by Dylan Steel
The house was farther than she’d first thought. They only made it a few steps outside of the stable before they were each thoroughly soaked, and by then, there was no point in turning around.
Although she was a little annoyed at first that he’d grabbed her hand, it only took her a few moments to be grateful. He knew his way up the path and she didn’t—and the rain was blinding. Even if she could see, it hurt to keep her eyes open even in small slits.
Sprinting up the steps, Weston reached the door first and wrenched it open. Stumbling inside, Sage nearly slipped on the puddle of water she’d brought in with her. Weston’s grip on her tightened, then relaxed as soon as she regained her balance. He let go and turned his attention back to the door, shutting out the storm that was trying to force its way inside with them.
A grin slowly spread over his face as he turned toward her again. His eyes quickly traveled from the top of her head down to the puddle she was standing in. “Drenched isn’t a bad look on you. But I imagine I look pretty dreadful.”
Sage glanced down at herself, suddenly very aware of how her soaked clothes were clinging to her frame, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes widened in horror. She crossed her arms in front of her as a sort of pitiful shield.
“You look fine,” she said, deliberately raking her gaze over him to show that she wasn’t intimidated. Despite his teasing, the benefactor was just as drenched as she was. But her eyes lingered for a moment too long on where his shirt clung to his torso, displaying his toned abs, and his eyebrow lifted in wordless amusement. Her cheeks flushed as she dropped her gaze instantly. She seriously needed to pull herself together. And he needed to stop looking at her like that.
“I’m sure you’d like to change into something dry,” he said, wiping a layer of water off his face.
She nodded.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” He wrung out the corner of his shirt and then walked off, motioning for her to join him.
Sage scrambled to follow, nearly slipping with each wet step. They were both leaving a trail of rainwater behind them, but he seemed unconcerned with the mess. Probably because he’d be telling her to clean it up in a few minutes.
She remembered the outside of the house from her first trip to the estate, but she’d never seen the inside before. At least, she didn’t think she had. There were several buildings on the Bennick property, and she wasn’t sure which one she’d been kept in when she was twelve.
Either way, the place was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers, exotic woods, elegant furnishings, marble floors, gold and silver accents. Hall after hall, room after room, it was as if each space was competing with the last for the highest level of opulence. Unparalleled wealth dripped from every corner of the home, luxuries blurring together in her mind. She’d never been around so many nice things in all her life.
A large part of her was worried that they’d run into Sam, but that didn’t happen. In fact, they didn’t come across anyone else. Given the size of the house, it was actually quite surprising—unless Weston was the only one who lived there.
When Weston led them to one side of an imposing split staircase, Sage paused on the bottom step.
“You don’t have a Transfer?” she asked, surprised.
“I do, but I prefer to walk.” He winked. “Besides, it’s on the other end of the house.”
As he turned back around, she frowned. Her body was aching, and they were both still leaving damp footprints in their wake—and it certainly felt like they’d started on the other end of the house.
After climbing far too many stairs, they made a few more turns and came to an enormous, round hallway, almost big enough to be considered a room on its own. An impressive stone sculpture lay in the center of it—a child with the bottom half of his body caught in a tangle of branches and thorns with his hand stretched toward the sky, reaching for something unseen. The unforgiving brush tumbled in a circle around him, seamlessly melding into smooth lines. Sage guessed it could be used as a seating bench, but it was so nice, she didn’t dare touch it.
“What do you think of it?” Weston asked, eyeing her curiously as she stared at the statue.
“It’s beautiful. But sad,” she murmured, tracing the lines of the figure with her eyes.
He nodded thoughtfully. “I used to think the same thing,” he said, “but my perspective has changed over the years.”
She glanced at him, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t.
Instead, he moved toward the wall. “This is your room.” Opening the door wide, he took a step back, letting her enter first.
Sage ventured forward and bit the inside of her lip, stifling a gasp. Like everything else in the home, the room was filled to the brim with more luxury than she’d ever known. The most decorated rooms she’d spent any time in were the Common Lounges at the Institution, and they paled in comparison with what was in front of her now.
Rich, dark tones and heavy wood furniture anchored the massive room. The biggest bed she’d ever seen sat against the wall in the center of the room, flanked by deep leather and inset cherry, layered with shades of reds and browns and gold threads weaving patterns together in silk linens and pillows. A plush couch and a pair of leather chairs fanned around a fireplace on one half of the room, and a table and chairs mirrored their position on the opposite side.
It was just as beautiful as every other room she’d encountered so far, but between the dark colors and rigid lines, this one had an almost rugged feel to it.
“There should be something suitable for you to change into in your wardrobe,” Weston said, gesturing to a door along the wall that Sage hadn’t noticed yet. “And your bathroom’s just in there.” He motioned to a second door beside the first.
Taking another look around the room, she decided she wouldn’t be surprised if she got lost in here—not to mention the rest of the house and property.
Her head began to feel a little lighter, and she felt her body starting to sway. She set a hand on the large clay pot beside her, steadying herself before Weston saw how overwhelmed she was.
“Of course, we can tailor it so that it’s more to your taste—Is everything alright?” He set a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with concern. “Is something wrong with the room?”
“Oh, yeah—I mean, no—I-it’s… really nice,” she finished lamely.
“I like to think so.” He smiled, squeezing her shoulder gently before surveying the room again. “It used to be mine.”
That explained the masculine touch.
“Where’s your room now?” she asked, grateful for the distraction.
“If you’ll notice, there are only two other doors in the alcove. My suite is the one in the center.” He nodded toward the hall. “After my father disappeared, it seemed like such a waste to let my parents’ suite sit unused, so I moved rooms.”
Sage swallowed. “Disappeared?”
A muscle jumped in Weston’s jaw. He swung his head toward the fireplace across the room, staring at it tensely. She’d never actually heard what had really happened to Charles Bennick, and part of her was scared to finally hear the truth—assuming he was actually going to tell her.
“I asked him not to go. Just—it was just one of those bad feelings, you know?” He smiled sadly. “Then a storm rolled in. Fast.”
Weston’s face twisted with emotion. “Lost at sea, officially. But he’s dead. Officers from the Peace found some driftwood from the ship, but his body never washed up on shore.”
Her mouth fell open. Of all the things she’d thought might have happened to the benefactor, that hadn’t even entered her mind as a possibility.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, actually meaning it.
His attention snapped back to her.
“The officers were able to find pieces of the ship because they were already here. They’d shown up that day planning to arrest him. They accused him of being Lawless too, like my mother.” He shook his head. “Somehow, I think he must’ve known they were co
ming for him. That’s the only reason I can see why he would’ve risked the weather. It was already starting to turn when he pushed off, and he’s never been so reckless.”
Sage felt the blood drain from her face. Charles had gotten her warning. He’d died running just as surely as he would have died staying.
“After my father's disappearance, they searched the rest of the grounds,” Weston continued. He met Sage’s eyes, adding, “At my request. I told them I didn’t believe my father had anything to do with the rebels, but I wanted them to know there wasn't so much as a whisper remaining of the Lawless. I knew I would inherit the estate, and I didn’t want my parents’ misdeeds to cast a shadow on my governance here.”
A lump formed in her throat. She stuck her hands in her pockets to keep him from seeing them shake.
“I would hope you would consider what I’m telling you to be a relief,” he added, studying her closely. “I know your history with my mother probably makes our pairing seem like an uncomfortable arrangement.”
Uncomfortable? Icy tendrils slid down her back as she forced herself to hold his gaze. Talk about an understatement.
Sage wasn’t sure how much he even knew about his mother’s involvement in her kidnapping or that she was responsible for his mother’s arrest—and her death. Did he blame her? He couldn’t know that she’d been the one to tip off Charles. But he’d run because of her warning—so in a way, she was responsible for his death too.
And it was obvious Weston didn’t share his parents’ anti-Eprah sentiments. Sage wasn’t officially Lawless anymore, but she’d supported them when she was younger. She doubted the distinction would matter to a man who was willing to turn over evidence of his own parents’ treason. If he found out about her former loyalties, would he turn her over to officers at the Peace—or worse, would he deal with her himself?
She shuddered. A great many things about her past put her in danger with him.
He hadn’t done anything to indicate that he hated her, but as far as she knew it could all be a mask, an act—a way to lull her into feeling safe so that he could destroy her, turn her into a lifeless shell devoid of hope.
Her cheeks flushed when she realized he was still staring at her, waiting for her to say something. Her mind went blank. What had he just said?
“I’ve given you several opportunities to talk about it now, but you haven’t mentioned it at all,” he continued, frowning. “And I’m not sure I have the patience to allow it to surface naturally. As we’re paired, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”
She lifted her chin. “Meaning?”
“Meaning… When my mother had you kidnapped, she acted without my knowledge. Even if I had been Lawless,” he said, nearly choking on the word, “it was not something I would have approved of.” His jaw clenched. The brightness in his eyes dimmed. “I cannot fault Eprah for doing what needed to be done.”
Her eyes widened. Was he really saying what she thought he was? That his mother deserved to die?
He was more callous than she could’ve imagined—she couldn’t let herself forget that.
“How are you ok with all this?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “Doesn’t it bother you? Your mom—”
“I know exactly what she did. And as for my father, I know why he wound up giving his life to run. As a benefactor, I don’t have the luxury to be bothered by many things,” he said evenly, “but they were my parents. Of course, I wish things had gone differently—that I could prove they held no Lawless sympathies and that they weren’t working to undermine our entire way of life. But as much as I would like to think otherwise, the evidence against them is strong. And treason cannot stand unaccounted for.”
Her breathing quickened. She hoped he didn’t notice how nervous his words made her.
“After all…” He paused, letting his eyes pierce hers. She shifted her weight but refused to look away. “…this is the world we live in, is it not?”
“I—”
A woman cleared her throat behind them.
“Sorry for the interruption.”
Sage turned around in surprise. Martha was standing in her doorway. She gave Sage and Weston a strange look, and it was then that Sage remembered they were still standing in their damp clothing, leaving puddles on the floor of her new, elegant room. Rox.
“There’s a comm for you, Mr. Bennick.”
“Can it wait?”
Martha shook her head. “It’s urgent. From the Quorum.”
He sighed in irritation. “I’ll be right there.” As he was heading toward the door, he stopped and turned back to Sage. “Go ahead and get changed, and I’ll see you at dinner after I’m done dealing with this.”
“Uh, I—”
“Yes?”
“I-I don’t know where dinner is,” Sage stammered.
“Martha will help you.” With a final nod of approval, he disappeared into the hall.
Sage blinked, stunned by his abrupt departure. She was alone in her room.
Her solitude only lasted a moment.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Martha said, pushing her way into the room and heading straight for the wardrobe. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
5. FATE
“Much better.”
“Done?”
Martha nodded, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.
Sage threw her a dubious glance as she turned to examine herself. Her dress was more casual than formal, but it was still richer than anything she’d ever worn to Perjaash—even to La N’bo. Smoothing down the pleats of her new dress as she stood in front of the mirror, she was surprised at how well the color matched her eyes. It didn’t hurt that Martha had fussed a little over her makeup. Somehow, she’d managed to perfectly highlight the different shades of green in her eyes, and they were brighter than usual, almost resembling emeralds.
She looked beautiful.
Her stomach tumbled uneasily at that realization. Martha hadn’t just help her change out of wet clothes—she’d made her more appealing to her benefactor. And it didn’t matter that just looking at Weston sent her heart racing. She’d just lost Everett, and she really thought she might have loved him. Besides, Weston was a benefactor. The enemy of everything she’d ever stood for—of what she wanted now. He was the only thing standing between her and freedom.
“Isn’t this a little much for dinner?”
“Not at all,” Martha said. “You’re paired with a benefactor now. You need to look the part.”
Her fingertips brushed the fabric once more, and she bit a worried lip. That was exactly what she didn’t want to do. Accepting that any part of this was real would just make it harder when the opportunity came for her to run. Because she was still going to run—to become a Rogue, to be free.
A cage was still a cage, no matter how beautiful or ornate it was, and she couldn’t afford to forget that.
“So what exactly do you do here?” Sage asked, deciding to refocus their conversation onto a new, safer topic.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Whatever Mr. Bennick needs, really.”
Well, that was nice and ambiguous.
“So you’re his assistant?”
She smiled. “I suppose you could say that. I’ve been assisting the Bennicks for many years.”
“All the Bennicks? Like, Sophia and Charles too?”
“And now their son,” she said, nodding.
Sage squinted thoughtfully. “How old are you?”
Martha laughed. “Old enough to be your mother, I’d imagine. In which case, I’d have a few words with you about tact.” She winked.
“I’m sorry—I… I’m just not used to seeing many older citizens—not that you’re old,” Sage added quickly, cringing. She hadn’t meant to be so rude, but the woman wasn’t exactly young. And other than Eprah’s higher ranking officials, people Martha’s age were in short supply in the city. “I guess, I mean, it must just be different at benefactor
s’ estates.”
Martha gave her a strange look. She opened her mouth, but a knock on the door cut her off before she could say anything else. She gave Sage a quick once-over and raised a questioning eyebrow. Sage shrugged.
“Come in,” Martha called, pulling Sage out of the bathroom.
Weston stood just inside the doorway. His eyes flicked to Sage, and she froze. She could’ve sworn a brief flash of heat cracked through his cool exterior, but it was gone in an instant.
“I’m afraid I won’t make dinner.”
Sage felt tension drain from her shoulders. But she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Is everything alright?” Martha’s grip on Sage’s arm tightened.
Weston shook his head. “The Quorum has requested an emergency meeting. They’ve asked for an audience with me and the other benefactors. Tonight.”
“Did the Lawless do something? Was there another attack?” The question came out no louder than a whisper, and both Weston and Martha looked at her in surprise, neither of them saying anything right away.
“You mean another bombing?” Weston finally suggested.
Sage’s face paled as she nodded.
“Nothing like that. It’s really nothing to worry about, but I’m not at liberty to say much more.”
Nothing to worry about? She didn’t buy it. His expression was tight, every muscle in his body rigid. Something was very wrong.
“May I speak with Sage for a moment?”
“Of course. I’ll prepare your horse.” Martha pursed her lips, leaving the room without another word.
He turned his attention back to Sage. She stiffened. “You look lovely.”
“Um, thanks.” A pink blush stained her cheeks.
Weston motioned for Sage to take a seat. She sank down in the chair obediently as he pulled out a chair across the table from her.
“I hate to leave you alone so soon after you’ve gotten here, but this can’t wait.”
“You’re not taking me with you?” Hope sparked inside Sage’s chest, and she fought to keep her face neutral. Being left behind meant she might have a better chance of escaping.
