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The alumni are trying their best to clean up the mess. Richard’s death has left a power vacuum that too many of them hope to fill. It’ll only be a matter of time until one of them takes the reins. I’ve heard enough through the grapevine, from Cole when he feels like gossiping or Nolan when his confusion gets the best of him, to know that there is a mad scramble inside the organization to get their shit together. Olivia didn’t just burn down a building, that would have been an easy thing to fix.
No one in Havoc House is talking about the proverbial elephant barreling through the burned-out hallways of Club Havoc.
All the collateral is gone.
Maybe it was all destroyed in the fire, but flame cleanses nothing that thoroughly. The alumni’s insistence on continuing the search for survivors, as if anyone could still be alive underneath the twisted steel and rubble, is just a ruse. The real search is for the tapes and records that detail all of their dirty deeds.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, a notification that someone has buzzed the intercom downstairs.
Gigi is still asleep next to me, her cheek resting on my chest as every line of her body presses against mine. The touch is entirely about comfort. She’s been treating me like a security blanket since the night of the Bacchanal.
Even in sleep, lines of tension draw her eyebrows together and pinch her lips into a frown. If she is dreaming, it isn’t about anything good.
It would be easier if this were just grief. Mourning is difficult, but it gets easier the longer you do it. Gigi absolutely refuses to accept that Olivia is gone, and that belief makes it impossible for her to move on. Now she’s stuck in a sort of limbo, not grieving, but also not able to get back to her life in any meaningful way.
I gently kiss her awake. She gives a start of surprise, but then her arms wrap around my neck and she pulls me closer. The kiss deepens and I let it. My tongue explores her mouth in leisurely strokes. She lets out a low purr as her hips shift beneath me, my body sparking in response with a low curl of heat in my belly.
My phone buzzes again on the nightstand.
I groan, hating that I have to put a stop to this. “Anya is coming up.”
Gigi grumbles and turns her face away from the light. “I just want to sleep.”
“You have been.” Another glance at my phone confirms it’s even later than I thought. “It’s almost noon. We have to get out of bed.”
Her arms squeeze around my middle. “No.”
“Anya is going to be standing on the doorstep in about thirty seconds.”
“Tell her to come back later.”
“I have…about a dozen times already. If she doesn’t lay eyes on you soon, the girl is going to file a missing person’s report.”
Gigi finally sits up, pushing a messy hank of brown hair out of her face. She ruthlessly attacks any blonde that dares to grow in at the roots with hair dye. She looks bedraggled, sleepy-eyed and more beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever seen. But I would give anything to take that aching sadness out of her eyes.
“Is it just her?” she asks with a sigh as I slip out of bed.
“I’m not sure,” I hedge. “Maybe.”
It’s not exactly a lie because Anya never came out and said she wasn’t coming alone, but I have my suspicions.
Gigi trudges to the ensuite bathroom, but doesn’t close the door behind her. She hasn’t strayed far since we moved into the city. We haven’t been apart for longer than it takes to take a piss since the night of the Bacchanal.
This place used to belong to my father, but you’d never know it looking around. He kept his penthouse clean and sterile enough that it’s the opposite of triggering. It might have bothered me in the past if I knew he didn’t keep any photos or mementos, but now I’m glad of it. There are no reminders here of anything having to do with Havoc House or St. Bart’s.
Gigi and I don’t have a plan, which is probably a good thing. For now, we’re as happy here as we would be anywhere. I could have put us up in a hotel, but knowing just how much my father would have hated having us live here makes it the best place I could think of to regroup until we figure out what we want to do with our lives.
The doorbell rings. I make sure that Gigi knows I’m leaving the room before I go answer it. There have been more than a few nights when I got up for a glass of water only to come back to her in the midst of an epic freak out. She’s more than a little sensitive about whether people will come back to her when they walk away.
Understandable, but I had to learn that lesson the hard way.
Anya gives me a too bright smile when I open the door, but her grin has a hard edge to it. “Took you long enough.”
“Sorry, I figured you’d want me to put pants on,” I reply drolly. “I won’t make you wait next time.”
“I’m still not impressed with your shenanigans, Van Koch.” Her expression makes it clear that’s a lie she really wants to believe as she pushes past me. “Where is she?”
“She’ll be out in a minute.”
