Chapter 20
EVELINA
Gabby ends up picking me up at eight instead of ten and brings me back to her place to get ready together. She has an insane wardrobe, and even though she’s got more pronounced curves than I do, we’re around the same size.
On the one hand, I love that she convinced me to come with her. She’s become a “Milena” type influence on me, although she pushes me more than Milena does. On the other, my dress tonight is not one I would ever normally wear. It’s not even something Milena would see in a store and suggest I try.
It’s way too scandalous.
“Breathe,” she laughs quietly as we step out of the elevator and into the Moon Room, a stunning, ultra-luxe cocktail lounge and club on the top floor of one of midtown’s newest and tallest buildings. “You look hot as fuck.”
The shimmery, cowl-neck dress—pink, duhh—is crazy revealing, with a neckline that plunges halfway to my navel, a low back hovering just above my butt crease, and a hemline that straddles the line between sexpot and whore.
And yet, the cut, the material, and the way it fits keep things elegant and out of stripper territory. I think a lot of that is my slimmer, athletic build. Gabby’s butt and boobs in this thing would stop traffic.
“So do you,” I grin, eying the jaw-dropping blood-red number she’s wearing that goes stunningly with her tanned Italian complexion and dark hair.
“Well, then let’s go mingle and make your Adept feel like an idiot for forgetting to invite you.”
I have theories about hers, and I’m sure she does too about mine.
But we have this unspoken thing where we still haven’t told each other who our Adepts are.
I’ve brought it up, but Gabby keeps brusquely shutting it down.
It's strange, considering all the other ways she’s constantly breaking the rules.
We grab champagne from the bar set up at one side of the massive lounge. I feel a nervous throb of excitement ripple through me as I survey the scene, taking a bigger gulp of bubbly than I should.
“You need to calm down, King,” says a rough, low voice behind me.
“Fuck that,” another voice snarls. “What I need to do is go tear Anderson a new asshole and fuck him in it.”
I glance over my shoulder and stiffen when I realize who it is.
Gabby filled me in on Carson King, Gideon Wick and Sebastian Bourne before the last party, explaining they were Vaughn’s closest friends as well as Syndicate inner circle.
Carson’s the truly unhinged, manic, crazy one, which feels jarring when you look at his Prince Charming features—blond hair, blue eyes, perfect smile.
Sebastian, physically the biggest of the group, is apparently pure malice and brutality.
And Gideon, with his dark hair and dark blue eyes, constantly has a lethally brooding, frankly terrifying aura about him.
Right now, it’s Carson who looks like he wants to murder someone with his bare hands, and Gideon who is trying to talk him down, both of them standing behind me and just around the corner of the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
“You know Anderson is an asshole,” Gideon says.
His voice has an edge to it that sends shivers down my spine.
He reminds me of Vaughn: he looks and sounds totally calm, but if you’re paying attention, there’s clearly something dark and brimming with power right under the surface. “It’s his default setting. Chill.”
“I don’t like parent jokes,” Carson seethes, his jaw working as his piercing blue eyes scan the room like he’s looking for something to destroy. “They’re off limits for me, and Anderson fucking knows it.”
Gideon sighs. “Which is exactly why he went there. He likes riling you up, especially since Bancroft didn’t elevate him to the council a few months ago. Can you let it go?”
“Would you let it go if someone was saying shit like that about your mother?”
Gideon shrugs. “I wouldn't know. I don't remember mine.” He frowns. “Besides, you hate your parents.”
“Yeah, but they’re mine to hate. Shitheads like Anderson don’t get to score low blows like that.
I know my mom was a whore who fucked anyone with money and power.
I know the chances of my dad being my actual dad are probably zero.
But fucked if Anderson gets to say it. I'll throw him off the fucking roof.”
I stiffen, my eyes widening.
Holy crap, what?
Diego Torvallés knows his heir is in the Syndicate, and part of the inner circle.
Is it Carson? Could it be that simple?
My heart leaps as I consider that this whole search might be over. What if I could end all this madness tonight? Get in touch with Diego, tell him what I’ve just heard? If I'm right, I’m just…done.
No more need to join the Syndicate. No more unhinged, violent sexual encounters that leave me questioning my own sanity. No more nocturnal visits that leave me wet and streaked with cum. I could say my word and end it all.
But would you?
“I have to go deal with something,” Gideon growls. “Can you promise you won’t do anything supremely stupid like throwing someone off a balcony?”
“No.”
Gideon glares at him and slides closer. “Go find your distraction, then,” he hisses. “Blow off some steam with her.”
Carson scowls. “I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Gideon mutters, patting his friend on the back before turning and winding his way through the party.
Meanwhile, Carson’s still grinding his teeth murderously as he grabs his phone from his pocket and stabs out a message.
Gabby’s phone dings from within her clutch. I frown as I watch her pull it out, glance at it, then slip it back in with a scowl.
“Let’s go meet some new people.”
My brows knit. “Who was that?”
She shrugs, looking away. “Just my brother checking in on me like an overprotective psycho. C’mon!” Her eyes dart past me for a fraction of a second before she grabs my arm. “Let’s go dance and meet some guys,” she says loudly.
I let her pull me away from the bar. We’ve got a whole crowd of men hovering around us within minutes of hitting the dance floor.
Despite the dress and the new “non-virgin” status, though, I’m not ever, in any situation, “the sexy one”.
I’m too awkward to flirt. Too shy. Too naive.
It’s also blatantly obvious that all the guys only have eyes for Gabby.
I lean into her ear to ask if she wants to go get more drinks. She says I should go ahead, but that she wants to stay and dance.
I’m halfway back to the bar for a second drink I one hundred percent do not need when something across the room catches my eye.
Someone.
Someone with piercing, icy blue eyes that stab across the entire party from the front door he’s just walked through.
Instantly, it’s as if the whole party goes on mute.
Like everyone pauses around me. His eyes narrow on me, and I can see the “what are you doing here” in his gaze clear as day.
His jaw grinds, and when he tilts his head slightly and lets his eyes slice into me, I find myself backing up a step, trembling.
“You must be the new plaything.”
I turn to see a pretty woman around my age with dark hair, sitting primly in a wheelchair, looking up at me.
“I’d make a big show of being embarrassed that I can’t remember your name…” The brunette says in a lyrical French accent as she smiles coldly at me. “But I’m not.”
Okaaaay.
I’ve never been the confrontational type. But I did grow up with the queen of slaying petty bullshit herself, Milena, so I can spot it a mile away.
But jeez. What’s this girl’s problem?
“Evelina,” I smile politely, holding my hand out. “Or just plain Evie.”
She ignores the hand. “Plain is certainly a word.”
Okay, what the hell?
I keep smiling as charmingly as I can. “I don’t think we’ve met?”
“We haven’t.”
The girl picks up her phone and ignores me as she types out a quick text. The phone's in an elegant, lux-looking case. But it’s also got the “Hot Wheels” toy car logo engraved into the back, below a silhouette image of a wheelchair.
I laugh. “Love the phone case.”
“Yeah, I got it specifically to amuse girls I don’t know,” she drones. “Mission accomplished.”
My brow furrows. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”
Her lips twist as she puts the phone back in her lap and looks up at me. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stand while you're talking to someone in a wheelchair? You’re supposed to be at my level. Way to lord your ableist privilege over me.”
I blink quickly. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I smile at her as I awkwardly squat down next to her, trying to make sure my scandalously short dress doesn’t ride up over my butt.
She eyes me coolly. “I’m Sabine.”
I smile. “And you’re with the Syndicate?”
“Inner circle,” she says with a look that could freeze Florida. “Vaughn and I go way back.”
“Yeah?” I smile. “How do you two know—”
“I hear you used to date Andrés Torvallés.”
I stiffen.
“W-what?”
“Andrés. Someone said you used to fuck him.”
I shake my head, frowning. “Oh, no, definitely not. I teach a dance class at Knightsblood University, and he’s on the board.”
“Was on the board,” Sabine says flatly. “Being dead has a way of relieving you of those sorts of duties.”
God, why is she being such a bitch?
“True,” I say with a nervous laugh. “But, no, he and I never dated. We just—”
“You know, his dad killed mine.”
I stiffen, my jaw dropping. “Oh my God,” I breathe, “I’m so sorry—”
“Fucker put me in this chair at the same time,” she adds with a harsh edge to her tone.
I nod slowly. “That’s…terrible. I’m so sorry. But I really didn’t ever date Andrés. We were barely acquaintances.”
Is that why she’s got it in for me?
Sabine eyes me for another few long seconds. Then slowly, she smiles.
“Sorry,” she sighs. “I get all alpha about Vaughn. He’s like family to me.”