here. Try me, princess. I could give a fuck less who sees me defile your sweet cunt.”

My body reacts before my mind can catch up, thighs clenching to dull the relentless ache building between them. His grip tightens just enough to remind me of the power he holds, the thrill that comes with it.

“Now,” he orders, voice cold and final.

The smart thing would be to shove him away, tell him to fuck off, remind myself of every reason why this is a terrible idea. Why I shouldn’t—why I can’t.

But I don’t.

Thinking isn’t an option right now.

Breathing isn’t, either.

All I can do is feel.

The heat that rolls off him, the way his touch burns into my skin, the undeniable pull drawing us closer.

My hand moves on its own, reaching behind me. My fingers find the cool metal of the car door, hesitating for the briefest second, caught between sense and madness.

But sense never stood a chance. Not with him.

I pull the door open, the creak of the hinges echoing through the thick air, as heavy as a whispered promise. The line we’ve been dancing on shatters beneath us, a thousand shards of everything we swore we’d never do.

And maybe this is how it was always supposed to be—inevitable.

A tragic ending we can’t rewrite. Two reckless souls drawn together, not in spite of the danger, but because of it. The poison we know is killing us, yet tastes too sweet to stop drinking.

Romeo kissed his Juliet knowing he’d lose everything.

I kiss my fate with the same reckless abandon, knowing exactly where this road leads.

And when I climb into this car? Our fate is sealed.

The final act of a tragedy we were always meant to play out.