Page 17 of Freedom’s Inferno

Chuck

The tux fit, but it didn’t belong to me. I tugged at the collar again, hoping the fabric itself might loosen and let me breathe. Wearing Richard’s clothes was like stepping into a skin I’d never wanted, and a role I didn’t believe in.

I combed my fingers through my hair, catching my reflection in the glass of the grandfather clock. The pendulum swung steady, indifferent, counting down seconds I didn’t feel I had.

The jacket pulled at my shoulders, stiff and foreign, reminding me with every breath that I didn’t belong in it. I didn’t belong at a gala, either. Not with men who measured worth by inheritance and women who could smell an outsider before the champagne went flat. I’d play the part, stand at Lana Blackwell’s side, and smile where Richard used to smile. But every polished surface reflected the truth: I was an imposter in another man’s world. I may have been the other half of Blackwell Sterling, but my name came second for a reason. I was never meant to be the face of the business.

Under it all, the drumbeat of panic hammered in my chest. Damian Costa’s name pounded at the edge of my thoughts. Twenty million gone and the noose tightening by the day. I wasn’t going to find salvation in cocktails and small talk.

The creak of the staircase pulled me from my spiral, and my gaze lifted.

There she was. Lana Blackwell.

A black gown clung to her curves, crafted for her alone, the sweep of fabric cutting a sharp line with every step. Her hair was pinned high, crystals threaded through it, catching the light and scattering it back at me in a thousand tiny sparks.

She looked… otherworldly.

The way my chest tightened when I saw her filled me with disgust. For one, stupid, selfish heartbeat, I forgot about the missing money, about Costa, and about Richard rotting in the ground. All I could think was how fucking incredible she looked, and how much I despised myself for it.

“What?” she asked, a rosy blush sweeping across her cheeks as she paused at the bottom of the stairs.

I worked to relax my jaw, clearing my throat. “Nothing. Just… You look like that fucking red-headed vampire from Twilight.”

Lana blinked several times, her features bunching in confusion. “You watched Twilight?”

My guts tightened as embarrassment flushed my face. “Everyone watched Twilight,” I protested, but inside I cursed myself for it. I was fifteen years old when the first Twilight book was released. I’d never admit that not only did I read them, I devoured them. “You know what, nevermind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Lana said, amusement lighting her features.

Fuck me for giving her that satisfaction.

The front door clicked shut behind us, the night air cooler than I expected. The driveway stretched out ahead, empty but for my bike and the gleaming Lexus Lana insisted on taking. Apparently riding a motorcycle in a tuxedo and evening gown was a faux pas.

She moved ahead of me, heels sharp against the pavement, the sweep of her black gown catching in the porch light. The crystals in her hair glittered like distant stars, each one of them mocking me for looking too long.

“Give me the keys,” I muttered.

She tossed them to me without a complaint. “Only because I don’t want to drive in these shoes.”

Richard’s shadow loomed in every window of the house at my back. My skin prickled with the certainty of his eyes on me, even now. We climbed into the car together, the leather seat creaking under me.

The scent of Lana’s perfume was distracting in the confined space. Her profile was lit by the dash, and I found myself studying the perfect line of her jaw and the calm on her face. She looked every bit the grieving widow turned queen of the night. I just looked like a man wearing his dead friend’s suit.

“So,” she began, as I pulled out of the driveway. “Are you team Edward or team Jacob?”

“You don’t get to say ‘neither team’, you have to pick a team!” Lana hissed, slamming the passenger side door.

I crossed around, passing the keys to the valet. “They’re both pedophiles, Lana. Edward is a hundred-year-old corpse stalking high school girls, and Jacob literally robbed the cradle.”

She scoffed, like I’d offended her. “Edward is devoted. He loves Bella enough to walk away for her safety.”

We were two steps from the door when I halted, my body snapping taut, my easy stride cut short as though I’d walked into an invisible wall. Slowly, I turned to her, jaw set.

“There is no such thing,” I said, tone hard. “When you love someone, Lana, when you’re devoted, leaving isn’t an option. You become the ground they stand on, the breath they take. You become their safety.”

Lana stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

My heart throbbed. I didn’t know what came over me, only that something she said had pulled a trigger I didn’t realize I had. My breath came out in visible puffs in the night air, a little faster than I wanted it to.