Awesome. My mom is in baby heaven lately. Kai’s mom, Vittoria, and her happily walking the streets of Thunder Bay and buying all the things for their grandsons. I’m surprised Ivarsen doesn’t have a car already. You know, just for when he’s ready.
“Where’s Winter?” I ask her.
“Probably getting Damon-ed in the back seat of a car. She’ll be here.”
I snort. I think Winter lets him do anything he wants as much as he wants during this time, because she can’t get pregnant if she’s already pregnant.
“And Michael?” Alex chimes in.
“On his way,” I reply.
Alex lifts up her head, and I stop rubbing her. “So…” She looks at Banks. “You and Kai.” And then to me. “You and Michael. And Damon and Winter, and…”
“Misha and Ryen,” I offer. They’ll be here, because Misha is Will’s cousin, so we have business he wants to be involved in.
“Misha and Ryen,” she repeats absently. “And what am I supposed to do while everyone else takes ‘breaks’ tonight?”
She put “breaks” in air quotes as if she won’t get any hot, little downtime, too.
Oh, who will she find to play with?
“There’s a full crew,” I assure her.
Her eyes go wide.
“And David and Lev will be boarding with Damon,” Banks adds.
She gasps and then her face scrunches up into a delighted squeal. “It’s like Christmas and my birthday together.”
I ruffle her hair and roll her over, giving her quick pecks on the nose and cheek. “We got you. Don’t worry.”
She laughs, and Banks and I hop off the bed, heading for the door.
“Eight o’clock,” I tell Alex, grabbing my AirPods and phone off the dresser.
She still lays in bed but gives me a thumbs up as she pulls her phone off the charger. I hesitate a moment, watching her and realizing that no matter how many people are in her life, there’s something about her that always seems alone.
Banks and I leave, closing the door and walking down the corridor. She stops at her and Kai’s cabin. “Eight o’clock,” she says and pushes open her door.
I unlock my phone, already speed-dialing. “See you soon.”
And I hold the phone to my ear, taking the stairs up to bridge deck.
The line rings twice before I hear Mr. Lyle’s voice. “Ms. Fane,” he says.
“Hi,” I tell him. “Take this info, please.”
There’s silence, and then I hear him again. “Okay, ready.”
“Alexandra Zoe Palmer, apartment 1608 at Delcour. Find her freshman year college roommate,” I instruct. “And the woman’s boyfriend that year, as well. Possibly a student at Yale at the time. I want the works by tomorrow.”
“Got it.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and step onto the bridge. I probably shouldn’t pry in Alex’s life, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to yet. At least if I do, I’ll be ready.
George Barris stands at the helm, going through his checklist and his first mate Samara Chen works at her station. I see faxes spitting out of the machine and I tear them off, reading them.
Pithom has a satellite weather system, but the captain likes to double up on precaution. Which is good.
I look over the weather reports and nod, satisfied. “You can take us out of the harbor,” I tell him, starting to leave again. “Drop anchor about a mile out, and we’ll wait for Mr. Crist.”
“Yes, Ms. Fane.”
I leave the papers for them and start to exit the bridge, but I stop, staring out the port-side window and seeing the stewards carrying a couple of suitcases on board. Someone else has arrived. A light layer of sweat cools my back and my stomach knots, but I know it’s not Michael. He won’t be in from Seattle for a couple hours.
Heading out, I descend the stairs to the owner’s deck again, and make my way through the sitting area. I stop and pick a few pieces of prosciutto and cheese off the platter and stuff a slice of meat into my mouth.
I walk out to the sun deck, the dying light behind us, and see Damon standing at the edge of the boat looking down at the darkening water.
His eyebrows are pinched, and I cup my food in my hand, leaning against a column and watch him as I chew. The last time I stood where he stands, Will was in the water with a cinderblock tied to his ankle and Trevor was trying to kill me. Will and I were almost lost that night.
“Sometimes,” Damon says, breaking the silence. “I let my mind wander enough, and it always comes back here.”
He breathes hard, staring at the water as I stick a cube of cheese in my mouth.
“Except Michael doesn’t catch him, and you never come up.”
He turns and sits on the ledge, sliding his hands into his pockets and our eyes meet.
I see our mother in him now. A lot.
I didn’t before. The way his eyes go big and round, and it takes a moment to be sure whether or not they’re happily surprised or pissed off. The way he says what he wants and doesn’t like to lie. The way they both hate being alone.
What an amazing thing time is. Three years ago, I thought I was going to die on this boat, him the last person I saw or talked to. I’d never been more scared.
Now, there’s hardly a day that goes by where I don’t speak to him or need him.
“You know…” I approach him.
He lifts his head, listening.
But I don’t continue. I take a breath, let out a sigh, and…shoot out, shoving him hard in the chest.
His eyes go big, he flails, and the next thing I know, he’s lost his footing and tips over the side of the yacht.
“Shit! Fuck!” rings out as he plummets.
His body hits the water ten feet down, a big splash as he disappears under the surface.
I stare down and pop another cold cut into my mouth, chewing. Did he land on his shoulder? How do you land on your frickin’ shoulder?
He pops up through the surface, splashing and sputtering as he pushes his hair back over his head and glares up at me. I fight not to smile.
Water hangs on his eyelashes and lips, and I’ve never seen two more pissed-off eyebrows. “You little shit!” he bellows.
“Okay, yes, that was harsh. I admit it,” I tell him, teasing. “But it was only fair. I almost died that night, Damon.”
“Get your ass in here, and I’ll show you what death looks like!”
“Are you crazy?” I pick up another piece of cheese. “That water’s really cold.”
He growls and swims for the back of the boat, and I finally let myself laugh as I grab a towel for him. He looks so vulnerable.
Walking down the stairs, I watch as he hops up onto the back of the yacht and stands up, his white dress shirt and black pants sticking to his body.
But his hair looks good.
I bite back my smile and hold out the towel.
“Piss off.”
But he snatches it from my hand anyway.
What a baby. I guess some people can only dish it out.
“You know that guilt I was feeling a minute ago?” he blurts out. “It’s all gone now.”
“Good.” I nod once. “We have bigger things to deal with tonight anyway.”
He seethes, drying off his hair and face and kicking off his shoes.
“Everyone in?” I hear someone call. “We’re ready to shove off.”
I look up at the captain, standing up on the bridge deck.
I give him a wave. “We’re ready.”
Damon and I climb the stairs again and walk across the sun deck as the engines start purring a little louder.
“Is Michael here?” he asks.
“He’s coming.” I dump out the rest of my uneaten food and grab a bottle of water. “I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”
I move around the bar, ready to head to my cabin to shower, but Damon grabs my arm.
I stop, meeting his dark eyes.
“Everything on the table tonight
,” he commands. “Everything.”
My heart skips a beat, and my muscles, relaxed a moment ago, start to tighten and strain again.
But I nod in agreement. “I know.”
As the yacht moves out into the darkening Atlantic and the stars light the night sky, nothing but Damon’s words play in my mind over the next two hours. Everything on the table. I shower, I dress, and I barely have the stomach to think about anything else, other than what’s going to happen in the next hour. Or the next four hours.
Or tomorrow.
Everything hinges on tonight.
I put on my lipstick, and the faint sound of propellers echo in the distance as dread sits on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I look up at my ceiling, turning my eyes toward the sound of the helicopter above descending onto the yacht.
Michael is here.
The bells chime eight, all the clocks in the cabins singing the hour, as well as a faint dong of the tower clock in the wine room carrying through the corridors of the yacht.
Michael didn’t come to find me when he arrived. I leave my room, taking my phone, silent of any texts or calls I thought he’d send when I wasn’t in our cabin. It’s for the best, though. It’s why I decided to get ready in another part of the boat, other than the place we share. I don’t want to see him until I go in there. I’ll lose my nerve.
Ryen, Misha’s girlfriend, steps through their door, followed closely by him, and she looks over at me coming her way.
I smile, unable to stop my eyes from trailing down her body. She wears a tight black dress, falling about mid-thigh, with black heels that make me feel a little short. Misha turns to me, wearing a tailored black suit, minus the tie, and no matter what Damon says about his tattoos, they really do go with everything.
We’re all in black, and I almost laugh. I’m glad it’s understood that tonight is for a power color.
He holds out his hand, waving me by. “Lead the way,” he says.
I walk ahead, feeling them follow me. Alex’s door opens as I pass by, and I see her fall in with Misha and Ryen as the four of us head toward the bow, under the sun deck and deeper into the ship.
Glass walls shimmer with the firelight from the sconces, and I turn into an open doorway, seeing a large room spread before me as Kai, Winter, Banks, and Damon all stand around. Floor-to-ceiling windows decorate the far wall ahead, and the sea spreads before us as the engines whir again. Michael gazes out at the night, his back to me.
I drift slowly into the room as Misha, Ryen, and Alex walk past me, but I can’t take my eyes off him. My insides melt, and after all the years of wanting him and loving him, I’m still sixteen with a crush from afar. Loving someone so much it hurts.
The stewards finish setting out food and drinks on the buffet table, pulling a couple bottles of red off the racks on the walls and opening them for us. As soon as they leave, the doors close, and everyone drifts to the large, round table, finding their seats.
Michael turns and our eyes lock. His hazel gaze holds me frozen, and it’s hard to breathe, because I see it in his eyes. I always see it.
The love. The need. The longing.
But now, it’s different. There’s a hesitance there now, too. Like he’s unsure of what to do with me.
His beautiful eyes glide down my body, taking in my long, thin, black gown with a plunging neckline and cutouts on the back and sides, damn-near to my ass. A leather belt wraps around my waist and naked back to hold the dress to my body. I take a step forward, my leg popping out of the slit all the way up to my hip, and I know what he sees. Or doesn’t see underneath my dress.
His jaw clenches, and his gaze darts up to me again, a small fire blazing behind his eyes. I want to take pleasure in it. Taunting him.
But I simply love it. I love us.
I take the seat closest to me as Kai, Banks, and Alex go to my right and Misha, Ryen, Damon, and Winter sit to my left. Michael takes the last remaining seat, across the table, directly opposite of me.
But then he quickly rises again. “Before we begin…”
We watch as he opens a shiny black box on the table and pulls out several smaller black cases. He slides one each to Damon, Kai, and Misha, and takes one himself, circling the table toward me.
“When Will comes back,” he says to everyone, “we’ll figure out something for the men, but…every family has their heirlooms.”
He stops at my side, meeting my eyes. Boxes flip open as everyone busies themselves, looking to see what it is, while every nerve under my skin fires at his attention. He opens the box, setting it down on the table and removes the item inside.
“So, let these be our first,” he adds, holding up an ornate black necklace with a pendant in the center.
“What is it?” I hear Winter ask as Damon pulls hers out of the box.
“It’s a necklace,” he says.
“It’s a collar,” Banks spits out.
Michael and I share a smile at her jab.
But it’s beautiful. Regal. Thin, black chains weave together, dotted by small black jewels, and in the center sits an oval broach. Michael drapes the necklace around me as Kai and Damon put theirs on Banks and Winter.
“It has a white pendant,” Damon explains to Winter. “With a skull. The skull has antlers above a bed of grass where a snake lies.”
“The skull represents our true faces.” Michael fastens the clasp at the back of my neck, the necklace only falling as far as my collar bone. “What comes out of us when we put on our masks.”
“The call of the void,” Damon whispers to Winter.
Michael continues, “The antlers represent a deer which means watchfulness, being in touch with your inner child, innocence, and vigilance. The snake means rebirth and transformation.”
I touch the broach with my fingers. “And fertility,” I add as an afterthought.
Michael holds my gaze for a moment and then turns away, heading back around the table.
He takes another box and sets it down next to Alex, opening it up.
But she stops him. “I want Will to put it on me.”
He nods and closes the box again.
Standing at his place at the table, he looks over at Misha and Ryen, who just stare at the item still tucked inside its box.
“It belongs to the family,” he tells her. “If you forfeit it, you forfeit it to us or no one. Do you understand?”
She looks between him and Misha at her side, nodding nervously. “I appreciate the gesture,” she says, glancing back at Misha. “We have some things to think about.”
Misha doesn’t say anything, and I absolutely understand their reluctance. I don’t know Ryen well, but this isn’t him. Misha likes freedom, not answering to anyone but her, and I’ve never known him to be in a club other than his band. Too many people interfering with his privacy would paralyze him. It’s not who he is.
And quite frankly, they don’t have a history with us. The rest of us are here, because we wouldn’t be anywhere else. Misha is here for Will and only Will.
Michael takes his seat and swipes his fingers across his phone, setting it in the middle of the table to record the minutes. “Alright, considering our agenda, let’s first tackle the—”
“I want to kill your father,” I say, cutting him off.
Damon chokes on his vodka rocks. Every eye at the table turns to me, and Michael silently stares as my words hang in the air.
I know it was abrupt, but I need to set the pace tonight. Or I’ll lose control.
“I won’t,” I add. “I just want to. I wanted you to know that.”
Michael sits there, playing with the Montblanc in front of him as everyone watches on silently, but he doesn’t blink, and neither do I.
“And I want to marry you,” he tells me. “Is this why you’re dragging your feet? My father?”
I falter. One has nothing to do with the other. “That’s a private matter.”
“You don’t talk even when we are in private. The only time things are good
lately is when we’re fucking.”
Damon shoves his chair back, making Banks and Ryen jump, and rises, scowling at Michael.
But Michael is already on it, not bothering to get out of his seat as he glares up at Damon. “I was there when she was five and eight and thirteen, so you remember where you and she started the next time you want to imply you have any more responsibility or love for her than I do,” he bites out. “My woman. Sit down.”
I’m simultaneously hit with flutters over Michael’s words and appreciation for Damon’s protectiveness. As much it hurt, though, Michael was right. Things are okay but only great when we’re in bed lately.
Damon hesitates, but finally sits, still seething, and I look back at Michael.
He turns his gaze back on me. “This was your fantastic idea,” he says. “So out with it. You resent me for not avenging you. My father killed yours.” And then he gazes around the table, leaning back in his chair. “Is that how you all see it? I haven’t defended her?”
But before they can chime in, I tell him, “I don’t resent you. I love you.” I am a little hurt by his lack of urgency, but I understand the position he’s in. “And I’ll die your wife or I’ll die no one’s.”
There. Happy now?
He stares at me, hopefully understanding there’s no doubt in my love or devotion.
He clears his throat. “The only living witness I could manage to locate was murdered last year.” He tosses a look at Damon, referring to Gabriel’s demise. “And even if I could find more, I can’t put my mother through the humiliation.” He drops his eyes, pausing. “I know what your father’s death did to your mother, Rika. What you’re asking is only fair. I know that.” His eyes raise to mine again, pained. “But I killed her son, Rika. I can’t…kill her…”
He falls silent, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.
I know. Even if his father “quietly disappeared,” Michael wouldn’t lie to her. She’d find out, and she’d be hurt by him. She might even start to fear him.
“I’ll do it,” Damon chimes in.
Michael nods absently. “I know you will, but I’m not going to let you. You have things to live for now. Don’t put yourself at unnecessary risk.” He sighs, sitting back again. “We can’t slaughter every problem anyway.”
Conclave (Devil's Night 3.5) Page 4
