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Never had I been more ready.
Her driver skipped the fast food and drove straight to the campus. The buildings were all similar—brick with ivy climbing to dark rooftops as if the ivy were trying to take over. And I downed the flute of champagne, rolling the stem between my fingers as the car meandered.
Anticipation burned in my stomach, intense and raw. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but whatever it was, no doubt it would change my life. The car slowed, made a turn onto a loop in front of three buildings—The Washington, The Madison, and the newly named Hawthorne. And didn’t it figure, we pulled to a stop in front of the Hawthorne?
I grinned. The Hawthorne building was as stately as any other, but where the others were dark in the midnight hours, this one was lit, its opulence on display. I’d never ridden in a limousine, but I was ready to get out and glanced at where I thought a door would be for a handle and found none.
Margaret rested a hand on my arm. “Patience, love. Andrew will open the door at the precise moment. It’s important to make an entrance.”
Make an entrance. Pick the non-lethal vial. Chin up. Shoulders back. Don’t die. Orders of the day.
When Andrew came around and held out his hand for Margaret and then for me, I inhaled a quick breath as I stepped out. This was my night. I wanted to remember everything about it—the smell of fall on the air, the fullness of the moon, and the way it seemed the “man” in there was close, watching me, the glowing chandelier visible through the window high above the foyer.
There were no other cars in the drive nor any other guests visible. I didn’t know if there were others, or if I was the only—was I a pledge?—invited guest.
When we walked to the entrance, the door swung open and a man in white gloves stood aside to welcome us. He looked like every bellman in every movie I’d ever watched—shiny gold buttons on a black uniform jacket, with epaulets on his shoulders, and leafy gold embroidery around the short collar and cuffs of his sleeves.
This building might have appeared like every other one on the outside, but inside, I’d be willing to bet, it was very different. Not the old woods. Those were standard in these places, but the marble wall panels opposite one another in the foyer, the crystal bowls on the antique tables against the marble, the gleaming mirrors on either side. And this was just a foyer.
“Madam, it’s this way.” He spoke softly but held his arm out for Margaret. Behind him, his twin—I didn’t find it likely, but they were dressed the same—seemed to guide me to a wall that slid apart to reveal an elevator car as Margaret and her escort approached.
My shoes—white Louboutin pumps with heels I could use to kill a man if the need arose—clicked in perfect rhythm with Margaret’s against the gleaming hardwood as we walked. The whole place was a lesson in opulence. I smiled. The Hawthornes didn’t do anything halfway. There were velvet cushioned benches at the back and another chandelier inside, this one a smaller version of the one hanging in the window, but it was dripping crystals just like its counterpart.
Delicately as possible, I sat because Margaret patted the cushion beside her, giving me a comforting and reassuring nod. It was highly likely she could sense I was out of my depth here. I’d always been the kind of girl more comfortable in a place like…the basement of Club Hades, with its odorous mixture of blood and sweat, its concrete floors, and shadows.
“Don’t worry, darling. You’re going to do fine.”
I wasn’t worried. The initiation was the part of the evening I looked forward to. I was taking it all in. By morning, when I walked out of here, maybe my rose-colored glasses wouldn’t be so rosy, but for right now, the only thing that could make this night better would be Roman.
The elevator delivered us to the basement—these people seemed to have an affinity for them. Again, every corner oozed lavish magnificence. There was no other way to describe it. Tapered candles in silver holders. Waiters in crisp white uniforms, passing flutes of champagne and lobster crostini, caviar on artisan crackers,Brie en Croute. Swanky.
When I strolled in, he looked up, found me through the crowd, and smiled. Holy shit. He made the room look shabby. Roman Hawthorne was a man who should wear tuxedos or nothing at all. I stared for a beat, a couple seconds before Margaret slid her arm around mine. “Come, darling. Let’s get a drink.”
We moved to the bar and Margaret ordered a Manhattan. The bartender directed his attention to me. “Whiskey, neat.” I glanced at Margaret, but I couldn’t stop my gaze from finding Roman or the woman he was speaking to. “Who’s that?” I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t interested. Not when I probably looked like I wanted to tear her eyes out.
“Her name is Lily Rhodes.” The frown in Margaret’s tone was as visible as the one on her face. “She shouldn’t be here.” Her sigh came from deep inside her. “If Asher snuck her in…” She trailed off and left without her drink to stride over to where her son—not the one speaking to the woman in question—stood in the circle of a few other men.
For a beat, I observed her wild gesturing as she drew him away, but then shifted my attention to the woman. Lily Rhodes was blonde and tall, lithe and ethereal. And in more danger than she likely realized if she didn’t get away from him.
As if Roman knew I was staring a hole in blondie’s head, he leaned into whisper something in her ear, then left her standing, watching him as he stalked toward me as if I wasRed Riding Hoodto his Big Bad Wolf. Every move, every blink a threat that went straight to my pussy.
Turning back to the bartender, I lifted the glass he handed me, downed the shot, and nodded for another as Roman’s incredibly built physique pressed against mine from behind. His breath warmed the shell of my ear and every inch of my body south of that. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
As suggestive as his voice made it sound, the words meant nothing. “Looked like you were well entertained.”
“Jealous?”
Hell, yes, I was. “No.” The lie was easy. Keeping my hands curled around the brass bar at the edge of this counter was difficult. I wanted to turn, rake my fingers down his chest, press closer. Instead, I let him crowd me for another few delicious seconds, then shifted so I was beside him, and when I looked up, he grinned.
“I could die tonight.” I wasn’t worried about the actual death. That was fate’s decision. Destiny. But I’d learned over the years to cry pretty, but I hadn’t practiced dying pretty. Had no muscle memory to keep my face soft, placid. That bothered me more than the thought of death.
“Yes.”
Maybe because I was still pissed off about him fawning over the mystical Lily Rhodes, or maybe because I needed to burn off some of the tension my thoughts inspired, I rested my hand on his chest and smiled up at him, gliding my tongue across my lower lip. “Want to find a coat closet or a shadow and fuck me one last time?” I cocked my head. “Just in case?”
His eyes went dark and smokey. “It’s against the rules to have sex in the antechamber.”
I smirked. Rich people had their names for everything. Pretentious as it was, it was a room in a basement. I laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as such a rule-follower.”
