“And besides, Leeanne’s crew are the only Angelics with Proctus’s exact coordinates. They’re a group of handpicked individuals with special skills and assets, so naturally, Esther trusts them with the location. Leeanne is the only one who can take you there. With an influx of mercenaries and bounty hunters crawling around the western states, we have no choice but to wait.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re telling me that not one of you knows where the safe haven is?” My anger rises, and I feel Ezra’s grip tighten in warning.
“Not the exact location, no,” Ambrosia answers.
“It may seem flawed to you, but it’s worked for us—we’ve avoided countless confrontations. If we don’t have the exact location, our enemies won’t have the means to find us,” Matt says.
I say nothing, too pissed to utter a single word.
“We’re here.”
There’s some logic to this protocol, though it’s hard to believe no one’s thought to branch out and discover the haven’s location. Unless restrictions are heavily implemented, their process is flawed at best. Witnessing the Angelics in action firsthand wiped away the last bit of uncertainty I had. In the present, it’s obvious I was premature in my assumption. I want to put faith in these people who’ve helped us escape death, but Ezra and I have been through so much.
Matt turns into a driveway with rows of palm trees on each side. Some tropical-themed resort is to our right, an arena ahead, and a large sphinx perches in front of the Excelsior. I remember coming here with Mom years back—our attempt at avacation when the worst of my parents’ marriage came crashing down. It was intended to be a distraction, but the trip only postponed the inevitable. We didn’t know what would happen back then.
My heart pounds in my ears and blood rushes all over, muddling my senses. If I’m a mess, I can’t imagine how Ezra feels. He clutches his joggers, nothing but the embodiment of anxiety. I squeeze his bicep, offering a smile. He can barely manage one of his own.
“Trust us, please,” Mafu says.
The driveway veers to the left, stretching underneath the sphinx. This early in the day, the only activity is the line of cars and taxis ready to pick up guests checking out. Several valets tow bell carts sporting stacks of luggage to the awaiting vehicles. I spot the occasional security guard here and there. How many of these people are recidivists? Is it that easy to come and go or are these people merely a facade? Whatever the case, there are people, and lots of them. We have a missing person’s report looming over our heads. It’s a stretch saying they’d recognize us, but I can’t rule out that scenario altogether.
Ezra’s entire body is tense against mine. I move my hold from his bicep to entwine my fingers with his, hoping it’ll bring him some reassurance. His shivers soften.
Atlas watches from across the row. He could be staring into space, but that’s unlikely because his eyes trace in circular motions like they’re tracking a movement. My thumb over Ezra’s palm mimics the same motion. I swiftly divert my notice. Strange.
In front, Ambrosia shifts to take us in. She tugs her lips into a frown, subtly singling Ezra out.
“Mafu,” she says, “armor down. You’re coming with me to let them know we have arrived. Matt, stay here with the others.”
Matt nods as Mafu presses down on the emblem. His suit detracts, leaving the signature Angelic wings attached to his civilian attire. He hands it off to Matt, who stashes it with the others.
“Ezra, I need you to shift. There’s a slim chance you’ll be recognized, but you never know who’s watching,” Ambrosia tells him. “Alright, Mafu. Let’s go.”
Ezra didn’t tell the Angelics about his abilities, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Atlas said something.
Occupying the space next to me is a larger, thicker man. Tatum stares back with hazel eyes and a sculpted frame plucked from an art gallery. This variant is indeed handsome—all broad shoulders and bulging muscles—but it’s not Ezra. This variant is what he wishes he looked like. He didn’t need to say anything for me to figure it out. It breaks my heart that he’ll never see himself in the same light I see him. Having confessed my feelings for him now, I hope he’ll start to realize I love him. No facade will change that.
Ambrosia and Mafu disappear in the Excelsior. Moments later, they return with key cards in hand. The van shakes as they enter. Ambrosia presents six key cards, one for each of us, and disperses them. Ezra and I share the same number: 3.
“Matt and I will share a suite. Atlas, you’re with Mafu. And Ezra, you and Conin will be together.”
My face flushes. If anyone notices the beet red of my countenance, they say nothing of it. Ezra’s flustered, his cheeks hotter than mine. My heart races at a speed I won’t be able to slow, not as long as I stay next to him. It’ll be our first time sharing a bed since he and I admitted our feelings for one another. The thought of it sends eclectic jolts of electricity through my entire nervous system.
“Alright. Let’s move.”
We’re directed to the tower where we’ve been assigned penthouse suites on the upper floors. Ezra and I are on the very top, the room across from Mafu and Atlas. A grand suite greets us when we enter. Ahead is a glass wall, reflecting Las Vegas’s skyline. I gawk at the luxuriousness of our suite, much like the bunker in Eureka. There’s lots to soak in.
Ezra gravitates toward the bed. Exhaustion creeps at his eyelids where red, irritated lines have sheened over. How is it that he can still sleep? I had hoped we could discuss the idea ofus,and where we stand. How do we define our relationship after such a monumental kiss?
“Ez—”
“Co’, I know you want to talk about us. We will, but I’m tired. I’m . . . freaking out. I promise we’ll talk later. I just need sleep right now.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “I understand.”
He returns to himself, molding into the boy I love, and dives onto the bed, groaning as he sinks into the mattress.
“This feels heavenly.”
