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CHAPTER42
GRIM
Watching Christy collapse to the floor, passing out cold, forces me into action after being held captive by her beautiful dancing. The vision of a woman so far removed from the little sister I’d kept hidden from the world had held me prisoner, unable to do anything other than watch her just like the rest of the bewitched people in this fucking place.
Now I forget our plan. I ignore the fact that it’s not the right time to make our move. My protective instinct kicks in as I watch a man we’ve identified as one of The Masks rush to her side and scoop her up off the floor. He clutches her to his chest as the two remaining Masks rush to their side. One of them, the taller of the three, shouts instructions to the knife thrower who has suddenly appeared on the stage, her gaze fixed not on him but me as the other Mask shoves people out of the way, forging a path through the crowd.
We exchange looks, the knife thrower and I, and in her eyes I recognise a kindred spirit. Shame then that she stands on the other side of the line drawn in the sand between us.
My steps slow as she reaches for a knife strapped to her waist, but I shake my head warning her as my own fingers smooth over the gun hidden beneath the jacket I’m wearing. It’s more than anyone else has ever got from me. Wisely she makes the right decision, her hand dropping to her side.
Switching my gaze back to The Masks, I watch them exit the room as the guests start to mutter under their breaths. I thought my clients were dangerous, but these people? They reek of far worse things than drug dealing and racketeering. They smell of forbidden fruit, plucked from orchards that are not their own, their touch rotten to the fucking core. But I’m not here to destroy them. I’m here to end the lives of the men who stole my sister, and right now she’s being carried out of the room and taken to fuck knows where.
The piano player, the one with the long dark hair and expressionless eyes, begins to play as the blonde hanging from the trapeze above us starts to swing back and forth, drawing the attention of the audience away from my sister and The Masks.
Like many of the people who move in the circles I do, I’ve heard of the artists kept prisoner here. Their talent is exceptional and I’m not surprised that the Collector had wanted my friend Pen to add to his collection so badly. Her talent would’ve shined as bright as the others, so it’s just as well we killed the fucker before he could attempt to steal her. Which begs the question as to why I wasn’t more careful with Christy. I thought I’d hidden her well enough, but I’d underestimated The Masks.
Speaking of which, I pick up my pace as I move across the hall, afraid that I’ll lose sight of her. I don’t need to look behind me to know that Beast, Ford and Camden—who offered his help too—are following.
Asia wasn’t exactly thrilled that Ford agreed to come, let alone Camden, but despite the complicated history between the two men, of which I’m all too aware, their bond is unbreakable. It’s kind of endearing, actually, but the guilt I feel asking for their help is a heavy burden to carry given the danger being here presents. They have a family too, and knowing what could go wrong isn’t easy for me to accept.
Which is why it won’t go wrong and those fuckerswilldie tonight. We will walk out of here unscathed. All of us. Though I can’t say the same for the Deana-dhe, because who the fuck knows where they are right now.
As soon as we entered the castle grounds an hour ago disguised as delivery drivers, we parted ways. Dressed head to toe in black with masks similar to the ones The Masks are wearing now, they entered the flow of guests, blending in with the crowd seamlessly. I’ve no idea where they are, because they sure as fuck aren’t in the hall I’ve just left. Not that I give a fuck. They’re here for their own reasons of which I have no desire to understand. What they do is their business, and I’m smart enough not to pry. Whilst I have a lot of respect for the Deana-dhe, my loyalty lies with my family and they’re theonlypeople I’ll be concerning myself with tonight.
Before stepping out into the hallway, I pick up a serving tray, left discarded on the side table by the door. I’m keen to keep up the pretence of working here for a little while longer, because I really don’t need to be stopped by a member of staff and have to kill them if they question who I am. Better for everyone if I appear to be a working cog in this fucking psycho wheel, then when the time is right I can show those motherfuckers exactly why they were fools to fuck with the wrong family.
Keeping an eye on The Masks who have hooked a left further along the corridor, I follow, discarding the tray I was holding on a console table the moment I think it’s safe to do so. A quick look over my shoulder confirms Beast, Ford and Camden are still behind me.
Beast gives me a tight nod, his fingers grazing over the knife he has strapped to his chest, hidden beneath the tailored jacket he wears. For aservant,he sure looks fucking hot. That man could wear a potato sack and still impress the ladies. Just as well he’s mine then because I’d make mashed potatoes out of him if ever dared look in the direction of another woman.
Not that he would.
We fought too hard to get where we are, to build what we have. Besides, I’ve loved that brute ever since I was seventeen, and even though he denies it, he’s loved me for just as long, too. Though he never once overstepped the mark, not until I was an adult anyway. But that’s a whole other story that Pen is likely reading to Iris from my diary as we speak. What a bedtime story that’s gonna be.
Still knowing our precious baby girl is being taken care of by people I trust allows me to focus on the here and now, which is exactly what I do as I continue to follow The Masks through a maze of corridors. Eventually, they step out onto a cobbled courtyard, a gust of freezing wind whipping into the hallway where I remain hidden, reminding me that we’re in the depths of the Scottish Highlands a long,longway from home.
“Jakub?” the taller of the three questions as the Mask holding Christy stills.
“She’s stirring,” he says, dropping his gaze to Christy in his arms.
I hold my hand up, a sign for Beast, Ford and Camden to wait as I decide the best course of action. Right now The Masks have the advantage, given Christy is in their arms and I’ve no idea whether they’re packing any weapons. We might be hidden from view just off the courtyard, which has a huge fucking tree growing in the centre of it, but I’m not going to risk ambushing them whilst Christy’s out cold.
“What’s happening?” Beast asks, his voice low, his breath whispering over the back of my neck as he steps up close behind me.
“Christy’s waking up. He’s stopping to check on her,” I reply, ignoring the way he always makes me feel whenever he’s close by.
“Do you think they’ve been drugging her? She looked pretty out of it,” he asks.
“They better fucking not have,” Ford grinds out from somewhere behind Beast.
He’s never met Christy, but the moment I told him about her, he’d claimed her as his sister even though strictly speaking they’re not blood related. Whilst Christy and I share the same father, Ford and I share the same mother. They’re connected by me, both are my half-siblings, but they’re unrelated to each other by blood. That didn’t matter to him though. As far as he’s concerned, we’re family and I agree.
“No. I don’t think it’s that. This is something else,” I whisper, watching how the three men gather around her. Their body language speaks of possession, yes, but also something else. They’re protective of her. I can see it in the way all three of them look at her. The taller one of the three brushes a strand of hair off her forehead, his fingers smoothing across her skin like she’s made of something precious.
She is.
And that just pisses me off more because they've taken what’s precious to me and I want her back.
