Chapter 22

D arian resembles an unsmiling stone statue in his eye mask as he guides me inside the grand hall. The man can’t look approachable to save his life.

I scan the crowds of overdressed men and women mingling beneath the fancy chandeliers for signs of Lauren. She’s by a pillar, laughing at Sinclair.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I say, and Darian looks confused as he follows my line of sight, but before he can comment, I disentangle my arm from his.

Sinclair smirks when I stride across the floor, swiping a champagne glass off a floating tray.

My smile could melt butter as I sidle up beside him and give his son, Elijah, a cursory glance. “It’s good to see you again, Sinclair.”

He hums, stealing the flute from my hand and downing it in one go. “I was just telling your beautiful friend here how much I loved the flowers you sent me. All one hundred of them.”

Beautiful friend? I narrow my eyes. Sinclair is a dangerous man. Although he has an easy smile and cracks more jokes than the Joker, I wouldn’t trust him near my friend. It doesn’t matter that he has grown on me since the first time I met him; I won’t hesitate to serve his balls on a cheese platter if he touches Lauren.

“And how about you?” I ask Elijah, ignoring his father. “Did you like your flowers?”

If I thought my husband—who is striding toward us after getting hassled by an elderly lady in a gold eye mask insistent on kissing his cheeks—had a stony exterior, I was wrong. Sinclair’s son doesn’t acknowledge my existence as he scans the crowds with a bored, inferior expression.

“You know,” I say, ignoring Sinclair’s snicker, “I’ve heard stories about you.”

Elijah slides his gaze in my direction and inspects me like I’m an insect.

I feel the moment Darian’s shadow falls over me from behind, not because Elijah lifts his gaze or the bored, dismissive way he scans the crowds. No, none of those things hold a candle to how my core warms at the sensation of my husband’s broad chest against my back. He’s stiff and uncomfortable around Elijah, which sparks unwelcome excitement.

“If those stories are true,” I say casually as a waiter appears with a tray of flutes, “I won’t hesitate to kill you in your sleep if you attempt to flirt with my friend.” I help myself to champagne and take a sip.

Behind me, Darian turns to stone.

Sinclair chokes on his drink.

Elijah assesses me with lazy intrigue, but I can’t be amusing enough for him because he turns on his heel and walks away.

“A simple thank you for the flowers would have sufficed.” As I turn back, Lauren stares at me, wide-eyed. Sinclair is laughing so hard, he’s almost doubled over, and Darian is about two seconds away from exploding like a spectacular supernova. I look between them all. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Lauren asks as she gives my husband a concerned glance over my head. “You antagonized that guy on purpose.”

“So?”

“So?” It’s Sinclair who speaks this time. “You don’t want my son’s attention.”

A big hand lands on my hip, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sinclair. He sips his champagne. “A possessive husband won’t stop my son when he sets his eye on something.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Darian to grow any stiffer, but I was wrong. There’s a possibility he’s now cemented to the floor. “Stop with the drama. I was letting you both know my friend is off-limits.”

“Son or no son of yours,” Darian growls, digging his fingers into my flesh. “If he comes near my wife, I’ll skin and quarter him.”

Lauren pales.

I turn to face my husband, who stares at his best friend with silent murder in his eyes. Sometimes, I wonder how they’ve maintained this close friendship over the years. My husband seems intent on killing Sinclair most of the time, and Sinclair? Well, he takes it all in his stride with a chuckle and a hard slap on Darian’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Sinclair tells me as he jostles my husband. “He’s bark and no bite. Mostly anyway.” Turning to Lauren, he offers her the crook of his arm. “Care for a dance?”

“Care for a dance,” I mimic in his posh accent as I pull my friend to my side. “I swear to everything holy, if you thought the bat flower delivery was bad, you haven’t seen anything yet. Did you know the corpse flower is considered the ugliest plant in the world? Careful with your flirtatious smiles in my friend’s proximity, or I’ll ensure your house resembles a damn jungle next time you bring a conquest over. By the time I’m done playing Monopoly with my husband’s black card, you’ll require a machete to fight back the shrubbery just to reach the damn bed?—”

A big palm clamps down over my mouth as warm lips brush against my ear. “Careful, wife. If you don’t shut up, I might believe you’re jealous. And you don’t want to find out what happens if I think you harbor feelings toward my friend.”

I bat my husband off and spin around, whisper-hissing, “I’m not jealous! I’m worried about Lauren. If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”

“And I’ll let you.”

I slam my lips shut, surprised by the glint of humor in his eyes. Behind me, Sinclair’s infectious chuckle mixes with the muted conversations in the room.

“Relax, baby,” he says, pausing beside me. “It’s only a dance.”

Then they’re gone, and I chew on my lip as I scan the room for rebels. Unease trickles down my spine. I’m on edge, and I don’t know why.

My mind drifts as I glance at Lauren and Sinclair. He’s an Elder. A brutal, deadly Elder with a smile that acts as a camouflage for what truly lurks beneath. By the time you sense danger, it’s too late. After Lauren’s lecturing earlier, she can’t be that easily swayed by his charms, right?

Even as I try to convince myself it’s all an act on her part, I know it’s a lie. It wasn’t that long ago I was hellbent on killing Darian.

I didn’t care if he was involved in his disappearance or not. He was a part of the Exodus and, therefore, an accomplice.

Now I’m not so certain anymore. Darian managed to break down my barriers with his non-existent charm, so Sinclair could be downright deadly if he set his mind to it.

Darian gets distracted by an older man with a mustache and bushy, silvery brows, who stares at my cleavage for a solid ten seconds before shaking my husband’s hand. Judging by the pained look on his face, Darian’s handshake is fierce enough to crush bones and then some. At least we’re in public, so he refrains from murdering the man in plain sight.

As I place the empty flute back on a tray, I catch sight of a passing lady’s necklace, which is subtle yet undoubtedly an inverted cross. She disappears into the gathered crowds, and I excuse myself from Darian’s side, mumbling that I need to freshen up.

Where did she go? My shoulders brush up against expensive suits and gowns. I weave between groups of people, craning my neck for a better view, but she’s nowhere in sight.

Fuck. She’s gone.

A tall man with sandy hair bumps into me as he passes, placing something in my palm. Bristling at the bold contact, I whip my head around as he walks away. Our eyes meet over his shoulder, and a mysterious smirk graces his full lips. I glance down to see a necklace in my hand—the same one the woman wore. When I look up again, he has disappeared into the crowd.

With trembling hands, I stuff the necklace inside my corset while tossing nervous glances around to ensure no one is paying attention.

Lauren was right. They’re here. And they’re here in numbers.

A shadow falls over me from behind, and a cold, controlled voice says, “Meet me on the upstairs balcony.”

I spin around, spotting Beaumont’s retreating back. He’s a man I should stay far away from, but I don’t have a choice.

I’ll meet him upstairs and turn him down in person. Why did I bring the USB? What was I thinking? Trying to save my own skin? Now that I’m here, I can’t do it—I can’t betray Darian. I don’t care for Beaumont’s threats. There must be some other way to put him in his place. My hands turn clammy, and the walls feel as if they’re closing in. I shouldn’t be alone with him, not after his threat to hurt me to get to my husband.

Fuck it. I refuse to let a man make me feel weak. I’m not scared of him or any of the men in this damn secret society. Who is he to try to intimidate me into obedience?

With my mind set, I exit the crowded hall and hurry upstairs. My heart pounds the entire time, and my brain screams at me to turn back. I have minutes until Darian comes looking for me—minutes to get this over with.

Finding the balcony hidden at the back of the library took longer than expected. Beaumont is facing away from me, hands in his pockets. He looks sharp in a tux and gelled hair and exudes an air of danger that makes my skin crawl.

The minute I enter the cold evening air, his beady eyes land on my eye mask, and he slowly turns to face me.

“Mrs. Delacroix,” he says suggestively, his gaze traveling down my body. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same.” My voice bleeds with toxic venom, and I watch him carefully, feeling like he’s about to strike any minute.

He sniffs and takes in the night sky and the streetlights in the distance. “It’s a beautiful evening. Very tranquil.”

“Why are you here?”

“It’s a party, Mrs. Delacroix.”

A chilly breeze licks at my skin like a sharp blade, cutting and slicing. Beaumont stalks closer, but I hold my ground, refusing to let the vulture sniff my fear in the air. “Did you get the information I requested?”

“I came here to tell you to leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?” He eats up the short distance and swamps me with his large, imposing body. “I thought I made it clear that you have no choice but to sing to my tune, unless of course…” A chill-inducing, suggestive smile plays on his lips as he reaches out to finger a loose tendril framing my face. “You want a secret little dalliance in a dark corner.”

“With you?” I smack his hand away. “I don’t fucking think so.”

One moment, I’m standing there, and the next, he punches me so hard in the face that I fall back onto the ground. Stars explode behind my eyes, and pain ricochets through my skull, but before I can crawl away, he kicks me in the ribs.

I double over, bleeding from a cut on my lip, and a sharp, stabbing pain guts me when I try to sit up.

He circles me with slow, predatory steps, flexing his fingers as if he’s readying to strike me with his fists. “Since I’m a gentleman, we’ll try again, Mrs. Delacroix. Did you bring the information?”

I feel blood trickle down my chin as I glare up at him, my skirt pooled around my upper thighs, my dress and hair in disarray. Running my tongue over my bloodied teeth, I sneer at him. “Is this all you’ve got? You think I’m scared of you because you’re a big, bad man?” My smile widens, as cruel as the glint in his eye. “Newsflash. I’m not. You’re pathetic?—”

With a grunt, he kicks me in the head, and for a moment, everything fades away. When he flips me over onto my back and pulls down my corset, I become vaguely aware of the gritty ground beneath me. The cold air nips at my bare skin like tiny bites, and I feel a warm hand squeeze my breasts, tweaking and kneading.

A deep ache in my skull renders me defenseless against his heated, sour breath on my face as he leans down to drag his tongue through the blood on my chin and says, “Thank you for bringing the USB, sweetheart. You should have told me you like a rough hand.”

He gropes between my legs while I whimper uselessly, my head lolling on the hard, unforgiving ground. Overhead, stars twinkle and a gust of breeze sweeps over my bruised body.

I pull at his shirt with shaky hands, fighting him off, but my heavy arms refuse to obey. “No, please,” I choke out as searing pain spreads between my legs.

A manic look enters his almost black eyes, and he forces another finger inside me. “Relax, sweetheart, and it’ll feel good.”

A shadow falls over him from behind, and relief curls inside my chest when Darian’s murderous gaze gleams like cat eyes in the dark. The weight on top of me disappears as he hauls Beaumont away and lays into him with brutal fists and a vicious, calm control that does little to cloak the unhinged fury in his eyes. I’ve never seen Darian like this. He’s nothing short of lethal.

Sinclair helps me cover up, but Lauren rushes outside and orders him away, faffing over me while the bloodbath continues in my periphery. “Careful with her. She has a concussion.” It’s only then I realize I’m bleeding from a cut on my brow, and more blood oozes from my throbbing lip.

“Here,” Lauren says, draping Sinclair’s suit jacket over my shoulders and helping me button it to hide my breasts from view.

I lift my head to see Beaumont held up by Sinclair and Elijah. Darian inspects his bloody knuckles with morbid curiosity before punching him so hard, a tooth flies from his mouth. “You thought you could touch what’s mine?”

I flinch at the putrid hate in his voice, the dark undertone of deadly violence.

He steps up close, baring his teeth in a snarl. “You thought wrong. Putting your hands on my wife was a big mistake.”

Beaumont stares defiantly at my husband, who studies him from head to toe like he’s a specimen in a lab experiment.

“I can’t wait to skin you alive.”

“Fuck you,” Beaumont hisses, earning him a punch in the gut.

When he finally stops coughing, he lifts his head and flashes a bloodied, condescending smile. “You think your wife is loyal to you, Delacroix? Open your fucking eyes. She’s chomping at the teeth to stab you in the back.”

My husband’s fist flies, and a hard crack rings out in the evening air. Blood squirts from Beaumont’s broken nose, pouring down his lips and chin. He wiggles his jaw like a psychopath begging for another round. “Do you think the Bishop will look at you twice when the truth comes out? You’re weak, Delacroix. Fucking weak?—”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Sinclair growls.

Beaumont never takes his eyes off my husband. “There’s no room for your kind of weakness in the Exodus.”

“Sir,” a burly Pawn says as he and another Pawn enter the balcony with a cigar trimmer. “Here’s the item you requested.”

Darian accepts it without glancing at me, focused on my attacker, and a struggle breaks out as one of the Pawns forcefully inserts Beaumont’s middle finger into the trimmer. Sinclair and Elijah grunt as they buckle down to keep him in place.

Held down by two men, Beaumont can’t break free, but he still fights and struggles, wasting his energy as he desperately cries for help.

My husband jerks his chin in silent command, and the other Pawn steps up behind Beaumont and chokes him with his arm around his neck, effectively putting a sudden stop to his screaming.

“You don’t want to watch this,” Lauren says beside me.

She’s wrong. I do want to watch.

I can’t take my eyes off my husband and the darkness that pours from him in uncontrolled waves. He’s magnetic and utterly mesmerizing in his lethality.

“What made you think you could touch my wife?”

Turning red from the brutal chokehold on his neck, Beaumont looks over at me, but Darian blocks his view and says, “Don’t you fucking dare look at her.”

I hear Beaumont, hidden behind my husband, spit on his tux.

“Answer the question,” Darian says in an eerily controlled voice. “What made you think you could touch my wife?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

My husband sighs, disappointed, nudging his chin for the Pawn to step away and let him take the cigar trimmer. Beaumont breathes hard, cursing and wrestling against Sinclair and Elijah, and the latter smirks at me as hoarse, blood-curdling screams send sleeping birds flying from a nearby tree.

I taste sick at the back of my throat but refuse to look away from the dark sadism in Elijah’s cold gaze.

“You thought you could put your filthy fingers inside my wife.” Darian turns around, his hands bloodied. “It’s only fitting she gets to keep them as a souvenir and a reminder of the consequences of betrayal.” Standing before me like an apparition of Lucifer, he holds out my attacker’s severed fingers, but I can’t move past his words.

“You think I betrayed you?” I ask, flicking my eyes between his.

Darian’s gaze burns into me, void of emotion, before he tosses the fingers onto my lap and walks some distance away to toe two items on the ground with his shiny Oxfords. Crouching down, he picks them up and inspects the inverted cross necklace in the dim light streaming through the balcony doors. The same necklace the stranger thrust into my hand back in the main hall. “I have to give it to you, wife. You’re good.” He closes his fist around the cross and looks over at me. “How many times did you evade my security? How did you communicate with the rebels?”

Evade his security? What is he talking about? I never…

My heart cracks in two, an ache pressing on my chest as I search for the right words, but what can I possibly say to make things right and bring the warmth back to his eyes? The way he looks at me now… It hurts.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Elijah asks. “You have a rat on the inside.”

Darian doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands and strides over to me, holding out the USB. “You conspired with Beaumont against me?”

Tears spill from my eyes as I shake my head, desperate to make him understand. “No…I came here to tell him I didn’t want any involvement?—”

In a swift move, he grabs my chin and sneers in my face. “I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses.”

“Darian, I—” I try to explain around a sob, but he won’t even look into my eyes.

He shoves me away, turns to the others, and gives Beaumont a disgusted once over before spinning on his heel and walking out. “Bring him.”

As soon as they’re gone, I break down.

Lauren pulls me into her gentle arms, whispering soothing words that do little to ease the heartache. If anything, I want to push her away and chase after Darian, but I don’t have the energy. My head is dizzy, and I’m trembling all over from the receding adrenaline rush.

“Sshh! You’re okay.” Lauren strokes my hair behind my ears. “He’ll come around.”

“He thinks I betrayed him.”

“He’s angry with Beaumont for hurting you, and he’s not thinking straight. He’ll come to his senses as soon as he’s had time to calm down.”

I sniffle pathetically and try to stand, but the lancing pain in my throbbing head is so bad that I wince and press my palm against my brow. I can barely stand upright, never mind walk.

Lauren slides her arm around my waist, taking the brunt of my weight. “Let’s find you someplace quiet where you can rest. You shouldn’t be up and walking with a concussion.”

“What if he doesn’t forgive me? After all, I did steal the information from his computer. I can’t talk myself out of this one. Regardless of my reasoning, it doesn’t look good, especially when I brought the USB with me tonight.”

We hobble toward the doorway. “He’ll forgive you. He’d be a fool if he didn’t.”

A fool or not. I’ve royally screwed up.