22. Clara

CHAPTER 22

Clara

It takes seconds for my uncle to spot me, and when he does, he doesn't bother keeping his voice down.

"Clara! There you are. Fucking Christ girl. Do you have any concept of the trouble you've caused me?"

Every eye in the room swings between me and my uncle. I can't speak. I can't even properly breathe right now.

Luckily, my uncle has never given me the chance to talk. "What is this? You ran out on me just to wear fancy dresses and go to parties? You're coming home with me right now-"

"Morgan. I didn't realize you were planning to attend tonight's banquet."

I can't take my eyes off my uncle, but I don't need to. Thomas's warmth is suddenly at my shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to lean into it. His dress shoes crunch in the glass at our feet.

My uncle's face twists into a smile that makes my blood chill. "Tommy-boy," he says, with mocking enthusiasm. "I suggest you step away from my niece now. No need to make a scene. She's coming home with me."

Thomas's hand rests on the naked small of my back. "I don't think so," he says, perfectly polite. "Clara is leaving with me tonight."

Paul's eyes narrow, moving between Thomas and I, as if judging his intentions. The warped smile on my uncle's face disappears into a snarl. "Hands off my niece, Warwick!" he spits, his voice rising to ring out through the whole suite.

Isn't there any security at this party?!

My uncle has worked himself into a rant. I cringe away from him, tighter into Thomas's side. "She's mine , my ward, and you had no fucking right to move in on her. This is kidnapping- this is a fucking act of war, you hear me?!"

I don't know how many of the guests in the room get the full scope of what's happening here. The DA, Derrick Lindman, and probably the handful of other guests Thomas introduced me to understand that this is a showdown between bosses. A rapidly spiraling discussion over ‘property rights'.

Regardless of who understands what, the word ‘kidnapping' is going to make an impression. And it won't be in Thomas's favor.

Two things crystalize in my mind as I watch the color rise in my uncle's face. First, I might be here to be an object of desire, but I still have the freedom to accept or reject that role for myself. If I choose, I can make it into a position of power.

Second, this is the moment I've been waiting for. I wanted to have a say in what happens with my uncle, and now I have the chance to speak to him directly. Even though my throat is closing and my mouth is so dry it feels like I'm gargling sand, I have to find my voice. Now .

I take a step away from Thomas's side, placing myself just in front of him. My knees are trembling, but no one can see them under my skirt. "This isn't an act of war," I declare. To my uncle and to the guests, ignorant and in the know. "This is an act of love."

Silence. The air feels like it's been sucked right out of the room. I want to shrink into myself, but all eyes are on me now. All I can do is make my point.

"I-I wasn't kidnapped," I say, perhaps unnecessarily. "I left home of my own free will. I'm sorry, Uncle." I'm not. "I know I didn't tell you I was leaving, and I made you worry." I made him angry, which is far more dangerous. "But I had to go. I had to be with Thomas because I…" I'm no longer pale with nerves. My cheeks are hot. All I can see in my mind is Thomas's golden hair clutched in my fist as he thrusts his tongue inside me.

This, more than anything else I say, has to be believable. It's what Thomas has been trying to make a display out of all night. And yes, ten years ago, I considered myself in love with Thomas Warwick. He was beautiful and mysterious and lonely, a potent combination for any teenage girl. But what I felt as a daydreaming child and what I feel now are strangers to each other. Thomas has hurt my heart and set my body on fire. He seems further away now than he did when I saw him through his window on the second floor.

Loving him is absolutely impossible, but it might be something I've never stopped doing.

I suck in a breath to steady myself. Then I declare to this room of strangers something I've never admitted to anyone.

"I'm here with Thomas because I love him."

If I thought the room was quiet before, it's silent as death now. The people who think they've stumbled into a family drama wear an entire range of emotions on their faces, from bewilderment to irritation to charm. The ones who understand that I've just turned my back on the Speare family to make a public alliance with the Warwicks are starting to edge toward the door.

My uncle's face is the worst one to see, but I have to meet his gaze or this won't work. His nose and cheeks and neck are blotchy with redness. His beady eyes are absolutely wild. I wonder if I should keep talking, just to curtail an explosion, but my uncle has never been shy about screaming over me. When his thin lips curl back, bearing his teeth in a snarl, I know that violence is coming.

"You traitorous bitch!" he spits, and that gets a gasp of disapproval from the genteel crowd. "How fucking dare you turn your back on me! I fed you- raised you- and this is the thanks I get?!"

I take a step forward, my hands up, pleading. "Uncle-"

His hand goes behind his back. I see the flash of gunmetal in the golden chandelier light. Paul reaches for the gun, but he's too slow. Someone- Thomas- grips my arm and yanks me aside. A bullet explodes past me, so loud, so loud , in a room full of people. Blood splatters my dress. Thomas swears.

Guests around me start screaming, but I don't get the chance to. Thomas crushes me against his chest, his body turned to shield me from my uncle. His arm lifts, and suddenly there's a gun in his hand too. It levels on my uncle.

I don't think. My hands shoot out, knocking Thomas's arm aside. The gun goes off, shattering lights in the chandelier above.

All hell breaks loose.

The suited men by the door open fire. Three or four people in the crowd, hidden members of security, pull out guns and open fire. Thomas hauls me to the far side of the refreshments table. Derrick is with us, and the two of them flip the table onto its side with ease. Plates of food shatter over the floor, and bottles of wine explode on the tile. We duck beneath our flimsy barricade, and only then do I see the dark stain spreading over the side of Thomas's suit.

"Oh my god- Thomas-!" I shriek.

Thomas pulls me into his chest again, his warm palm covering my ear and forcing me to lay my cheek against his warm pec, right above his heart. It's not much of a buffer against the roar of the firefight, but it's better than nothing. I cling to his suit jacket, not sure if I should close my eyes against this horror or be ready to run.

"It's a graze," Thomas grunts, his voice rolling through my bones instead of my ears. He peeks over the top of the table barricade, fires off a shot, then ducks back down.

"Just how many of your people did you smuggle in here?" Derrick asks. With my head pressed to Thomas's chest, I can't turn my head to see him, but I hear the cock of another gun. Did everyone show up to this party armed except for me?

"Not this many," Thomas answers grimly. "You should've vetted your guests a little more carefully, Sheriff."

So my uncle came fully prepared to stage a confrontation here. Alongside Warwick men disguised as guests were Speare men doing the same. I can't stop the shiver that wracks my body, and Thomas's arm tightens around me in response. I could have been grabbed at any moment if he wasn't at my side for most of the party.

Of course, being snatched back to my uncle's house is the least of our worries now. We're far more likely to be shot to pieces before we can make it out of this room.

Something hits our table barricade and I shriek. A small dent appears in the underside of the metal table inches from Thomas's arm, then another even closer. A gunshot right at my shoulder makes me flinch, but it must have been Derrick joining the firefight, because he mumbles breathlessly, "I think I hit him." Thomas takes a second shot over the table, and someone across the room lets out a muffled, garbled cry.

Was that my uncle? Was it Paul?

Seconds later my uncle lets out a string of violent curses. The gunshots come more quickly, like they're being laid down like cover fire instead of aimed at anyone particular. Thomas gets one last shot off. Then the room goes suddenly silent but for the whimpers of guests and Thomas's heart pounding under my ear.

We wait for several seconds until Thomas looks out over the edge of the table. He takes a careful survey of the room. Whatever he sees encourages him to loosen his arm around my shoulders, just enough for me to sit up. Despite the protection of his palm, my ears are ringing. I take my own look over the edge of our barricade, my hands still clutching the lapels of Thomas's suit front.

I can't help the cry of horror that tears out of me at the aftermath.

Several bodies are splayed out on the floor between me and the door of the suite. Blood pools beneath them from multiple wounds, spreading lazily through the seams between each tile. Some are wearing the black uniforms of the security guards that came in during my uncle's rant, but more are dressed as guests. I can't tell if they were undercover for the Warwicks and the Speares, or just partygoers caught in the crossfire.

Whoever they were, death claimed them just the same.

I don't see my uncle or Paul. The relief that hits me feels like a sin.

The remaining guests, living and injured, are still cowering beneath the banquet tables. There are some on their phones, I can only assume desperately calling the police, though surely the restaurant guests below called when they first heard the gunshots. That's probably our cue to leave. Thomas pulls me to my feet, but it's only his arm around my shoulders that's keeping me upright. Derrick stands beside us, looking dazedly over the remains of his party.

To his credit, though, he doesn't forget his civic responsibilities.

"Everyone, please remain in the room," he commands over the guests. Several cry out in relief at the sight of him, at their shining new sheriff who managed to escape death. "The authorities are on their way. Anyone who's been injured, if you could-"

Suddenly, one of the guests lets out a piercing shriek. Thomas stiffens beside me, but it's just the wife of the D.A., still on her hands and knees beneath a table.

"Oh my god- oh my god!" she sobs, staring down at the body beside her. "He's dead! Oh my god!"

The room descends into fresh chaos as guests scramble toward and away from the D.A.'s wife- or widow, I realize, as I catch a glimpse of his body through the crowd. Thomas takes swift advantage of the distraction, guiding me around the flipped table and straight toward the door. He steps high over shattered glass and spilled hors d'oeuvres and splattered blood, but my gait is clumsy. Every foot between us and the exit feels like it's stretching further and further. Then I trip over something that gives way under my heel, and make the mistake of looking down.

Barnabas Harrow's wide, empty eyes stare back at me. There's a bloody hole in his throat.

I remember the garbled sound of someone being hit and my uncle's faraway curses. He probably decided to retreat once his top man went down right in front of him.

My stomach is churning. The room is spinning. I feel my feet go out from under me and think I've fallen, but a moment later a door frame is passing overhead. Thomas is carrying my limp body out of the room, down the emergency stairs, and out of the building. When we get to his car, he sets me down on the passenger side and leans me against it- just in time for me to throw up on the asphalt. Vomit joins the splatters of food and blood around the hem of my dress.

Thomas doesn't respond, not with anger or disgust or even surprise. He doesn't speak either. He just unlocks my door for me and waits until I collapse inside the car before going around to the driver's side. Police cars with sirens blaring and lights flashing pull into the parking lot, but we're already peeling out.

I open my window all the way and lean my face out into the night wind, but my stomach never settles during the silent drive back to the estate.