“Knight is dragging his feet and using the outstanding charge and court closures for the holidays to keep Ballsack behind bars for now.”
I glance across the room to Simon at the bar, bottle of beer dangling between his fingers. “I’m sure he’s not happy about it.”
Killian follows my gaze. Simon looks bored, dangerous and very much alone. My son isn’t here with him tonight, and neither is his Duchess. “Nope.”
I turn so my back is to the party, voice dropping further. “My men have been mapping the city from underground. Every territory has access points. The tunnels aren’t random, they’re a network, but we’ve found that we’re not the only ones using them. It’s how the girls are on the street one minute and gone the next.” Killian’s forehead creases while I talk. “We’ve found a few other things, but I don’t want to discuss it here.”
Killian’s jaw tightens. “As soon as the holidays are over.”
Story returns to his side and Killian pulls her close immediately, kissing her temple, arm banding around her waist like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
The smile she gives me is guarded. “Baron King.”
I incline my head. “Lady.”
My eyes scan the crowd again–automatically searching for red velvet, for the flash of peacock sapphires in dark hair. “Where is she?”
“Arianette?” Story blinks. “She saw someone she knew and went to say hello.”
My heart rate kicks up hard. “What did he look like?”
“Young,” she says, frowning as she tries to remember. “I think it was one of your guys. I’ve seen him before.”
“One of my Shadows?” My mind reels. “But how would they get in? There’s a guest list.”
Story shrugs, but the room around me ceases to exist.
There’s one way to access closed spaces in Forsyth. One way to get in and out without being seen.
I spin, crowding Story, gloved hands snapping out to wrap around her upper arms. “What did he look like?”
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Killian growls, stepping forward fast. “Now, or it’ll be the last fucking thing you do.”
I release her instantly, but don’t step back. I’m not afraid of Killian, but there’s no time. “Tell me.”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” She glances at Killian, rattled. “Like I said, he looked familiar. From the Fury, maybe? Or around campus. I don’t know.”
“It’s not her fucking job to know,” Killian snaps at me, arm sliding protectively around her shoulders. “She’s probably in the can or having a smoke.”
Tristian has joined us now, frowning. “What the hell is going on?”
I feel the panic rising–clawing up my throat. She’s not in the restroom or smoking. Christ.
Simon appears at the edge of the group, bottle still in hand, making the circle feel suddenly too small. Caged.
“I need to find my wife,” I say, voice flat, eyes darting between the other Kings. “Immediately.”
Killian’s eyes hold mine, like he’s trying to determine if he wants to get involved, but ultimately he relents.
“Babe, go check the restroom.” Killian drags his gaze from mine to his Lady. “Please.”
“Of course,” she says. “Be right back.”
The mask feels tighter than it should, the metal suddenly suffocating against my skin. I force my breathing to stay even, force the tremor out of my hands. Control. I have to maintain control. If I lose it now, if I let the rage and fear spill over, I’ll only make this worse. She’s probably just overwhelmed. Stepped away to catch her breath. Hiding in a quiet corner because the crowd, the lights, the eyes on her finally became too much.
That’s what I tell myself.
That’s what I have to believe.
