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“Yes, well,” Lincoln barely flinches at my crass words, “it would appear my nephew is more like his father than I perhaps anticipated.”
My eyes snap to his, narrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I admire your passion, Bexley. Your strength. God only knows, you’re going to need it to survive.”
“Is that a threat?”
“More like a piece of advice.” He smirks, lifting his glass and taking a sip of his scotch. “Quinctus, the organizations it works with, does business with… it takes a strong stomach to play with the big boys, son. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He turns to address two men beside him, as if he didn’t just pull the rug out from under me.
Phillip sidles up to me and says, “What was all that about?”
“You tell me.” My lips thin.
“I know you have concerns,” he adds, gently tugging at the collar on his pristine white shirt, “but you need to let us handle Lincoln, son. You need to trust that we know what we’re doing.”
“Trust you?” I gawk at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s watching Lincoln. And for the first time ever, I swear I see a glint of regret in Phillip Cargill’s eyes.
17
Mia
Iwatch Bexley talking to Phillip, the other Quinctus elders, and a bunch of men I can’t identify thanks to their various masks.
Part of me had hoped the masquerade ball would give me a chance to relax, but I should have known it would only elevate the fear knotted in my stomach. He could be in here somewhere, and nobody would ever know. Bexley and the Electi are easily recognizable with their gold and black eye masks, but the rest of the room is a mix of gaudy masks, exuberantly decorated and made unique, hiding the owner’s identities.
Sasha stays close to my side as we dance. Tim and Fawn join us, and for the first time since meeting her, I see her smile. Maybe she likes the freedom her mask affords.
Someone brushes up against me, and my heart lurches into my throat.
“Mia, what is it?” Sasha asks over the music as I grip her hand tightly.
“Sorry,” the guy yells, laughing as he twirls his dance partner away from us.
Relief slams into me, but my pulse doesn’t settle. I’m on edge, my stomach hollow and my skin tingling with discomfort.
“It’s okay.” Sasha offers me a reassuring smile. “My dad has security all over this place.”
Her words do little to placate me. Cade is one of them… or at least, he was. If he wants to stroll right into this ball and cause chaos, I don’t doubt for a second he will. But Phillip and Quinctus seem to have forgotten just how much power he really holds. Or maybe they’d just prefer to believe that over the alternative.
As I watch Bexley shake hands with the group of men, my heart sinks. He looks like one of them. He looks like he belongs in their world.
“I need a drink,” I announce, pulling my hand free of Sasha.
“But—"
Winding my way through the sea of bodies, I hurry to the bar. Someone will follow me; it’s what they do. I’m never more than a second or two away from someone showing up to watch me. Because I’m that girl now: a girl who needs constant supervision.
My dress feels tight, as if it’s slowly shrinking around my body, compressing my lungs until I can’t breathe.
“A glass of wine, please,” I blurt out the second the bartender greets me.
“Well, this sucks, doesn’t it?” Ashton joins me at the bar. I’m not surprised he’s here. He might not be welcome at the house or even part of Electi business now that Bexley is running the show, but he’s still Phillip’s stepson. He’s still a part of this world. He knows too much to ever not be.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, sipping my wine. “Look at them, so oblivious and carefree.”
“Everyone wants a piece of the pie, Mia.” Ashton takes a long pull on his beer. He isn’t wearing a gold and black mask like the Electi. His is plain matte black with a silver swirl around one eye. Oddly, it suits him.
“I see Easton is taking his new role very seriously.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
