2. Bash
Chapter 2
Bash
I fucking hate it here. I drain my glass of whiskey, savoring the smooth warmth as it travels down my throat and settles into my stomach, bringing a pleasant buzz with it. As I scan the room, my eyes take in the opulence and extravagance of the venue, adorned with pastel flowers that seem to cascade from every pillar and archway. What is this? It has to be at least the fifth Midsummer Night’s Dream–themed ball I have attended, each one more pretentious than the last. I lean against the only pillar not covered in blooms, taking in the sights and sounds of the costly event. But amidst all the glamour, I can’t help but feel a sense of monotony creeping in. Another year, another extravagant ball.
I’ve spent my entire life in the world created by the Order of Saints. The society that plays it like a puppet on a string. As a kid, I dreamed of the day I’d become a Lord and take over my family’s place.
Well, that turned out fucking sour.
We live in a world where even the meek are hungry for power. It’s been quiet for the last five years, but that just makes me more anxious. It’s this calm that’s settled over our lives that’s made me feel uneasy, like there’s an itch under my skin I can’t scratch. But it’s the tedium of the repeating day-to-day that has me about to snap.
“Lord Everette.” A finely dressed man steps in front of me and bows low enough I can see the white roots growing from beneath his dyed brown hair. The silver wolf pin on his lapel screams to the world that he’s a Saint.
Fuck, not this again. It takes me a second, but I recognize him as the head of the Whistborn family. God, the guy’s got to be nearly seventy.
“It’s a fine evening, isn’t it, sir?” he says. There’s a teenager to his right, dressed in a matching suit, head turned to the side instead of down.
I raise a brow at him, not saying a word, and Whistborn turns his eyes up at my silence. He finds me looking at his son and hisses.
“Charlie.” It sounds exactly like when Damon catches Olivia, my adorable five-year-old niece, stealing another cookie.
The boy’s an Unsainted. Basically, an apprentice to his father, trying to get his way into the Order of Saints. There’s a flash behind his eyes, but he lowers himself into a deep bow. His entire body’s stiff, not used to being the one without power. Every person in this room was raised with a silver spoon stuck up their ass, and it’s only when they show up here they have to learn their place.
It’s better he knows it now before Damon teaches him.
My eldest brother and the head of the Everette family is the leader of the Order of Saints. Had it been him this fuckwad was giving attitude to, he’d have been fucked.
Probably why his father is trying his luck with me. The irresponsible Everette brother.
I may be a Lord, but I’m the fun one.
“Mr. Whistborn,” I finally acknowledge, allowing them to rise.
“Lord Everette. Allow me to introduce my son, Charles Whistborn the Third. I think you’d get along.”
This guy even has a stuck-up name. My fingers tighten on the empty crystal tumbler. If prayers were truths, it would be full to the brim. I’m getting a headache just standing here.
“You think we’d get along? I’m not sure about that. He looks like an asshole to me.”
The man’s been around long enough not to respond, but I don’t miss the way his lips pinch at the corners. His son, on the other hand, steps toward me, his hand slashing up to grip my collar.
I chuckle as a thrill goes through me, slicing through the monotony. Finally, something interesting. It’s my right to beat the lights out of this guy, and his father knows it. For an Unsainted to attack a Lord of the Order Of Saints is a death sentence, but by the way his fist tightens on my clothes, this boy has no idea what he’s just started.
His father grows pale when a smirk curls my lips as I lean into the boy’s hold. “Go on…hit me,” I dare, eager to feel the pain. Something to break the mundane experience of living every day exactly like the last. No one’s had the audacity to punch me at a ball yet. This will be fun. I use my words to give him another push. “What are you waiting for? Coward.”
His fingers tremble where they’re still folded into my fabric, but the reality of what’s happening is descending on him fast.
“It’s alright. I’ll let you off the hook this once. All you have to do is throw that punch you’re desperate to land.”
His grip loosens, and disappointment floods me as he releases me, and both of them step back, bowing again.
“Idiot.” Whistborn has his hand firmly on his son’s neck, practically shoving him to the ground until his head is bowed lower than his waist. He’s noticeably shaking, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s fighting back tears. Aww, is this the first time Daddy’s been mad at you?
“Our deepest apologies. My son hasn’t been himself lately… He’s nervous about college…he’s?—”
Disgust curdles my stomach, and the numbness takes over once again, any thrill washed away by their patheticness.
I sigh. “Leave.”
Shock registers over the man’s face. “T…thank you, sir.”
They scurry off into the crowd. The way Whistborn’s knuckles are white where they wrap around his son’s arm tells that he’s in for a terrible night.
I rub my palm over my face and fight back a groan. Where the hell is Xander? He’s supposed to save me from this bullshit. With just eleven months between our births, we’ve been inseparable. He could sense when I was about to do something stupid and decide if he wanted to stop me or join in. He’s been right by my side since the day I was born. That fucking bastard abandoned me for New York. So what if he’s the CEO of Windsor Industries? We’re supposed to be brothers.
“Stop playing with them.” Damon’s stern voice comes up from behind me.
“It’s just too fun. I can’t help it,” I lie easily.
It’s been years since anything exciting has happened around here, and I’m bored. I need someone to spark life back into me. Someone new. Someone who’s going to hold my attention. Someone addicting.
Damon sighs. “See any woman you like? Wouldn’t hurt you to find a good one and settle down.”
A laugh burst out of me. “What, like you and Matthias did? No, thank you. You’re both so whipped I’m surprised you still have your balls.”
Both the eldest Everette brothers have settled down into the perfect display of domestic bliss. The only saving grace is they provided me with five adorable nieces and nephews.
He squeezes my shoulder and gives me a cocky smile. “Jealous?”
I don’t respond, knowing he’s right. I’d love to have what they do, but it’s a one-in-a-million shot. Damon had known instantly that Misty was the one for him. Hadn’t left her alone for a single second until she agreed to be his. Matthias waited for Scarlet for a decade for her to be ready before stealing her away. They’d both been so sure and did some absolutely shady shit to get them.
Which just makes it all the more obvious that I haven’t found anything like that. I give the women who approach me respect, never crossing the line, but I’ve never been interested. Not in the way my brothers are. Can’t blame me for holding out after seeing what real love can be like.
Damon looks at me, his eyes softening. “One day, you’ll find her. Until then, stay out of trouble.”
I side-eye him. “I’ll try.”
“You could have gone with Xander.”
Spending hours in an office, going over paperwork while trying to revive a company we just bought, sounds like absolute torture. Xander laughed at me when he invited me to come, knowing full well he was inviting me into my form of living hell. I just didn’t realize how bored I’d be here without him.
“What? And miss all this fun?” My bored gaze roams over the familiar faces. I’ve spent most of my life with them, doing the same thing over and over again. It’s almost painful. I glance at my watch, relief washing over me. A few more minutes and I’ll have shown my face long enough to be considered polite, then I can get the hell out of here.
“I know that look,” Damon says.
He still acts like my big brother even though, at twenty-six, I’m a full-grown adult. Used to it, I flat out ignore him, looking blankly over the crowd.
A fiery cascade of red hair catches the warm light and glows as Anastasia Volkov gracefully floats through the hall.
Her years of training as a renowned ballerina are evident in every step she takes, her posture exuding poise and grace. A tight black gown tantalizingly follows the dip of her waist and hugs her hips before flaring out around her legs. She turns away, revealing the cutaway patterns in the fabric. Her soft, smooth skin is on full display. I swallow hard, and my hand opens and closes beside me as I fight the urge to run my fingers along her exposed spine. Her slap would hurt. Still, the pain would be worth it to feel her heat beneath my palm.
Anastasia has always been a society princess, a symbol of perfection when it comes to the Order. I’ve always seen her as an uptight ice queen myself. One who knows how to hide her emotions in order to fit in.
Basically, the opposite of me, where I’m known for getting into trouble, for causing chaos, and for doing things for my own amusement.
There’s not a single speck of gossip attached to her name, which makes it all the more tempting to be the one to make her melt and sully her immaculate reputation.
Anastasia’s giving pleasant nods as she circles the room, but it’s the way her gaze keeps drifting to the walls, peering into alcoves, that catches my attention. The crowd around her doesn’t notice as she slows down every few feet, searching, but I do, and for the first time in forever, I find myself curious.
I tilt my head to the side, a tingling sensation running down my arms. What is she up to?
The longer I watch, the more I want to know what she’s doing. Until curiosity has me stepping toward her.
“What are you doing?” Damon calls out.
“Something captivating, I hope.”
He huffs, and without looking back, I know he’s running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m looking forward to finding out.” I have to double my pace to keep up with her when she turns the corner and escapes the ballroom through a small doorway.
My smirk grows into a smile. This just got way more interesting.