It had started the night Sayer and I found the info about the feds. And now it was common knowledge among the bratva.
Don’t open your mouth. Not unless you want to be strung up by your feet with your tongue cut out and your nose chopped off, left to choke to death on your own blood.
Because of me.
I hurried downstairs and out on the street. A black town car waited on the curb—my ride. I threw myself in the passenger seat, anxious to get away from my dad, his sad friends and my racing thoughts.
“Bout fucking time,” Atticus growled.
I did a fast double take, my heart jumping to my throat. “I thought Gus was picking me up.”
He pulled out onto the street and pressed a heavy foot down on the accelerator. “Gus had other shit to do.”
“I didn’t know you were on this job.”
“Don’t you ever shut up? Shit, Caro, not everyone wants to hear your whiny voice all day long. Save it for your boyfriend.”
“Don’t be such an asshole.”
His hand slammed down on my knee, slapping it so hard I let out a surprised screech. Then his fingers were digging into my knee, crushing and gripping until my eyes watered and I was afraid of ruining my makeup.
I grabbed his hand, trying to peel it off. “Let go, Atticus.”
“You should be careful who you call names.” His strong fingers pressed harder, making me breathless with pain. Out of options, I sunk my fingernails into the back of his hand. He slammed his foot on the gas, driving like a maniac through darkened streets, unconcerned with my efforts to get him to back off. “Apparently you need me to teach you a lesson, little girl. Somebody’s got to teach you some manners.”
“If you rip a hole in my stocking, I will kill you,” I hissed at him. “You’re going to ruin my cover.”
“Then say you’re sorry.”
“What?” I blinked back tears, he was going to leave bruises.
His words slowed like he was talking to a small child. “Say you’re sorry. I want to hear how fucking sorry you are.”
“Let go of me.”
He did, but only to slam his fist down on my kneecap, making me double over. “Say you’re sorry, Caro, or I’m going to do it again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, hating myself for giving in. But I knew he wasn’t going to stop until I did.
I should never have gotten in the car with him. I should have paid closer attention. But I’d been shaken up by what my dad and his buddies had been saying.
If Sayer knew I was riding with Atticus instead of Gus, he would be pissed.
Atticus retracted his hand and put it back on the wheel. “Good girl.”
Bile rose in my throat. We couldn’t reach our destination quick enough. He didn’t try to speak to me again, and for that I was grateful.
Atticus had never liked me. Part of me still thought he held a grudge for one time when I’d managed to steal a hundred bucks from him in the middle of his crew—before I had my six pin. He’d caught me and taken me before the bosses to have me punished, but Roman had sided with me.
Atticus had never liked me, but after that I was irredeemable to him. And he tried his hardest to find subtle ways to torture me. He never did anything crazy enough to alert the pakhan or throw a job. But when it was just the two of us, he made my life miserable.
It was fine. I punished him too. By keeping him as far away from Frankie as possible. He was obsessed with her. He always had been. And as her friend, I couldn’t blame the guy. She was drop dead gorgeous and set to inherit a huge chunk of the syndicate ruling class. But she was also smart enough to see straight through him.
And I did whatever I could to remind her of his awfulness.
We both avoided him whenever we could. Unfortunately, the bosses didn’t share our opinion. They saw his ruthless sociopathic skills as an asset. He hadn’t risen in the ranks quite as fast as Sayer, but he was still one of the shining stars. And a regular favorite of the brothers.
“You’re walking in with me,” Atticus ordered when he pulled up to the valet at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
I was pretty sure we were supposed to meet up with Sayer first, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Atticus. Besides, I needed to know I could walk okay after what Atticus had done to my knee. If Sayer saw me limping around, the night wasn’t going to end as planned. We so didn’t have time to deal with that fallout.
The valet opened my door and I stepped out of the car on shaky legs. My knee was sore, but not too bad. I just needed it to keep from swelling for now.
Atticus handed over the keys and the two of us walked into the stunning hotel, with golden light and gleaming marble floors. The posh atmosphere made me feel small, tiny compared to the wealth and resources of the upper echelon. I wondered if Atticus felt it too. We were just kids from the wrong side of the tracks—thieves, criminals, wild things that didn’t understand elegance or better society.
We followed signs leading us to the grand ballroom without another word spoken between us. We both knew the job. And the mark. There was nothing else to say to each other.
“Tickets?” the matronly woman dressed in a Chanel dress cluttered with shiny strips of sequins and feathers asked.
Atticus and I produced our tickets, stolen well in advance for tonight’s shindig. She looked them over with a wrinkled nose and distaste written all over her pudgy face, but eventually she marked us off and gestured toward the ballroom.
We continued not to speak as we entered the annual party celebrating DC’s law enforcement. The room was swamped with Secret Service, DEA, ATF, and plenty of FBI. And lawyers and judges and politicians and journalists and on and on and on.
Sayer would turn anyone in that spoke to FBI?
That was going to be a problem tonight, since that was my assignment.
My heart fluttered in my chest, just knowing the kind of legal power that surrounded me in this room. These people were my enemies, I reminded myself. And after Fat Jack, now more than ever.
“Fuck me,” Atticus murmured as soon as we’d walked through the doors.
That was exactly how I felt. Surrounded by wolves and lions and sharks all at once. “Let’s mingle,” I suggested, anxious to get away from him as well.
We parted, heading out in separate directions to case the party. I clocked a few other Sixes posing as wait staff as I worked my way around the room, but I didn’t see Sayer anywhere. My fingers tingled, wanting to fidget, but I kept my cool, my perfectly comfortable disposition. I could pretend to be from money. I could be a convincing socialite. Easy peasy.
“Are you looking for someone?” a deep male voice asked as I stretched over a table to grab the non-fishy looking canapes hidden out of reach.
I landed back on my heels, ignoring the twinge of pain in my knee. Lifting my gaze to find a young, striking man standing there, I gave a demure smile and said, “A friend. My date.”
His smile was wide and only made him more handsome. He had all the classic good looks of an American quarterback. He was like a walking billboard for apple pie and sweet tea. Blonde hair, movie star light blue eyes, square, trustworthy jaw. And a fed. You could always tell by the Men’s Warehouse suits and scuffed dress shoes. Secret Service were significantly better dressers. And ATF were significantly worse.
Then there was the government look about them. This was a trait that was harder to define. Something in their open smiles and paranoid eyes. They were all trust me with all of your secrets, so I can write them down and give them to my boss. We’ll be best friends until I raid your house and seize all of your assets.
“Is he your friend? Or your date?” the man asked, chuckling warmly.
“Both,” I grinned. “Shouldn’t he be both?”
“Ah, smart girl,” the agent agreed. “Which one of you has the connection to this lot of hooligans?”
“He does,” I admitted quickly, needing him to hear unabashed truth in my words. Why would I have a reason to lie anyway?
I was just a vapid undergrad meeting her new boyfriend at his dad’s event. I didn’t know what was going on. Was I listening to the wrong conversation? Oh, so sorry. It was so easy to get lost here. Where’s the ladies room again? “His dad is with the bureau.”
“Oh, really? Me too.”
Duh. I smiled at him. “No way. That’s so cool. I have to admit, I’m fascinated by everyone here tonight. I’m taking a constitutional law class this semester and I have so many questions.”
His eyes turned flighty with the sudden urge to flee. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I answered energetically. “Like income taxes for starters. Illegal, right? So what is the deal with them? Also, mandatory check points. How is it not a blatant violation of our rights to set up checkpoints and allow cops to search every car that goes through without probable cause?”
“I, uh, I—”
“And what about the Patriot Act—?”
He held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m off the clock tonight. Sorry.”
I shot him an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
Before he could say anything else, warm hands slid around my waist and pulled me back against a solid chest. “There you are,” Sayer murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I tilted my head back so I could check him out in the crisp tuxedo he’d gotten for the event. I suddenly found it hard to swallow. Had anyone ever looked so good in a tux? My legs felt like Jello and I was confident I was three seconds away from combusting. Clearing my throat, I tried to focus on the potential mark. “I’ve been grilling poor Mr…” Looking back to the agent still standing awkwardly near us, I repeated. “Mr…”
“Payne.”
“Excuse me?”
His smile was shy, self-deprecating. “Mason Payne.”
I recovered, barely. “Nice to meet you Mason Payne.”
“And you too…?”
“Carolyn Cook. This is my boyfriend, Sawyer Prior.”
Mason reached for Sayer’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Sayer said. “Thanks for keeping my girl company.”
“It was an accident,” Mason admitted on a laugh. “I thought she was someone else.”
“Oh!” I pretended to be offended, all of us laughing at the mistake. “Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate your attempt at answering my questions.”
“No problem. You two have fun tonight.” His smile stretched and I mentally predicted his next words. “But not too much fun.”
Sayer’s laugh was forced, tested by this agent that was kind of flirty, but also kind of suspicious of us. “Is there such a thing?”
Mason laughed again, a more hollow sound, and then left us to ourselves. Sayer turned me in his arms so I could throw mine around his neck and greet him properly. We kissed hello, neither of us willing to forget the people standing around us.
“You look lovely tonight,” he breathed against my temple. “No wonder you have feds hitting on you.”
Vinnie’s warnings crawled over my skin, pricking at my ability to brush off his compliment. “Creepy feds,” I whispered. “I’m a minor.”
“Something to remember when I try to defile you later,” he chuckled.
My stomach flipped and I wished I could see his eyes to know if he was serious. I used my vantage point to scan the room, hoping nobody was looking at us.
“Should we dance or something?” I asked Sayer.
His body tensed, his shoulders going completely stiff. His head whipped to the right, and to the left. “What the hell?”
I pulled back, desperate to see what he saw. Fighting to keep my casual smile, I asked, “What?”
“Is that Atticus?”
Atticus stood across the room, deep in conversation with one of the senators that worked closely with the syndicate. “Yes,” I told Sayer. “I thought you knew he was going to be here. He drove me.”
Sayer’s gaze cut to mine. “He drove you?”
Shrugging it off like it wasn’t a big deal, I said, “He made it seem like he was supposed to be here. He had a ticket.”
“That he probably stole from Gus,” Sayer growled.
We watched Atticus finish his conversation and head to the doors. Was he already leaving? “I should have texted you, it’s just that he’s technically my boss and—”
“It’s not a big deal, Caro. You couldn’t have known. It’s just something I’ll have to ask the pakhan about.”
“Hey. What are they doing?”
Sayer followed my gaze to a cluster of feds looking our direction. They were speaking in low tones and subtly nodding our way. They were clearly talking about us and trying not to make it obvious.
News flash, morons, you’re basically on broadcast. It didn’t matter that they were dressed to the nines tonight. They were always on the job. They couldn’t disguise their asshole tendencies.
“We should move,” Sayer suggested.
He took my hand and led me to the outer edges of the crowd. We passed a guy with an ear piece hanging around his neck. The radio said, “Gold dress. College age.”
Sayer glanced at me. “I’m not feeling this party.”
My heart kicked in my chest. It could have been a total coincidence. But if life had taught me anything, I knew there was no such thing.
Everything happened for a reason—and usually that reason was so Fate could piss all over you.
“I’m not either,” I told him. “I think I’d rather go… anywhere else.”
He leaned in. “Let’s do that.”
We detoured right before we got to the outer fringes of the crowd. There were two more men with earpieces moving to block the back exits. “This way,” Sayer instructed.
Our steps were purposeful and our movements subtle, we were blending in, staying under the radar. Sayer slouched so he didn’t stand taller than the rest of the mingling people.
An FBI agent pushed through the crowd in front of us, Mason Payne following directly after him. The two agents caught sight of us, surprised that we were right there. We took the advantage and about-faced, slipping in and out of designer dresses and hand-tailored suits, disguising ourselves in the crush of the rich and powerful.
“Don’t let go,” Sayer said over his shoulder.
I didn’t respond, but it wasn’t like I was even entertaining the option. My heart was in my throat, a last-ditch attempt to abandon the sinking ship that was my body. Oh my God.
Why were they chasing us?
What did they know about us?
“Faster,” Sayer urged. We crossed a wide-open area, temporarily exposing ourselves, before we ducked into the kitchens.
“Shit,” he growled when he barely missed running into a server balancing two trays stacked high with replacement hor d’oeuvres.
“Come on,” I urged him. “We have to get out of here.”
“You can’t be in here!” someone shouted. “Hey! You need to leave!”
“Spoiled brats,” someone else snarled.
Oh, if they only knew.
The door to the kitchen banged open behind us, someone screamed and dropped a platter. “Caroline Valera,” a vaguely familiar voice called from the middle of the commotion.
“Go,” I ordered Sayer, pushing his back.
“Valera stop!” that same voice shouted. I realized it was Mason.
My new FBI friend now wanted to arrest me. Oh, how quickly the fickle of heart fade. And here I thought we were going to be bffs.
Sayer and I turned a corner and took off sprinting. I managed to catch a room service cart on the way and tip it over. We burst out of the kitchens into back hallways. The sudden quiet was jarring. We sounded like a stampede as we raced through carpet-muffled corridors, my frantic breathing amplified to my sensitive ears.
Slowing our pace, we shuffled quickly toward a metal door near the emergency exit. Hitting the push bar, we burst into the stairwell and took them two at a time. I had no
idea where we were going or why we were fleeing upward, deeper into the labyrinth of the hotel, but I trusted Sayer. And he seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go.
“This way,” Sayer ordered.
We pushed through another door and I realized we were on one of the top floors. “We need to go back down,” I reminded him. “That’s where all the exits are.”
“They’ll already have blocked those. They’ll be waiting for us. Don’t worry, I’ve got a backup plan,” Sayer said quietly, slowing his pace to casual, unconcerned with things like the FBI and getting caught. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his side. But we kept our faces focused on the carpet, out of sight of peeping security cameras. “Do you trust me, Six?”
“I do,” I told him immediately. That wasn’t even a question.
He reached into his pocket, pulling a keycard still wrapped in the paper packet. At the end of the hallway he found the room it belonged to, smoothly sliding it in and out of the electronic lock. The door clicked open and Sayer ushered me inside.
I tripped over nothing when the inside turned out to be a suite. “What is this?” I asked breathlessly.
The door closed and I heard him fiddling with all the locks, securing us inside. “A surprise?” he suggested on a quiet laugh equal parts hopeful and nervous. “I had been hoping we’d check off all the d’s first though.”
Turning around so I could look at him, I walked backward into the luxurious room. “The d’s?”
Half his mouth kicked up in a sweet smile. “You know, drinking, dining, dancing. The plan was to sweep you off your feet and then pretend to get lost until we ended up here. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for weeks.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I should have known the FBI would get in the way.”
I smiled at his disappointment, for some reason feeling incredibly special that he had put so much thought into this night. “The FBI ruin everything.”
He winked at me. “That they do.” He paused, before adding thoughtfully, “They’ll be expecting us to leave though. I’m sure they’ll have the exits blocked and the hotel won’t hand over security footage until they can come up with a warrant. We’ll be safe here tonight.”
Constant (The Confidence Game Book 1) Page 24
