Gabe bolts upright, sending Queen Boudica flying. She lands on her feet, shoots Gabriel a filthy look, and stomps off to her cat castle.
“You can’t. Antony said we shouldn’t leave the property. What if the shooter—”
“Antony’s not the boss. In this house, I’m queen.” Gabriel doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll be careful, I promise. We’ll take Tiberius with us, how about that? That leaves you with Horace for protection. And Queen Boudica – she’ll scare away anyone who dares come close.”
“Tell me about it.” Gabriel holds up his hand. His perfect skin is crisscrossed with tiny cuts. “You’ve taught her well, Claws. What’s that line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?Though she be but little, she is a sadist who will claw your eyes out.But what’s going on? Why would you leave if we don’t know it’s safe?”
Because I’m sick of being treated like a helpless little lamb. I’m not the lamb. I’m the wolf, and I need to this bastard to fear me more than he hates me.
“Noah and I have found something that might give us answers, and I’m not letting Antony do all the dirty work when we can help.” Gabriel reaches for his jacket, but I plant my hand against his chest, forcing myself to ignore the heat that sizzles along my arm. “Iwantyou with me, but this is something Noah needs to do on his own. Your job is to hang out with my cat. She’s a needy bitch.”
Gabriel gives me a shaky smile. Queen Boudica leaps from the top of her turret into his arms, and he hugs her to his chest. “I take it Antony knows nothing about this plan? Claudia August asks for forgiveness, not permission?”
I pretend to think. “I’ve never asked for forgiveness in my life.”
15
Eli
Maria waits with me while I sober up. She stops asking me about why I’ve come to Everlasting Hart Ranch, why I’m drunk, why I don’t have my phone, or why I don’t want to go back to Emerald Beach. She just sits and pats my knee, and it’s fucking heartbreaking because I love her so much and I feel like a disappointment.
I follow Maria home in my car with Gizmo napping on the passenger seat, her belly round with mice from the barn. I allow myself one last look over my shoulder at the crumbling remains of my father’s folly.
As Maria exits onto the freeway into the city, I debate pulling off and losing her. But what’s the point? There’s no escaping my legacy, not even out here in the desert. I see Mackenzie in every beam of golden sunlight, in the sparkling water of the lake.
Back in the city, I pull into the garage and park. Gizmo rolls over sleepily, stretching out a paw to bat my leg. “Mew?”
“I know, you want to go back to the mouse smorgasbord. I don’t blame you.” I carry her upstairs to my bedroom and set down some food for her. My room is exactly as I left it – the walls stripped bare of all my posters and flags, the windows wide open in an attempt to air out the fresh paint smell. A few days ago I got around to painting over Mackenzie’s message in an ice blue, the exact color of her eyes.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME
She made me wretched with guilt that day, and it’s not even true. I owe her nothing. She’s not Mackenzie. The face I picture before I fall asleep is a mirage.
So why am I letting her get inside my head?
I debate not going downstairs for dinner, but if I don’t, Mom will come up here, yelling and ranting. The last time she came into my room, she smashed a lampshade and terrified Gizmo. I couldn’t coax her out from beneath the bed for a week.
So I shower and change into a fresh shirt and slacks. My fingers itch to text Noah and check that everything’s okay, but then I remember Claudia’s cousin smashed my phone.
I remember that nothing will be okay again.
I leave Gizmo in my room with some cat treats and drag my ass downstairs. There’s soft jazz music playing in the formal wing of the house. Mom stands behind the drinks cart, one hand patting her blonde curls, as she tosses her head back with laughter. Beside her, a man pours martinis into our finest crystal glasses.
Yeah, this can’t be good.
“Eli, honey.” Mom beckons me with a manicured finger like I’m a performing pig. “Don’t be a wallflower. Come and greet our guest.”
She’s laying on the Southern charm thick tonight, letting the twang I thought she’d dropped completely back into her voice. I swallow and take a step forward. My legs are made of lead, but I manage to drag myself toward them.
Who is this guy?
My mom has had a steady string of lovers ever since Dad went to prison. That’s not new – she was playing around even before the reality TV crews moved in. But she’d never been brazen enough to bring one of her men into our house or to seat him at the table in Dad’s chair.
I don’t like this.
“Eli, this is Nero Lucian. He works in the entertainment industry. Nero, this is my son, Elias. He’s seventeen and he attends Stonehurst Prep, where he’s the student council president, captain of the track team and the debate team, as well as a top student.”
I don’t like my life being reduced to a list of achievements to impress this guy who… who the fuck evenishe? Nero holds out his hand to me. The expensive fabric of his pinstripe suit tugs across broad, muscled shoulders. His neck is all muscle, and when he squeezes my hand, he crushes my fingers in an iron grip. There’s a hint of malice in his friendly eyes, and his smile is all teeth and gums.
