“The present for me that is a present foryou?”
“Yup.”
He opens the small bag and pulls out a fortune’s worth of jewelry—a pair of earrings made of a long chain of diamonds with a heavy onyx circle at the end, a heavy black bangle with a delicate flower inlaid in silver and diamonds, and last, a crown of onyx and ruby, stones stacked like bloody soldiers along the arch. “We took these for you last year. Well, most of them. Jansen stole the crown without the rest of us knowing. He’s promised to sneak them into evidence once the cops raid the estate so they can get repatriated. Until then, though…” He carefully coats me in expensive stolen jewels, saving the crown for last. “Walker says I’m a lucky bastard that it’s my birthday. He wanted to crown you queen. But we’ve all known that truth, almost since you walked through the door that hot summer day. You’re our queen. And we’ll live and die by your command.”
The weight of the metal settling into my newly buoyant hair matches the weight of his words.
Because they’re true. These men followed me into one dangerous plan after another to steal our future. None of us got out unscathed. They will follow me wherever I lead; I need to be careful. They’re too precious to be thrown into danger without reason. And it’s my job to remember that.
They’re mine to keep. To protect and play with. To lead and learn from. To love, no matter what.
Mine.
All mine.
Chapter 72
RJ
Clara’s hand in mine is birthday present enough, but Jansen’s been working on this party for days, and I’ve got to be a good enough friend to at least show up and enjoy myself.
The doorbell was ringing way too many times while I was getting ready, so I have no idea what all I’m going to find, but it’s probably not the small, quiet evening with some cake and a toast or two that I was imagining.
Prince Fluffington is waiting on the steps to the attic, and like he’s the maître d’, he leads us upstairs, his tail tick-tocking at the tip as he goes.
Soft music with a good beat bleeds out the doorway, and pushing it open, we find the same set-up we had for that ill-fated last poker night. One I missed entirely, because cops are dicks and Pops couldn’t stay away from the allure of a good bet. The mask messes with my vision a bit, but Iknew we couldn’t show up without fitting the theme. Jansen’s disappointment wouldn’t be worth it.
Sure enough, everyone else is wearing their masks, and I’m shocked at the intricacy of Walker’s work. We look like a collection of half-formed fairytale monsters. Beautiful and deadly.
Masks that show a truth we might not want to admit. Because we’re all both of those, even if the rest of us haven’t been tested the way Trips and Clara have been. There’s a sharpness in us all that wasn’t there before. The kind that only foolish people dare test.
Jansen bounds up, smothering Clara in kisses and twirling her, complimenting and teasing in equal measure. Her giggle is better than the music, and with a grin that says he knew exactly what he was doing, he spins her away from him and into Walker’s waiting arms.
Walker’s mask makes kisses difficult, but he touches his thumb to the middle of her blood-red lips, his intensity heavy between them. “A queen,” he whispers, and she presses her lips against his thumb, leaving a trace of red on it.
“But I’m still your princess, right?” she asks.
His body relaxes at the question. “Always, and forever.”
“Good.” She pops up to her toes and presses those lips against his cheek as well, and I can practically feel his heart swell with the motion. Although once she turns away, Jansen pantomimes about her boobs just being out there in that dress, and yeah. I didn’t miss that detail. And the slight flush visible under Walker’s mask says he didn’t miss that detail either.
Summer told us this was her dress. She was right, but I’m damn glad Clara’s not wearing it where any of the assholes at Trips’ father’s house could see her.
Not that any of us would stop her from going wherever she wants, dressed in whatever makes her feel good about herself. It’s her body. We just get to worship it.
Trips grabs her by both her elbows as she strides toward him, stopping her forward momentum with a start. His mask covers his mouth, the maw of some ferocious beast jutting out from his jaw. I wonder what he’s going to do, but then I remember he’s spent most of his life in a place where words are dangerous.
I’m still not sure I’ve forgiven him for what he did to Clara, but it’s clear she has. His palm cradles her cheek, and she leans into it. There’s something uncomfortably sweet in the way he looks at her. It’s an emotion I never would have figured the man capable of, but it’s there. He loves her, cares for her, trusts her. It’s not just some nascent responsibility toward her or a desire to protect her. It’s love, the all-encompassing, heart bleeding, horrifically vulnerable kind.
The same kind that’s infected all of us.
I’m still not sure he’s trustworthy. But if that look is worth anything, it’s clear he’ll do whatever he can to keep her safe, happy, and in one piece. And that’s a big step in the right direction.
She pushes past his hold, and he lets her. She ends up with her forehead pressed against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. His arms wrap around her, but his eyes dodge to me.
He knows wherewe left things.
He doesn’t think he’ll earn my forgiveness. He never thought he’d earn hers, but, well, there it is, in the way she melts into his hug.
