“I’m not sure I want to further incur the wrath of Noah, in addition to all the other enemies I made.” I tear my gaze from his and rub my arm, where the words ‘I AM MACKENZIE MALLOY’ were still visible on my skin. I’d be scrubbing myself raw tonight to get the rest of it off before cheerleading trials.
Worth it.
“I’ll protect you. I’m not Noah’s bitch.” Gabriel’s face lights up with that wicked grin – the one that promised all sorts of delightful and filthy shenanigans. “I do what I want, and I want us to go to this party together.”
“I’ll go on one condition.”
“Mmmm?” Gabriel tilts his head to the side. A lock of dark hair falls over his eye, and I think I might swoon.
“I’m not talking about where I’ve been the last four years. Don’t ask. Don’t ply me with alcohol or tell me sob stories about Dylan in an attempt to make me talk. Mention my past, and I’m gone. Got it?”
“Oh, phew.” Gabriel pretends to wipe sweat off his brow. “And here I was thinking you wanted me to do somethingtaxing, but ignoring deep-rooted emotional trauma to clear the path for superficial fun? That’s my specialty. It would be an honor to have you as my never-talk-about-anything-serious-again date. Now, this is a costume party. You got any ideas?”
I rub my hands together. “Fallen, you and I are going to overthrow kings.”
22
Mackenzie
Rich people must go to a ton of fancy-dress parties, because my so-called mother has an entire bay of her extensive closet dedicated to glittering costumes. Not a single one of them contains enough fabric. I try on several different options before settling on a gold gladiator costume with a skirt so short an anime schoolgirl would raise her eyebrows.
I surprise myself by how annoyed I am at its lack of historical accuracy. I’m a gladiator, and I don’t even have a weapon. At least I could do something about that. I hunt through a closet behind the sauna filled with unused sports gear until I find a small fishing net. I pull the end of the handle off and hide my knife inside.
Outside, in the groundskeepers shed, I find an old gardening pitchfork. I wipe off the dust and spiders and spray-paint it and the net gold to match my outfit. It’s still not historically accurate, but when I add gold spike-heeled sandals that lace up my thighs, I know I look fierce.
Plus, if anyone says shit to me, I’ll stab ’em through with my trident.
I sneak out through the maintenance shed and wait on the corner of Santa Casilda Drive for Gabriel to pick me up in his Jaguar Mark 1. Such an obnoxious Brit. He’s dressed as Julius Caesar in a purple-edged toga, with stems of laurel twisted through his hair. Tattoos encircle every inch of his exposed skin, and I swallow a lump of desire as I take him in.
Gabriel’s eyes rake over my body as I slide into the seat next to him, propping my trident and net between my legs. “What’s the net for?”
“I’m aretiarius. It’s a type of Roman gladiator who fought in the ring using a trident and net.”
“I thought you were trying for a sexy Poseidon or something. Fishing ain’t hot.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “It is when I do it.”
Gabriel tosses his head back and laughs. When he pulls his chin in again, he looks kind of shocked, like he hasn’t laughed in so long he’s forgotten what it felt like. He pulls me close, his arm around me, his fingers dancing ghosts along my bare arm.
“Well, sexy Poseidon, are you ready to cast that net?”
I nod. Gabriel’s eyes linger on mine, his face close, some internal battle raging inside him. My breath hitches. Is he going to… but he draws back and, with a cheeky grin, guns the engine.
Gabriel drives exactly the way I expect – like speed limits don’t apply to him, like he’s forgotten which side of the road Americans drive on. We pull up at an impressive mansion on Beaumont Hill – spread over three levels with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across the emerald water. Bodies crowd the downstairs rooms and spill out onto the balconies and gardens. There are more people here than go to our school, I’m sure of it.
Inside, it’s wall to wall people. I recognize classmates but also faces from magazines – Instagram influencers, teen movie stars, reality TV hosts. The party spills out through sliding glass panels around an infinity pool with views over a sprawling tropical garden.
I grip Gabriel’s arm as he leads me up a wide, floating staircase made of exposed steel to the second floor. Here, the entire wall of the house is glass that retracts into the wall. At one end of the balcony, a DJ spins hard house music while on the other, two bartenders shake cocktails. For a seventeen-year-old’s party.
This is insanity.
I’ll take two.
We stand in line for the bar. I have no idea what to order, but there seem to be only two options – a pink thing or a blood-red thing. Gabriel makes small talk with the bartender while he mixes us two pink things in highball glasses. Gabriel has this ease about him, finding conversation with anyone he comes across. I wonder again why he’s decided to fixate on me.
I don’t belong here.
On the surface, I appear to fit in – my golden gladiator costume looks like it came from the same store as the sexy devil in the corner or the slutty Tardis dancing with a masked Dr. Who. I even see a blonde in the corner striking a pose with a minor film star, her naked body painted gold, a crusader’s sword gripped between her fingers. An Academy Award.Gag me with a rusty fishhook.
