Chapter 17

Seventeen

Lucien didn't come back for a few hours. I spent my time milling about around the surveillance equipment and scanning the other building for signs of activity like he had shown me. I couldn't have imagined a more boring pastime.

Nothing seemed to happen in or around the building across the street. I never saw anyone go in or out. The weird, identical scene behind each of the windows never changed, and the rooftop was dead as hell. From up here, it looked like a building that never got used.

After a while, I stopped caring about the building I was meant to be looking at and turned to people-watching instead. All of the people rushing around the busy Beacon Hill streets looked like they had somewhere to be. Jobs to get to, meetings with friends, families to come home to.

I had been fine until that last thought cropped up. After that, it was impossible not to think about mom, or dad, or Max. He was still out there, somewhere. Scared. Alone. I had complained about being stuck in a prison, being moved from cell to cell, but Max probably wasn't living in the kind of luxury I was.

I had gone from my mansion, to the Diaboli mansion, to this five-star accommodation. Did Max have any money on him? Where was he staying? Had he found family friends to hole up with, or was he staying off the grid, scrounging whatever money he could to keep himself alive?

Every so often, I thought I could feel him, trying to reach out to me through the Ether. I would try to reach back, but as soon as I did, I would lose the thought. Whatever magical defenses the Diaboli had placed here and at their mansion must have unintentionally blocked his communication attempts, and that was probably for the best; if they thought I could contact Max remotely they wouldn't stop hurting me until I found him and brought him to them.

So, I kept him at arm's length, unaware of my fate, and waited.

When Lucien returned, it was with several large, paper bags in his hands. I opened the door for him and let him in. He placed the bags on the bed, sat down at the desk, and unwrapped the sandwich he hadn't eaten yet.

"Worked up an appetite?" I asked.

"I did," he said.

"Looks like you went on a shopping spree across half of Boston."

"In a way, I did."

I scanned one of the bags. It was black, and pink, with cursive lettering on the front. My eyes narrowed. "Is this one for me?"

He nodded. "Open it."

There were a few boxes inside. One contained a pair of shoes—I knew that without opening it. The others looked smaller, and more delicate, though still large enough to hold clothes. The last box I pulled out was rectangular, and firm. My eyes widened. I shot Lucien a stare. "What's this?" I asked, knowing full well there could only have been jewelry in that box.

"Open it last."

"Okay…" I said, trailing off. "When should I… I mean, when are we…?"

"Leaving? Sun goes down in an hour."

I glanced over at the bathroom door. "I should go get ready, then," I said, stuffing the boxes back into the bag they had come in. When I grabbed the jewelry box, Lucien stopped me.

"Not that," he said.

"Why not that?"

"Just leave it here."

I wasn't sure where in the world the butterflies were coming from, or why my heart was trying to crack my own ribcage from the inside. I tried to ignore it as I took the bag into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Lucien on his own in the front room.

He had bags of his own, clothes he had clearly bought with the intention of wearing tonight. Before leaving, he had told me he was going to buy clothes so that we would blend in. I didn't know why, but, in my mind, that meant black jumpsuits and ski masks—you know, the kind of reconnaissance gear the spies put on in the movies before they go on a scouting mission.

I had completely forgotten that, sometimes in those spy movies, the spies go to fancy events, balls, galas, dinners, and they have to dress to the nines.

As soon as I opened the largest of the packages, I realized, Lucien definitely had this kind of spying in mind. The black dress he had picked out for me was gorgeous. A deep, plunging halter neck with an open back, and a slit all the way up to my thigh… I had never worn anything like it. I had never needed to. Somehow, not only had he picked out exactly the kind of dress I would've wanted to wear for a night of clandestine operations, it also fit perfectly.

As did the lingerie.

Black, lacy, delicate, and entirely suited for the style of dress. I wasn't sure whether to feel weird about the fact that I was putting on underwear a man had bought for me, or whether I should've been incredibly turned on. In the end, I settled on both.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but find myself wondering what the hell he was doing. Was he buttering me up to keep me docile? Was he manipulating me because he knew what buttons to press—and then some? Or was something else going on? Did he, perhaps, just want to know I was wearing underwear he had picked out for me?

Part of me, definitely the part between my legs, hoped for the latter, but I still had to keep my guard up.

It took a while for me to work up the courage to leave the bathroom after I had finished getting ready. I felt wildly overdressed. Where the hell did I think I was going, dressed like this, with the son of a magical mob boss? Eventually, once I'd managed to shake the thoughts loose, I left the bathroom to find Lucien fussing with the cuffs of the shirt he was wearing.

It was a white, buttoned-down shirt. A pair of suspenders ran up and over his shoulders, then down to his waist to hold up a pair of charcoal grey slacks. He wasn't wearing a tie but had instead popped the top three buttons of his shirt, revealing what looked like a silver necklace with an amulet I couldn't quite pick out.

He stopped when he saw me. For a moment he stood there, his throat silently working, his eyes scanning up and down the length of me. In that instant, I felt as exposed as I did powerful. If he was manipulating me with gifts, and the promise of getting me out of this, then all I could do was try to appeal to the animal inside of him and remind him who I was.

All of the doubts I had felt a second ago were gone.

For the first time in… forever… I could read Lucien's face, and what I saw on it was hunger—and I liked it.

I watched him swallow, lick his lips, and clench his jaw. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," I said, "Thank you."

"And the shoes fit?"

"Perfectly… how did you know what sizes to buy?"

One of his eyebrows arched. He didn't say the words, but he didn't have to, because I was imagining his response. I've had my hands on you enough times. My cheeks instantly reddened, and a starburst of fireworks rippled through my chest. I rolled my eyes, trying desperately to hide the way I truly felt. "What's wrong with those?" I asked.

Lucien looked at his cuffs. "Nothing. It's just a stupid button."

I walked up to him. "Let me help," I said, taking his hands and separating them.

"You don't have to do that."

I looked up at him. "Don't be stubborn."

"Stubborn?"

"Yes. Infuriatingly so," I said, as I worked at the buttons on his wrist.

He didn't reply. Instead, he took a slight whiff of my perfume, or maybe of my hair. His hand suddenly clasped mine. I felt my heartrate instantly shoot up to dangerous levels. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I didn't speak. I couldn't. Not while they were still listening.

He slowly ran his thumb along and across mine, felt my hand in his hands. His touch was electric, enough to make my breath catch in my throat. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. What are you doing?

He didn't speak. He couldn't, either. Instead, he looked at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes stern, and dark, and red. He looked like a Diaboli, but his touch was… kind. Gentle. Soft. What was he trying to tell me? His expression relaxed, and I thought I saw something like care in his eyes. Compassion. Maybe even remorse.

What is happening?!

Lucien gently let go of my hand. I quickly went back to working at the buttons on his wrists. When I was done, I drew away from him. "That should… uh, that should do it," I said.

"Thank you," Lucien said.

He reached for a suit jacket he had laid out over the back of a chair and slipped it around his formidable shoulders. He looked good in it. Strong, tall, handsome. Like he belonged in the mafia. The tattoos across his hands and fingers only served to heighten that bad boy look he was clearly going for.

The bad boy look I had totally fallen for back in our club days, hook, line, and sinker.

"I have one more thing for you," he said.

Lucien then came up behind me, opened the small, rectangular jewelry box he had insisted I leave behind, and set it on the table after picking up what looked like a diamond necklace. It sparkled whenever it caught the light, and when he placed it on my bare neck, it was cold, but it was stunning.

I had never seen anything like it.

It must have cost a small fortune.

Lucien finished fastening the necklace at the back of my neck. He then looked at me in the mirror's reflection, and for the first time ever, I saw us both standing there, me in front of him. He was so much taller than I was, and he filled the mirror's borders with his shoulders. I was slight in comparison, but the dress I was in made me look taller… made me feel taller.

"Perfect," he said, almost whispered it against the back of my head.

"I… really don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. People won't give us a second glance, now."

"Are you kidding me? You can see this thing around my neck from space."

"And that's why no one will look at us. Remember where we are. The streets are filled with wealthy people. Trust me."

I did.

I do.

He placed a hand on my hip, and my body ignited again. "Let's go," he said, as he ushered me toward the door.

As we left the room, and went down the hall toward the elevator, I couldn't help but feel excited, despite the dire situation I was in, and what we were about to attempt.