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Apollo had taken off his jacket and bow tie and rolled up his sleeves. There was a half-empty bottle of Cognac at his side. He passed the vape pen off to Smith as he took a cue from Wyatt. He smiled as Bronn ruffled Kobe’s hair and the younger boy cried out in protest.
We may have all been the children of peers, but we had our own pecking order. Our ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen, with Kobe and Dean the youngest boys by a couple of years. Most of them were in my year. The girls on the other hand, they were all sixteen or over as it wasn’t seemly for the younger girls to come to these things. The boys, yes. The girls, no.
I caught Apollo’s eye and he gave me another of his cheeky winks. It pulled a smile from my lips unbidden. He was a great many things was Apollo, but he knew how to make me feel special.
“Where are those fuckers?” Tyson asked.
Apollo frowned in perfect imitation of Archer intimidation. “Language in front of the ladies,” he snapped.
Tyson came to heel quick smart. “My apologies, ladies,” he said with a small bow in our direction.
His little sister, Triss rolled her eyes at me with a wry smile.
Of all the elites’ girls, Triss and her best friend Exie were the only ones I actually liked hanging out with. They were the year below me – Triss being a mere nine months younger that Tyson, putting her in the same year – and felt by-and-large the same way about the world as I did. Suffer in silence, knowing we were all doing the same. Silence didn’t mean we didn’t communicate in other ways.
Apollo looked around, then at the watch on his wrist. “He said he was on his way.”
“And I was,” came the gravelly answer from the door.
Everyone turned to face him. Because who wouldn’t?
My eyes were drawn to him whenever we were in even remotely the same vicinity. My eyes drank him in while my stomach fluttered angrily, my heart thudded uncomfortably, and a pool of warmth flooded me entirely inappropriately.
He’d at least dressed semi-appropriately for making an appearance at a lavish Callahan soiree where he might have been seen by someone who mattered. Dressed in a dappled grey suit, with black shirt and tie, the colours suited him. His hair was so dark, it was almost black, cut short at the sides and long on top. And though the top almost always dropped down over his face, seared into my memory were the piercing grey eyes that had a constant glare of contempt for me. His face was chiselled, always drawn in a look of annoyed disinterest or superior boredom. When he moved, his body glided like a panther, as though he had absolute control of every single muscle.
At Saint Benedicts, he was one of Apollo’s Angels. I didn’t need rumours to know there was nothing saintly about him. You only needed to take one look at him to know the man was born to sin. The fact I’d once walked in on him proving exactly that had been an unnecessary confirmation.
“You Saints are all fucking impatient,” he continued as he walked in.
Apollo would never tell him to mind his language, around anyone.
Not him.
Not Valen Kincaid.
Apollo was tall enough. Valen was taller.
Apollo was charmingly gorgeous. Valen was sinfully sexy.
Apollo used his polite words and wit and smile. Valen used very different words, razor sharp insults, and his fists.
Apollo melted every panty in a room by walking into it. Valen’s mere existence had you willing to drop to your knees and beg for more.
I loved Apollo Callahan. I was promised to Apollo Callahan.
I loathed Valen Kincaid. I craved Valen Kincaid.
It was a conundrum to be sure.
While there were parts of who Apollo had become that I didn’t agree with, that I didn’t like, we’d been in each other’s lives far too long for anything to make a deal-breaking dent in the love I felt for him.
On the other hand, I despised Valen. He was a brute. He was a womanising arsehole. He was one of the Saints. There was absolutely no reason to feel a shred of positive emotion for him. No reason other than he had sworn to protect Apollo with his dying breath.
Which made the absolutely idiotic, barely controllable lust I felt for Valen a slight thorn in my side.
“Your old man was looking for you,” Apollo said as he passed Valen the bottle of Cognac, the movement of Valen’s arm making the holster under his jacket visible for a moment.
Valen took a swig as his eyes scanned the room. The bottle was still at his lips when he saw me, and I could have sworn I saw the hate from there. Even in a semi-darkened room, hazy with vape smoke.
