Authors: Payne,Angel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance
Before I can fathom what she means
this
time, she grabs the TV remote, clicking the monitor to life.
And makes me wonder if I really shouldn’t have punched the thing.
Ella fills the screen.
She’s radiant. Her hair is full and lustrous, her cheeks pink and rosy, her lips glossed and shiny…and smiling. A flowered dress with a scoop neck displays her cleavage to groan-inducing perfection.
The only thing hanging from her neck is a single strand of pearls.
The only other jewelry she wears is a ring on her left finger. A diamond ring…the size of a small goose egg.
My mind…
derails.
The remaining carnage of my heart slides in from my sleeve—
where it freezes…
hardens…
into a thousand knives, instantly turning in.
Scooping out everything that has ever made me whole.
Or human.
Or sane.
“What…the…”
I hear the words but they aren’t mine. How can they be, when my humanity has been stolen by the dark-haired, slimy-grinned shithead of a male now sitting in the Arcadian sun, next to the woman of
my
world?
Not just touching her.
Holding her.
Owning her.
Somebody else speaks now. A female. Not Prim or Mom. She’s talking inside the screen. A newscaster of some sort.
“Earlier today, gossip ’net darling Mishella Santelle spoke exclusively to our cameras, to confirm the rumors
are
true. Tomorrow, she’ll walk down the aisle to say ‘I do’, Arcadian island style, with the Sancti Palais courtier who swept her off her feet in the wake of the island’s Grand Sancti Bridge disaster. After everything the Arcadians have been through in the last week, the fairytale nuptials will be a joyous celebration for all.”
“Fuck.”
Mom takes the snarl right out of my mouth. Not that the cotton replacing my spit will hand over anything but nausea right now.
“Zandyr Carris, the youngest member of Arcadia’s High Council and a trusted advisor to King Evrest, has apparently received the full approval of
Maimanne
and
Paipanne
Santelle—”
“I
bet
he has.” The cotton gives me that much.
“—but it makes us all wonder: What about Cassian Court?”
The bile returns, twice as disgusting.
Mom takes her profanity to new levels of filth—and I gladly let her—as the program starts its “Cassian Loves Mishella” scrapbook.
“Wall Street’s prince of passion returned from a whirlwind business trip to Arcadia just under two months ago, and destiny seemed to smile on his equally passionate pursuit of Mishella.” The pictures cascade over the screen, from candid shots of our first outing together at the Literacy Ball to goofy pictures from our afternoon in Times Square, posing with the costumed crazies and indulging in tacky tourist food. “But was the ‘Court’-ing just a smoke screen? Perhaps a way to make Demeter jealous? Was the Arcadian compelled to take action when she rushed back to the island—in Cassian’s private jet, no less—after the successful terrorist attack on Sancti? And what does Cassian himself think about all this? Manhattan’s eligible bachelorettes are eagerly awaiting the word, ready and willing to help the golden-haired god lick his wounds.”
“Lick my…”
The syllables are harsh with fury. I rope the shit back by clenching a fist, though I’m unable to close the other. A tumbler of whiskey has somehow appeared in my hand.
A lot
of whiskey.
I hurl the glass against the wall.
Gabriel moves back. Smart man.
Prim and Mom surge forward. Not so smart. I brush them back, spreading my arms, while refocusing on the screen. The program has switched back to Ella and Demeter—and like the lovesick fuck I am, I need to listen.
To watch her.
And wonder.
Why?
Armeau.
Gift.
Raismette.
Reason.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The refrain won’t stop. Somehow, in some fucked-up way, I know it’s true—even as I listen to her gush on and on about Zandyr.
How he loves making her tea in the morning…
“You drink
coffee
in the morning.” I whisper it, reaching for her image.
How he rubs the back of her legs after they go running…
“You hate running. And your knees are ticklish.”
How they like watching scary movies together…
“You hate horror more than you hate running.”
By this point, I’ve joined every acne-covered fifteen-year-old in the pining losers’ club. With my shoulders slumped and my gaze raised, I am nearly nose-to-nose with the bottom edge of the monitor.
And Prim steps up, standing right next to me. Her face is lifted too—but a different energy permeates her mien. An intensity…
No.
A worry.
I stare between her and the monitor. Even harder now, as she shoves her dreadlocks back with both hands. With fingers locked at the back of her head, she rasps, “Something’s…not right.”
The cotton in my mouth congeals into mud. Slowly, I nod. I think. I’m too wrapped up in looking at Ella.
In
looking
at her.
Radiance. It was my first impression when beholding her in the Arcadian sun, so damn far away. And the impression still applies—
To terrifying degrees.
Her gaze, usually darting a thousand directions, is fixated solely on the side of Demeter’s neck. Her smile, always alive and quick as her wit, is pasted in a dreamy curve. Her posture, never surrendering an inch of dignity or regality, is an unthinking sideways slump.
No.
Not unthinking.
She’s damn near unconscious.
“Holy. Shit.” Prim nearly sobs it. I’m tempted to join her. Instead I lift both hands to the edge of the mantel and grip until my arms shake. Splinters come loose beneath my thumbs. The recognition hits us both at once. Like a goddamn kick to the ribs.
I finally force the words out. “She’s completely spun.”
“Out of her fucking mind.”
“Huh?” Mom blurts.
“She’s high,” Prim supplies. “Fried. Baked. Tripping out.”
“On…drugs?”
I flinch. There’s no use telling her that treating the word like glass won’t make it cut like a slab of the shit.
“
What
?” Gabe rushes forward, followed by Hodge. Gapes at the screen along with us. “God
damn
. You’re right.”
“Damn right I’m right.” I haven’t just seen this nightmare before. I’ve lived it. Watched it drive someone I love to suicide—right in front of my eyes. But Gabriel doesn’t know that, and never will. What he needs to know is exactly what I growl next. “
She
hasn’t agreed to marry that buffoon at all. The drugs have.”
He peers again at the monitor. Shakes his head in disbelief. “Can you tell what she’s on?”
I move my shoulders in a shadow of a shrug. Rage prevents it from getting fully there. And disbelief. And despair. “Probably a cocktail,” I grate. “Designed to make her look and act like the perfect, willing bride.”
“Are you shitting me? Why? Who would do something like this?”
I push from the mantel, embracing the chance to form full fists. Propelling one of them through the monitor isn’t an option anymore. I need to keep looking at the surreal evidence, supporting my answer. “Selyna and Fortin Santelle.”
His eyes bug so wide, I actually see the dark brown in them. “Her
parents
?”
Mom sinks to the loveseat. Prim joins her, looking like I feel. Stunned. Afraid. Wondering what the fuck alternative universe we’ve just been thrust into.
I need to move. To do something.
Now
.
A march across the room takes me to the plastic bag of personal items returned to me on discharge from MCC. My phone is inside but dead; a week—hell, sometimes an hour—without recharge will do that to my device. I welcome the chance to rush to the home office and jam a charging cord into it.
I’m not sure what to feel about the frantic stream of texts and voice mail alerts.
The texts are from Doyle.
:: Arcadia departure delayed. Ella didn’t show up at the plane. ::
:: Ella’s location unknown. Brooke missing too. On alert. Searching. ::
:: Girls still gone. Foul play suspected. Samsyn has called higher alert. ::
:: Brooke back. Fine and unharmed but can’t remember shit. Ella still missing. ::
There’s a delay in the messages. Two days’ worth.
:: Insanity happening. Fuck fest of the worst degree. Laith and the plane have left; I’ve decided to stay. Where are you? ::
Another delay. One day.
:: Things beyond bizarre. Ella’s at the Santelle villa; not accepting visitors. Fortin and Selyna up to fuckery. I feel it. CALL ME. ::
I burn to do just that. Force myself to tap on the voice mails first—all from Brooke. The first message is timestamped from four days ago.
Beep
.
“Cassian? Ess Brooke Cimarron. Sorry for dah slurs. Still out of it a little. But you—you have to know wha’s going on. Fortin…Selyna…they got to Vy. Used her as a decoy, to get us to stop on the way to the airport, then—then—
God
—
shit
—they drugged me, Cassian. Syn had the docs do tests. It was GHB, Cas. Liquid X, right into my neck. I—I don’t remembah anything, until waking up back here. Mishella—she wasn’t with me. We think those fuckers still have her. God, Cassian! I’m so scared—”
I end that call. My gut can’t take the rest.
Beep.
“Cassian. Brooke again. Dammit; where
are
you? You didn’t answer yesterday, so I’m assuming the legal red tape is thick. As soon as you get this,
call me.
”
Beep.
“Cassian, things have gone from bad to worse. Goddammit, they need to let you out and you need to call me back—
as soon as possible.
Syn sent out a special recon team. They’ve confirmed the Santelles still have Mishella. They’re—they’re keeping her ‘docile’. What does that even mean?
Call me
as soon as you get this.”
Before pushing into the next beep, I rise and start to pace.
Screw that. I start to stalk.
Beep.
“Cassian…if you don’t get this soon, it’s going to be too late. The Santelles made their move. Had their contract with you revoked, based on your arrest—then immediately filed for a marriage license with the High Council. This asshole is
on
the High Council, so it was expedited and passed before the Cimarrons could blink. His name is Zandyr Carris, and he looks like a mobster with stock interest in Bryl Creem. Cassian—dammit—the wedding is day after tomorrow!”
I increase my pace. Battle the lust to crawl out of my skin and turn into raw energy, in order to transport to Arcadia this second.
The torment only worsens after the next tone.
Beep.
“Okay, forget calling me back. If you get this before Saturday, just put your ass back on a plane and get back here.
Please,
Cassian!”
I turn. Stab the button to disconnect the line. The hundred-plus other voice mails can wait.
Everything
else can wait.
Because nothing is more important than the call I activate now.
After one ring, a bewildered voice with a Duran Duran accent picks up. “Mr. Court?”
“Laith.” I skip the normal banter about his cycling club, his boxing class, and his current level in
Overwatch.
“What’s your twenty?”
“I can be at Teterboro in half an hour.”
“Make it twenty. I need the flight plan logged and wings up before bottom of the hour.”
“And if the plan isn’t approved on Sancti’s end?”
“Then make sure you pack the diving parachutes too.”
“Aces.” There’s a smirk in his assenting accent—and I’m sure I hear him humming before he disconnects.
Hungry Like the Wolf
.
Fucking perfect.
And now, a perfect match for the growl cutting across the room at me.
Gabriel, looking ready to pull a full wolf act in his own right, hurls a scathing glower. “Did—you—just—”
I open a drawer. Yank out a portable charger then switch my phone to the new tether. “Sure as hell did.” I return the glare as he stomps into my path. “Gabe, I do
not
want to break your pretty face.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?”
“Are you hard of hearing?” I jerk up both brows. Dig deep to find composure. Every mile between here and Arcadia is now like a huge abyss. The sooner I get out of here, even a few steps closer to getting back my sun, the better. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
Gabriel lets me shove past but catches me by a shoulder. Whirls me back around while muttering through a growl, “Are her parents really responsible for this bullshit?”
I compress my lips. “They make the Lannisters look like Ozzie and Harriet.”
His own mouth tightens. His stare swings to the side, a mess of conflict. “Dammit, Cas.”
I spread my arms. “I just have to go pick up a special sundry.”
On an island in the middle of the Mediterranean.
“I’ll be right back, honey. I promise.”
Prim appears in the doorway. She still looks shell-shocked, but a smile tugs at her lips. It widens as Hodge steps up—and wraps arms around her from behind.
Well, well, well.
She holds up a plastic bag. “I packed lemon bars. They’re Ella’s favorite too.”
After dipping a soft kiss to her forehead, Hodge looks back up to me. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Nods at the monitor around my ankle. “Disabling that will take about five to ten…depending on how rusty I am.”
Prim drags a hand through his dark hair but keeps staring at me. “Bring her home safe, dork face.”
“You bet your ass.” I shoot another look between the two of them, filled with a secondary message.
You two have some shit to tell me, don’t you
?
They respond with knowing smiles, though that’s all the moment allows before Gabe strides up again. “As your lawyer, I can’t condone this.”
I rock back on my heels, contemplating that for an extended second. “Hmmm.”
He glowers harder. “Hmmm?”
“Then you’re fired.”