“You’re a hard one to track down,” Jack Romney says with a hint of annoyance. “I’ve been searching for you all night.”
“In the wrong places, obviously.” I grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have a message from Daniel Etheridge,” he replies, his face stern.
“Do you, now?” I snort, then lift a shoulder. “Go on, then. Let’s hear it. I don’t have all night.”
“It’s not the kind of message you hear,” he says without a flinch.
My shoulders tighten, fist curls, peripheral vision brightens, fingers edge toward the weapon tucked under my jacket. All too late.
Thud.
Metal hits the top of my head, pain reverberating through my skull, before the earth spins and gravity takes me down. I drop in a puddle on the concrete. Copper-red liquid pouring out of my head.
My eyes blink rapidly in the rain as Jack Romney walks away without another word, followed by a second set of boots.
My third mistake, for those who are still counting, was trusting an Etheridge.
The bright headlights burn my pupils as the Bentley pulls out of the parking lot. Yet the only color I see is blue—the crystal glow of her eyes.
Daniel Etheridge better have killed me tonight.
If I wake up, his sister is going to pay with her blood.
13
EVA
“Caden settled right in,didn’t he?” Thea motions toward the grounds.
I look up from our bench, under the stripped autumn trees, fading from fire to ash, slowly shedding a carpet of amber leaves and pine cones at our feet.
“He certainly has.” I sigh.
Caden is standing in a circle with his new roommates—Nick Archibald and Chris Macintyre, the London golden boys I have known all my life from summers at Grandpa’s. My brother would get whisked away to a brunch or anotherlure-Daniel-into-Etheridge-Enterprisesevent, and I would get stuck in with the likes of Chris and Nick and their childish pranks.
They’re every inch the arrogant London blueprint with glossy smiles, spotless manners, and overflowing trust funds. But the grave concern I bear for my friend is not from them, it’s the silver-haired devious man perched on a Range Rover hood, at the other side of the circle—Hugo Pike. He’s Mason’s sidekick. The charmer of the group—more popular, more outgoing, and usually the center of attention of all Fort undergroundparties.
I’m sure Hugo was one of the masked men who grabbed me at The Vault. He was right beside Mason on the mezzanine that night. From his build and height, I think he was the Blue Mask.
Kingsden students work hard to get close to their circle, and here Caden is, simply invited in. On Mason’s direction, no doubt. Mason himself is nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t shown up on campus or been spotted at any venues around Fort for days. Wild rumors and speculations are floating around, but no one knows where he is.
Watching Caden make himself at home in Fort is extremely frustrating. Always hated that about him. He makes friends faster than a kid unwraps candy on Halloween. But this isn’t friendship. It’s a trap. I can feel it.
I mean, Mason was standing over him with a gun four nights ago. And that was the last night Caden spent at our flat. The next morning, he was at the top of the waiting list for residentials, and by that evening, he was in his new flat. Plain luck?
Nope—not buying it.
I munch my granola bar harder, watching them toss barbs back and forth, like they’ve been friends forever.
“What’s up?” Thea asks, looking at me suspiciously.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“Is this about Mason?”
I cough, choking on the grains. Thea hands me her bottle of water. I push the images out of my head before they color my cheeks, and take a big gulp.
