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“He wasn’t supposed to die,” she cries. “I was just supposed to get you both off your faces and plant the rest of the Grey Death in the room. The drug scandal would convince your label to drop Octavia’s Ruin. But then Dylan had this weird reaction, and you were comatose in the shower, no fucking help at all. So I arranged the body and wrote the note, wiped my prints off everything, and left it to the police to sort out.”
“But why would you do that?” Gabriel’s fingers dug into her skin. He shakes her arm so hard she winces. “Someone put you up to it. But who?”
“Who do you think?” she laughs. “Your father.”
Claudia
Gabe’s face goes white. I want to run to him. I want to cradle his head to my chest and kiss away the darkness that clouds over him. But I won’t give Cleo the satisfaction of seeing how her revelation affects me.
With a strangled cry, Gabe tears himself away from Cleo and crosses the room. He stands by the windows, taking in the view out across the harbor to the cemetery on the tip of the peninsula. To the graves that house my darkest secrets. Stars dance across his cheekbones, and he appears at once a remote, untouchable god and a small, sad boy.
It takes all my self-control to turn away from him, but I do it. I do it because he needs answers, and I will drag them out of Cleo at knifepoint if I have to. “Why would the duke want to do that to his son?”
“He wants to destroy Gabe’s career,” Cleo says. “He thought that if Gabe didn’t have Dylan or his music, he’d have no choice but to return to Blackwich and accept his title. But the duke couldn’t risk doing anything himself. Imagine if he was seen in the types of places Gabriel hangs out. The scandal would kill him before the cancer takes hold. So he hired me and he used his power to cover everything up. And then when it didn’t work, he promised that if I could destroy Gabriel’s life in America, he’d give me his son’s hand in marriage.”
“But why did the duke come to you?” I ask.
She sighs, as though I’m inconveniencing her.
“The duke didn’t come to me, I went to him.” She twists her head to the window. Her voice rises with urgency. “Gabe, I’ve been in love with you forever. You’re amazing. Your music speaks to me in a way nothing else can. I knew from the moment you first showed up at school that fate had thrust us together. But I had to get you away from all the bad influences of the music scene, so you could see what was right in front of you. Who was right in front of you. You were too besotted with Dylan to pay attention to me. So I went to your father and offered myself to him. I said I’d do anything if he gave me Gabriel. He needed a business partner he could trust, so he promised me as your wife if I could move Grey Death into Emerald Beach.”
Noah splutters. “You’re saying the Duke of Blackwich runs a drug empire?”
Cleo shoots him a disdainful look. “Of course he does. You think he can afford to keep that big old castle and all his land without the money from Grey Death?”
Shit. Shit.
I did not expect to be surprised tonight.
Cleo turns back to Gabe, pleading with her eyes even as he turns away in shock and disgust. “He did it all for you, Gabe, so that you’d have money enough to continue the Blackwich legacy. But then you refused him again and again. He gave you a final chance in England, and you spat on his kindness. But there’s still hope. If you and I go to him together, if we give him the baby he desires, then we can stop him before he—”
“So I was his delivery girl?” I interrupt. I don’t want her to distress Gabe anymore. “That’s why I was on the set that day.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Cleo smirks. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve got amnesia. You can’t remember anything from before your precious family disappeared. I suppose that means you don’t remember coming onto set that day.”
“Let’s pretend for a minute that I don’t.” I sit down on the edge of the bed. My arm brushes Cleo’s foot. My heart thuds against my ribs. I’m close to something more here; I can feel it. I’m close to the truth.
“Then you can die not knowing, bitch.”
Nope. I’m done messing around with Cleo. I reach for the scabbard on my belt. The sword makes a satisfying whoosh as I draw it out and press the blade to Cleo’s throat.
“All right, all right!” she chokes out. “You followed me, okay? You incapacitated my usual runner and took his drugs so you’d have an excuse to talk to me. You wanted me to spread rumors on social media that you were dead. You said if I didn’t do it you’d tell the police about the Grey Death. So I did it. I even got the duke to get the police to stop investigating your stupid family. Then when you showed up at school I thought I was done for, but then you acted like you didn’t know me and Eli said you had amnesia so I just played along. I just wanted to get Gabe away from you. I was never going to tell anyone you were alive, because I don’t give a shit. I swear!”
“Good girl.” I stroke her cheek with the flat of the blade. She glares at me with defiance as silent tears roll down her cheek. “Was that so hard?”
“I told you what you wanted.” She strains and kicks again. “Now, let me go.”
I wag my finger at her. “Naughty Cleo. You don’t make the commands here. You’ll do well to remember that we have copies of your little jaunt in the hotel room. With backups. We own you now.” I tap my chin. “We’re not done with you yet. I couldn’t leave you without a parting gift. Noah, are you ready?”
Noah steps up beside me and drops the bag on the floor. He shuffles around inside and pulls out a blowtorch and a long metal rod. Cleo winces as Noah flicks on the torch and touches it to the shape on the end of the rod. A hot, acrid smell scents the air. Gabriel turns from the window, his face haloed in starlight. He watches Noah with detached interest.
“Do you know what this is?” I nod to the rod in Noah’s hands.
Cleo stretches out her long neck. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or scream. “A b-b-brand.”
“Correct. It’s similar to the one I used on Alec LeMarque’s pretty face, only this one is for your hand. And it has a very specific meaning. It’s called the sacer, and it marks you for death.”
“But only an Imperator can use it, and…” Cleo’s face pales. She looks at me again. Her eyes dart to the tattoo on Noah’s bicep – the mark of my tribune. “No, that’s not possible. You can’t be—”
