FIVE - Alana
FIVE
Alana
Iwatch my cousin go, unease rippling through me. What does he know about Greg's death that I do not?
"That was weird," Ella says.
"I think he has the hots for you, Alana," Rosalie murmurs.
The idea turns my stomach. "Nico is just worried about the company and has turned all big brother on me."
"He's definitely big and is just a distant relative. Turn that overprotectiveness into something hot. Why don't you take him for a spin?" Rosalie asks.
Ella leans back farther from us and drops her gaze to her drink.
I look at Rosalie. "You are the worst sometimes. How are we friends?"
"How are we not friends? You need me," she says.
"Yeah, I need you like I do a fall down a black diamond ski hill," I retort.
She snorts. "That wasn't my fault."
"Yes, it was. You ran into me because you were ogling that hot guy from Sweden." Sometimes my left arm still aches—especially when the weather turns cold like it is right now.
"He had an ass I could bounce a quarter off," Rosalie says defensively. "You were ogling him too."
Actually, I had been trying not to fall on my face, which had turned out to be an unrealistic expectation. But every adventure we've had is worth it. The three of us met at boarding school. My father dropped me there because he couldn't deal with a daughter and his grief; Ella's stepmother sent her away because she couldn't kill her as a kid; and Rosalie's grandpa had worked as a janitor at the school. We somehow found each other and have been best friends ever since.
Rosalie checks out her bright pink nail polish. "All I'm saying is that you might as well have some fun if you do end up marrying Cal Sokolov. What kind of name is that anyway? Who names their kids Hendrix, Cal, and . . . what was the other one?"
"Alexei," Ella supplies.
Rosalie grins. "Yeah, Alexei."
"Alexei is half brother to the other two, and I wouldn't mess with Cal's mama, if I were you," I drawl. Lillian Sokolov is a fierce woman with sharp nails.
Rosalie leans forward and I hope the pounding music will prevent anybody from hearing what she says. "Listen, Alana, we both know if it's to save Aquarius Social, you'll marry whichever of the Sokolov brothers your father puts in front of you at the altar. So don't you think you should have some fun first? Take Nico for a spin. Heck, even take all three of the Sokolov brothers for a spin. Maybe the killer one gets conjugal visits. Once you're married, I know you. You won't break that vow, no matter what."
No, I'm not a woman who breaks promises. As usual, Rosalie is right, but jumping on Cousin Nico isn't how I want to spend my last days as a free woman—especially since Ella blushes every time his name is mentioned. I glance at my watch. "All right, I'm going in."
"We'll be here," Ella says loyally. "If you need us, just yell. Loudly."
I have no idea what she thinks she can do if Cal and I don't hit it off, but I pat her shoulder anyway. "You're a good friend." I cut Rosalie a hard look. "You're just okay."
"I'm fabulous," she says, winking.
I shake my head because she's right, at least about our friendship. I stand and find my balance. For this meeting, I'm wearing my signature yellow in a low-cut halter top with an aquamarine skirt and fuck-me five-inch heels with encrusted diamonds decorating the top. My hair is teased wildly and my makeup is flirty.
I'm too nervous to post on Aquarius Social, and my emotions are too volatile for me to want to share the moment with our emotion-catching-and-dispersing interface as I wind through the crowd to the VIP area flanked by two bulging bouncers. I don't know if they've been waiting for me, or if they recognize me, but they both step aside and allow me to pass. I make my way through private booths to reach a cordoned-off section. Someone smoothly releases the rope so I don't even have to break stride.
Cal Sokolov sits on a red velvet sofa flanked by a blonde who has already fallen out of her top and a brunette who has one leg over his. Both women are giggling.
"Hello, honey," I murmur.
He looks up, his gaze lazy. I have to admit that Cal is a good-looking guy who could star in any movie as the lead. His hair is a shade of blond that reminds me of better times at the ocean playing volleyball. It's unruly and yet somehow expertly styled. His eyes are a piercing blue and his bone structure classic and symmetrical.
For our meeting tonight, or rather for whatever the heck he is doing here, he's wearing tan slacks and a black button-down shirt that reveals his bronze neck and part of his torso. His smile is both mischievous and sharp. "Alana, hello." He snaps his fingers and men appear out of nowhere to assist the two women off him. The blonde protests but isn't given a choice, and soon they're standing on the other side of the rope. "I apologize. I didn't know you would be here as of yet."
"Are you apologizing that I caught you with the bimbos or that you were with the bimbos?" I ask.
He does not stand. "Let's not pretend this is anything other than what it is." He gestures toward the seat next to him, the one vacated by the dark-haired girl.
I angle my head to make sure she's left behind no wet spots since she was obviously well into him. It looks dry enough. I sit.
"What would you like to drink?" he asks.
I look over at a hovering waitress who appears to be about to have a panic attack. She bounces like an exuberant puppy as if waiting for a command, her gaze longingly on Cal.
"Dirty gin martini, three olives," I say, hoping she doesn't soil herself.
She waits until Cal nods. I roll my eyes. As she scampers off, he reaches out and trails his fingers down my arm. It shocks me how badly I want to punch his perfect face. His nose is a little too straight but I can fix that.
"So we get married in a couple of weeks, huh?" He winks.
I blink. "I thought maybe you and I could work together to avoid that." I say the words slowly, trying to read him.
"Why would I want to avoid our union?" His gaze rakes me from head to toe and then warms. "You're a hot little thing, Alana Beaumont. Everybody I know has been trying to get in your pants for a good ten years. I'm looking forward to being the one who finally does it."
My stomach revolts, but I smile. "I don't think you know what you're getting into."
He shrugs. "Doesn't really matter. We're both going to do what our families tell us to do, and then you're going to do what I tell you to do."
"That isn't how it works," I say dryly. "Believe me, I'm more trouble than you want." It is only fair to be honest with the guy.
He sighs as if bored. "I don't believe that to be true. You'll be a good little girl and a good wife and probably a good mother to how many little hounds you shove out. You can have all the freedom you want in this marriage, but stay under the radar and don't embarrass me."
I look over my shoulder to where the two women who'd been hanging over him press against the rope, trying to get back in. "What about the vows?"
"Oh, please," he says. "I'm a man."
"Are you?" I look him over. "I'm not so sure. You seem like a castrated dog to me." If I mean to insult him, it doesn't work.
He laughs. "I'm exactly what I want to be. I'm about to marry the princess everybody lusts after and win more responsibility at Hologrid Hub. When we combine your algorithms with ours, we'll be able to take down Malice and TimeGem. This is a good thing, Alana. Toe the line."
A waiter strides toward us and hands me a martini. He's tall with lighter blond hair and sparkling brown eyes. "You didn't specify the gin, Miss, so I chose the Botanist. It's my favorite."
I accept the drink. "Thank you."
His grin flashes two dimples. What is he? About twenty? For some reason, he makes me feel old. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Thanks, but no." I return his smile, noting how well he fills out the dark T-shirt.
Cal clears his throat. "About our engagement, darling . . ."
The waiter's grin fails as he looks from Cal back to me, as if asking what in the world I'm thinking.
My smile widens. Perhaps I should introduce this guy to Rosalie. Oh, she'd eat him for breakfast, but he's adorable.
Cal coughs. "Plan the wedding, Alana. Now."
So much for us combining forces and preventing this ridiculous union. "I have to tell you, Cal, you don't want to marry me." I focus back on him.
"Oh, but I do." His gaze drops to my breasts. "I actually can't wait for the wedding night." He looks at his watch. "You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and as soon as we receive those results, I'll sign the papers."
What is he talking about? "I have a doctor's appointment?"
He laughs. "Didn't you read the papers your father gave you?"
Right now they're stuffed in my purse. I have neither read nor signed them. "No."
"You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow to make sure that you're healthy, can bear children, and . . . well, you know . . ." His voice drops into a slur.
I lean toward him. "I don't know."
"Sure you do. We have to make sure that little hymen is intact, don't we?"
My jaw drops. It's rare that I am taken aback, considering I spend most of my life in front of a camera. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I'm serious. How am I going to brag about being the only one to bang the princess if somebody's been there before me?"
My ears heat until I'm sure they're beet red, absurdly pleased the cute waiter has moved down the line in the VIP area and can't hear this crap. "Oh, you're a dick." I stand. "This wedding is not happening."
He stands, towering over me, and I take a step back. I didn't realize he's at least six feet tall. "There's no getting out of it, Alana. If you try, it means war." All of a sudden, Cal drops his ever-present charm.
For the first time, an actual chill sweeps through me at the thought of marrying him. Just beneath the charm and the good nature is something else, something I don't want to see. Someone brushes by my elbow, and I turn to see his older brother. "Hendrix. What a surprise," I say. The man doesn't belong in this dive in his gray designer suit.
He looks me over, surprise flashing and then cooling in his blue eyes. "Alana. You're stunning." He sounds shocked.
"Thanks?" I'm on social media constantly. Maybe the guy running the show at Hologrid doesn't have time to follow accounts. "I'm not planning on joining your family."
His gaze locks on my lips. "Perhaps we should renegotiate. You're much more my type than Cal's. He likes blondes. I adore brunettes. You've grown up nicely."
Cal elbows closer. "You bang blondes and marry brunettes. The contract is with me, brother."
"We'll see." Hendrix gives a little bow, turns, and strides confidently out of the VIP area.
Cal rolls his eyes. "Forget him. I'm sure you're accustomed to that response from any hot-blooded male who meets you in person."
Multiple marriage proposals? Um, no.
Suddenly, a shot rings out and the mirrored wall to my right bursts into pieces, sending shards flying. I yelp. Cal screams and ducks down, with his hands over his ears. I turn, trying to find the shooter. Three men, all masked, rush through the crowd toward us. I search for an exit as Cal huddles on the sofa yelling for his guards.
Another shot is fired and I duck, scrambling toward what appears to be a door to a back room. The cute waiter yanks it open. "Go, go, go," he urges, trying to wrap his big body over me.
I run inside with him on my heels as more shots ring out.
"God, run. We have to get out of here," he huffs, slamming the door shut.
Strong arms yank me into the dark. I catch sight of eyes. I know those eyes. I've seen those eyes before.
It's the man from the darkness. I push against him, trying to find a path to safety when danger lies in every direction.
The waiter tries to nudge me aside and tackle the man, but a knife flashes, and blood instantly spurts from the waiter's throat, washing over my front. His eyes bug out, and he grabs his bleeding neck, dropping to his knees.
I scream and try to help him, reaching for the convulsing kid.
But his killer grabs my hips and tosses me over his shoulder, and my stomach lands against what feels like solid rock. The air bursts out of my chest and my entire torso protests in pain.
Then, we're running toward the storm.