"Blake's been back a week?" Cole asked as he pulled away from Courts House, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Why didn't Killingham tell us?"
"Maybe he didn't know," I said, though I didn't believe it for a second. The Trivium's High Lords kept tabs on each other. If Blake had returned, Killingham knew.
"Or maybe he's protecting him," Ryder said from the passenger seat, his voice rough from disuse. "Maybe they're all in on it." The possibility had occurred to me, too. We'd trusted the Trivium to help us find Cadence, but what if they were the ones who'd taken her? What if this had been some elaborate test or punishment that got out of hand? Or what if they took the matter of her not being Legacy, despite what Ryder’s mum had said, had been enough for them to break the one rule about no harm coming to a Consort?
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Cole said, ever the voice of reason, even as tension radiated from his rigid posture. "We need to talk to Blake first."
The drive to Manchester passed in tense silence. The city streets were nearly deserted on Boxing Day morning, allowing Cole to push well beyond the speed limit without concern. My mind raced with possibilities, with questions, with the faint, fragile hope that we might finally get answers. And beneath it all, the fear: what if we were too late? What if, after five weeks of searching, we found Cadence only to discover we'd failed her in the most fundamental way? I pushed the thought away. One step at a time. Find Blake. Get answers. Then find Cadence.
The Palace loomed ahead, its elegant facade hiding the corruption within. According to the public, it operated as anexclusive members-only club for the elite, with big events and galas. Even the not-so-secret sex club in the lower levels were probably more common knowledge than they should be. But it was the levels below that held the true horror. The lower basement, aptly named the Underground, transformed into something far darker, a playground for the wealthy and depraved, where anything could be bought for the right price. All this was owned by the bastard we were here to see.
Cole parked in the alley behind the building, away from the main entrance where we might be seen. None of us spoke as we exited the car. We'd been here before, many times, for Trivium functions and celebrations. Cole had practically grown up here, in those horror-filled levels. We knew the place well between us.
"If he's involved," Cole said quietly as we approached the service entrance, "if he has her..."
"Then we'll get her back," I finished for him, the promise like iron in my voice. "Whatever it takes."
The door was locked, but like that was going to stop us. Ryder pulled out a small black pouch that contained his lock-picking kit. I had no doubt that Blake would have nothing but the best security, but Ryder was also pretty adept at breaking even the most superior security systems. Except maybe today. I watched as he pulled out the tools, his hands shaking.
“You want one of us to do it?” I asked. He didn’t even glance back at me.
“Fuck you, Bale,” he spat as he got to work. I was about to respond, but a pointed look from Cole told me not to push it. I was already in enough shit with these two; I didn’t really have any high ground. But even with the tremor, Ryder had the door open in minutes, and we all made our way into the building.
The service corridor was dimly lit and deserted, the skeleton staff of Boxing Day morning nowhere to be seen. We moved silently, guided by memory and instinct toward Blake's private office on the upper level. For Cole, I knew, every step in this building was agony. The memories of what he'd endured here as a child, the abuse at the hands of men like Blake, would be pressing in on him from all sides. Yet his expression remained stoic, his steps steady. His strength humbled me, made my own self-indulgent breakdown seem even more pathetic by comparison.
We reached the ornate door to Blake's office without encountering anyone. No guards, no staff, no obstacles. It felt too easy, which only heightened my suspicion that we were walking into something planned. I exchanged a glance with Ryder and Cole. No words were needed. If Blake had Cadence, if he was responsible for her disappearance, then whatever awaited us on the other side of that door was worth facing. I didn't knock. Why extend a courtesy to a monster? Instead, I turned the handle and pushed the door open in one fluid motion, Cole and Ryder flanking me as we entered.
The scene that greeted us was both mundane and grotesque in its casualness. Dominic Blake sat behind his massive mahogany desk, one hand resting on the head of a young blond woman kneeling between his spread legs, her face obscured but her purpose unmistakable. He looked up at our entrance, not with surprise or alarm, but with the mild irritation of someone interrupted during a business call.
"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, making no move to stop the girl or cover himself. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"
The blonde kneeling between Dominic Blake's legs didn't even acknowledge our entrance. She kept bobbing her head, her movements mechanical as Blake's manicured hand rested possessively on her crown, guiding her rhythm. I felt bile rise in my throat. Not from the act itself, I'd seen far worse in this building, but from the casual display of power, the utterdisregard for our presence, for her humanity. For him, this was a power play. For her, another day serving the monsters who ran our world. I knew that feeling all too well.
Blake's eyes held no surprise as they flickered up to meet ours. Just mild irritation, as if we'd interrupted a business call rather than caught him with his cock in someone's mouth.
"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, making no move to stop or cover himself. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" My exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness that had been my constant companion for five weeks, suddenly crystallised into something harder. I'd spent my childhood in this place, on my knees just like that girl, servicing men like Blake. And here he was, continuing as if we weren't even there, as if the girl between his legs was furniture rather than a person.
"Stop," I said, my voice low but carrying enough authority to make the girl flinch. "Get out." The girl paused, uncertain, her shoulders tense with fear. Blake gave a slight nod, granting permission, and she scrambled to her feet, keeping her eyes down as she backed away from the desk. I caught a glimpse of her face as she darted past me, young, pretty in a forgettable way, and wearing an expression of naked relief that made my chest ache. She closed the door behind her, leaving us alone with the monster.
Blake casually tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. He leaned back in his leather chair, the picture of ease, though his eyes were calculating as they moved from me to Ryder to Logan.
"Well, well," he drawled, "What made you so keen on spoiling my Boxing Day work?"
"Is that what you call it?" Logan spat, his battered face contorted with disgust. He looked one wrong word away from leaping across the desk. "What would your wife think about youfucking the staff?" Blake's smile widened, genuine amusement in his eyes. "How do you think my wife and I met?" He gestured to the spot where the girl had been kneeling. "She was one of my best girls. Still is, in private." The casual admission was meant to unsettle us, to reinforce that in his world, everything, and everyone, was a commodity. I swallowed the rage that threatened to choke me. We needed information, not a brawl.
"Enough," Ryder snapped, stepping forward. His lean frame vibrated with barely controlled energy, his eyes too bright in his gaunt face. He hadn't slept properly in weeks; none of us had really. But Ryder was the worst, existing in a state of manic desperation that was becoming more unstable by the day. "I don't give a shit about your sex life. Where the fuck is Cade?" Blake's eyebrows rose, the first genuine reaction we'd got from him.
"Your Consort? Why would I know where she is?" He gestured around the ornate office as if the question was absurd. "You should keep better care of where you leave your things, boys." Logan moved so fast I barely had time to react, lunging across the desk with a snarl. I grabbed his arm, yanking him back before he could reach Blake's throat.
"You sick fuck," Logan growled, straining against my grip. "If you've touched her, I'll tear you apart."
"Where is she?" Ryder demanded, his voice cracking with strain. "Do you honestly expect us to believe you have nothing to do with this?" Our actions seemed to finally get through to Blake causing his smug grin to fall.
He leaned forward, studying us more carefully, taking in the dark circles beneath our eyes, Logan's battered face, Ryder's gaunt appearance, my rigid posture. The playful cruelty faded from his expression, replaced by something sharper.
"Where is your Consort?" he asked, his voice now deadly serious.
"As if you don't know," I said, still restraining Logan. "She was taken. Over a month ago." Blake's expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features, genuine surprise. I'd spent enough time with this man as a child to recognise when he was acting and when he wasn't. Right now, the shock in his eyes was real.
