by Marie Wathen
“Stop or we’re going back home,” Marcus murmurs from behind, so closely that his cheek grazes against my hair. I turn my head slight and catch the desire circuiting through his eyes like a caged frenzy.
Something wicked comes over me and I shift into a creature that I never thought I could become. I grab his arm, brushing lightly against mine and pull him away from the crowd. In four steps, we are reliving the first moments that we met, adding bone aching kisses to crazed groping, too damn inappropriate for a public event in honor of his grandparents.
“Baby,” his word is desperate and commanding all at once. I want to break laws and my own rules that have prevented me from taking risks to give him his heart’s desire, but our commotion is drawing attention that could prove to be deadly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper hoarsely, stroking my thumb over his lips to smug off the lip gloss I transferred.
“I’m not.” He captures my hand, kissing inside tenderly with a pleased smirk tilting on his swollen lips. “That was sexy as hell.”
After readjusting our clothing back to decent, we enter the large ballroom positioned to the right of the grand foyer. Fortunately for me, I go unnoticed blending in with the other couple of hundred hidden identities. Marcus leads me toward one of the three open bars and orders me spring water with a slice of lime and a cherry, my favorite. Clinking the rim of his Seven and Seven tumbler against mine, he offers a silent toast with a promising wink.
“I honestly don’t recognize anyone,” I tell him. He scans the area, looking at everyone close by. “I hope that means I’m unrecognizable too.”
“Except for the guy out on the dance floor, who matches me in almost every way, I don’t think I can guess who’s who either.” I smile and turn to search out Morgan in the hub of gyrating bodies. He’s actually grinning and enjoying himself while spinning a petite brunette to a hot Latin pop song. This is probably the first time I’ve seen him looking anything other than miserable in a long time. I hope that we can put an end to all of this anguish soon and he can keep that stunning smile for more than one evening. I want my friends safe and happy again.
“You are friggin’ gorgeous!” Sam shouts over the blaring music, beaming from ear to ear as she strolls up with a very dashing Rhys hot on her heels.
“Doll,” Rhys questions Sam, stopping right in front of us with radiant eyes scanning over me, “Is this my little cousin?” Covering a hand over my mouth to smother my giggle, I nod and he flashes a sexy as hell smirk. “It’s true what they say. Some beauties can make anything look amazing. That dress is gorgeous, but you make it glow.” Turning to Marcus, he offers, “I’m sure that I don’t have to point this out to you, Marcus, but we are the luckiest men here tonight.”
“I know I am, Rhys,” he declares, wrapping his arm around my waist, his fingers pressing into my hip tenderly.
Sam punches his arm playfully. “Hey,” she whines pretending that she’s wounded by his words before winking at me, while pointing a finger at her chest. “Chopped-liver here happens to agree.”
“Didn’t mean it like that, sis,” he reaches across and presses a kiss to her cheek apologetically. “You look very beautiful, but you two aren’t actually a couple.”
Quickly shifting into work mode, Sam instructs, “Just because we aren’t at the club doesn’t mean that you can let your guard down. Keep your eyes open for anyone acting unusual or talking about our case. Almost everyone on the island is here. Webber’s big event is next weekend and half of his crew is on the guest list. I’m pretty sure that’s his sister-in-law dancing with Morgan.”
“No shit,” Marcus mumbles, watching them continuing to having fun as if no one else exists. “That’s interesting.”
“Webber Drake is here?” I ask excitedly.
“Yeah, the Summer Shutdown event happens every year and he’s the headliner,” Sam confirms, “Again! There’s no one who can top him or stop him.”
“I know,” I agree, “Kole has been bragging about him for years and since I usually return home right before school starts back, I always missed the fight.”
“Maybe you’ll get to attend this year,” she encourages.
“The MMA champ, right here in Willow,” I smile like a fangirl, which I totally am, “So freaking cool!”
Wrapping a possessive arm around my waist and nuzzling against my ear, Marcus mumbles behind me, “You have your very own personal MMA badass right here, baby.”
“Oh, I didn’t forget, but Webber Drake,” I tease, “Holy crap this is unreal.” He chuckles before dragging me off so he can makes his rounds of required greeting and introducing me as his girlfriend, Beatrice.
After speaking with Marcus’ grandparents, everyone sits and we enjoy a five star dinner identical to the one I had with Morgan on our blind date. The room is buzzing with hundreds of conversations. Capitalizing on an attempt for normal, my small group of protectors intentionally split up, taking their dates to different corners of the room so they can keep a watchful eye out for anyone behaving suspiciously. I’m grateful that his grandparents didn’t insist that we sit at the family table near the front. But from what I can tell after speaking with Gran Walker, she’s quite possibly reading what’s really going on between us is more than just dating. The twinkle in her eye is a telltale sign of someone who isn’t so easily fooled.
Sitting with me and Marcus are three married couples and their children. Our table conversations have circled around the honored couple and without knowing who we are, they’ve all spoken kindly about Marcus’ grandparents. Part of me feels guilty about being here, celebrating and having fun–even if it is fake–while my sweet, best friend and an innocent woman are god knows where suffering through god knows what. I pledged that for one night and because it is for the Walkers, I will not focus on my guilt. It is still a bothersome thought, pointing a reprehensible finger, but I’m forcing into submission no matter what.
So, I sit here and smile politely, respond respectfully and take in the mood of this spectacular night. One thing that is strikingly different from the last time I was inside the castle is the missing vexing sensation that caused me to feel like someone was watching me. Perhaps being in disguise is quelling the anxiety that bombarded me that night, but whatever it is, I’m grateful that it’s gone. Allowing my eyes to drift around the room, I’m overwhelmed with the fact that the castle actually belongs to me now. I guess that explains why I’ve been so drawn to it all of these years.
“If you two are finished, we’re going into the ballroom,” Sam says hovering between me and Marcus.
“It was lovely to meet you,” I tell our dinner companions as we rise and leave them.
Following a ridiculously happy Sam, Marcus escorts me out to the dance floor and the spark in his eyes is a reminder of how he misbehaved during our first dance. His slow moving thumb, caressing against my thumping pulse unnerved me and entrapped him into an attraction neither of us could deny for very long. “Now who needs to stop,” I ask playfully and his signature sexy as hell smirk teases my heart and body. Dang, he knows how to heat me up, and it effectively helps quail my self-imposed torment.
After several sexy dances, I feel Marcus’ posture stiffen at the same moment that I hear, “May I cut in?” I glance over my shoulder, finding the mirror image to my date grinning down. Peeking back at Marcus, I smile hoping to encourage his approval.
“If you want to, then I’m fine with it.”
Morgan greedily seizes my hand, dancing me toward the center of the large crowd, leaving Marcus watching from the edge of the dance floor. With the slow rhythmic pace of the ballad he spins and sways me gracefully like a skilled performer.
“You look exquisite tonight,” he offers, his gaze latched on mine, “I think I like you better dressed this way than in that goth garb they make you wear at Toxic. And that look is hot.”
“Thanks,” I smirk, “I noticed you on the dance floor when I arrived. You looked like you were really enjoying yourself with that
beautiful woman.”
“She was a nice distraction.” He breaks eye contact, looking behind me, but his eyes appear glazed over like he’s zoning out.
“It’s okay, Morgan,” I suggest, “You don’t owe me an explanation, and you’re allowed to separate yourself for a few stolen moments. She won’t hate you.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that. Most likely, she already despises me and hopefully she’ll just forget about me and all my shit.”
“We suck,” I bitch and he tilts his face, glancing down at me with an eyebrow cocked. “All of this is my fault, and everyone’s suffering is a by-product of my bullshit.”
Angling my head slightly, I spot Marcus at the bar tipping his drink back. That is the fourth since we arrived less than two hours ago. I’ve never seen him drink this much and I’m not sure what’s causing his desire for inebriation.
“Please tell me that you don’t really believe that my problem with Waverly is because of your twisted family? I’ll not accept it and I’m sure my brother would have a come apart if he hears you trying to take the blame for this mess. Besides, I’m certain that if Waverly was here she wouldn’t have a damn thing to do with me anyway, we were on a path of destruction that was perpetuated by me alone.”
“Regardless,” I face him again, “You wouldn’t have missed your chance to make things right if it weren’t for someone wanting me.”
“Seriously, Breesan, stop this,” he hisses with a harsh tone and rigid features, “I recall a time, not so long ago, when you got really pissed off at the Knights for being angry with my family because of the abductions. You yelled at Marcus, demanding that he ensure they understand it had nothing to do with us. So, I’ll remind you too. The ones to blame are those who took them and the ones who ordered it. We’ll get it all sorted and then they’ll pay…severely.” I nod lowering my eyes after being put in my place yet again.
I understand why he’s saying all of this, but he’s wrong. My stepmother’s sick plans and Dr. A creating some evil drug that’s responsible for killing and changing people, are all perpetuated by my inheritance, leaving my very existence to blame.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morgan
With all the expensive tailored suits and matching plain black masks, the men are blending together and the confusion is making it difficult to distinguish between them. Escorting Breesan back to the bar after our one dance, I spot the lovely and distinguished Jama in her white ball gown, sitting alone at the back corner. “Beatrice, I’d like to introduce you to my dazzling dance partner. Jama, this is my brother’s girlfriend, Beatrice.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Jama states pleasantly reaching out for Breesan’s hand. “If your boyfriend is as charming as this one,” she retrieves her hand back from the courteous shake, thrusting a finger my direction briefly, “Then you are a very lucky woman.”
“Thank you, Jama,” I reply while Breesan simply stares at her wordlessly, offering a nod with a tiny smile on her pink lips while her silvery eyes narrow in suspiciously. She has been hanging around those cops too much if she thinks there’s something suspicious about this sweet girl.
I discreetly elbow her and she finally speaks, “Oh, I’m sorry. “ She blushes and repeats, “Jama? That’s a beautiful name, unusual too.”
Jama cuts a look at me with, “Told you so,” flashing in her eyes. “That’s the consensus,” she says with a smile before catching the eye of the busy bartender. “Would either of you like a drink?”
“I’ll take a draft beer,” I state.
Breesan orders, “Spring water with lime and a cherry.”
“Are you from Willow,” Breesan asks Jama still staring her down and taking the open seat next to her.
“No,” Jama shakes her head, “Actually, I’m from Miami. I’m only here for the week with my sister. Then I’m off to U of M for my freshman year.”
“I hear that Miami is a beautiful city,” her words seem sincere, but Breesan’s smile is tight and fake, and her eyes are sad with Jama’s last statement. Something is definitely off with her behavior toward Jama. “I hope to visit there soon.” Finally it hits me. Breesan is supposed to go to a Florida state college soon.
Our drinks are placed in front of the ladies and Jama passes mine back. A bump against me, that isn’t accompanied with an apology, draws my attention away from my beautiful company, after the froth of my cold drink spills over my wrist. I glare backwards, spotting the asshat rudely edging his way through all the people, heading toward the back of the ball room.
“You would think this was the only damn bar on the island,” Tristan chuckles, making his way over to us. “Hello ladies,” His eyes flick between Jama and Breesan, who smile back politely at the big goofball.
“Hi, Tristan,” Breesan utters, drawing his attention.
“Hi, yourself.” His grin blasts across his face and then he blurts, “Wait, you’re that nurse.”
“What,” she gasps, glancing anxiously at me with eyeballs the size of cantaloupe.
“That’s right, Bubba, you remember Beatrice?”
He nods, “Hell yeah, I could never forget this little hottie.” She blushes, piercing me with a nasty glare. “Who’s your friend?”
Hesitantly and uncomfortable as hell, she introduces Jama, and I watch as my normally reserved cousin morphs into a straight up rotter. Embarrassed by his shameless flirting, I turn away unable to watch the debauchery any longer. In my direct line of sight, I sort through a thinning layer of people standing off to the left and notice my brother speaking with a beauty near the back hallway. Their exchange looks innocent enough, but Marcus turning his drink up and draining in one gulp is highly unusual. With Breesan and me no longer dancing, I half expected him to force his way over and stake his claim immediately. However, watching him now, I think he may have found a distraction and has quite possibly forgotten his perfect date. I glance back at Breesan briefly. Thankfully she’s so engrossed in whatever Tristan is ranting about that she’s not seeing what I’m now curious about.
The woman breaks away from their conversation and Marcus strolls alone down the hallway. Ready to confront him and get down to the bottom of his blatant bullshit, I thrust through the mosh-pit and enter the corridor. I pass a few women leaving the ladies room, but there’s no sign of Marcus. I continue forward and turn the corner that leads to a courtyard out back. Standing just outside the door, Marcus is speaking with a gentleman holding a hand on my brother’s shoulder as if he’s assisting him with standing upright. Marcus pushes the man’s hand away aggressively. Edging closer, I ease open the door and listen before interrupting.
“You need to lay off the drink, son,” the man suggests.
“Bugger off,” Marcus growls, crossing his arms over his chest, “What the hell are you doing here? It’s not safe. Getting spotted here could cost us everything.”
“No one will spot me, besides not one person here has a clue what I look like, so listen up,” the older man turns slightly and I notice his graying dark blonde hair and gray eyes. The man’s correct, I don’t know who he is, which isn’t that big of a surprise since I hardly know most Willow natives. “She needs to buy this performance, one hundred percent. You screw this and everything we want goes into the shitter. Do you understand how important this is?”
“Fuck yeah, I understand,” Marcus barks dropping his hands and stepping closer. “I’m giving everything I have to this act. Don’t think for one moment that your needs are more important than mine.
“I’ve given too many years waiting on this day and I won’t let anything stop me from getting it. Get your shit together and get the information from her about the prize. The heiress is ours,” he lowers his voice as he continues giving out instructs, but a rowdy couple enters the end of the hall, leading from the ballroom, causes me to shut the door, and I slip away from it quickly.
“What the hell?” Raithe and his date approach, clinging tightly to each other, “Is the party moving outside now? It�
�s so damn crowded back there that you might have the right idea, Morgan.”
“No,” I stutter. Whatever my brother has going on with that guy, I need to trust that he’s not up to something fishy. Since our latest conversation, I’ve chosen to believe him before convicting him of being a douche, although, after eavesdropping on their conversation, I may regret trusting him. From what I overhead, he may be betraying Breesan. “It’s too muggy to hang out there in these trappings,” I lie, gesturing toward my tuxedo jacket, hoping the excuse deters Raithe’s explorations.
“Too bad,” he shrugs and guides his woman toward the restroom. “I’ll wait out here for you, babe.” She opens the door and enters, leaving us alone. “So, what’s got you hiding out back here?”
“Had the same idea as you, just stepped out for a bit of fresh air, but the heat hasn’t receded with the night.”
He nods, fully buying my bullshit. “All right, well, I noticed you came alone, but were dancing earlier. Who’s the girl?”
“Met her here tonight, don’t know much about her really.”
“Is she from Willow?” His eyes narrow in suspiciously, mimicking Breesan’s look. What is so damn suspicious about a beautiful woman?
Watching him curiously, I casually shrug and tell him, “She told Breesan that she’s from Miami.”
“Where is our girl?” Lowering his voice, he glances behind him toward the ballroom. “I haven’t seen your brother either.”
“I left Breesan with Jama, and I haven’t seen Marcus,” I lie again, walking past him, deciding that I need to end our conversation before he figures out my deception.
“Jama?” he steps toward me, cutting off the pathway, “As in Jama DeBlasi?”
That stops me in my tracks, “You know her?”
“You could say that,” he implies shaking his head and smirking. “I should have guessed she would come. I saw Webber and Della during dinner.”
“Webber knows Jama?” Webber is a native and I partied with him numerous times before he got pierced in the heart by the love nail. Della hammered right through his tough guy facade and he’s been a one-woman man ever since.
