Chapter 12
TWELVE
“Oh, shut up,” she snaps, her voice dripping with venom.
She’s all fire and sharp edges.
The hostility is almost reflexive, striking before anyone gets close enough to hurt her. A defense mechanism polished to perfection. And yet, it doesn’t feel personal. It’s not about me. I’m simply the unlucky recipient of whatever ghosts she’s still fighting.
Still, it puts me on edge.
I cross my arms, studying her, cataloging and categorizing every shift in her expression.
The feistiness, the defiance, it’s all a show, a layer of armor as bright and distracting as her name and all the damn glitter—a front.
I’ve seen it a hundred times. People hiding behind loud voices and sharp words because silence is too dangerous and might let the truth slip out.
But her? She’s different. She’s not just hiding. She’s actively guarding something, and the more I watch, the more I feel it. This undercurrent of tension, of something coiled tight and ready to spring.
Is it fear? Pain? Or something more dangerous that could burn us all if we’re not careful?
Whatever the reason, I don’t like it.
She’s an anomaly, and I don’t like not knowing what I’m dealing with. People are supposed to be predictable. Easy to understand. Patterns. But her? Every time I think I’ve got her figured out, she throws a curveball—like now.
And if I’m honest, part of me hates how much it bothers me. How much I want to pull back the layers and see what’s underneath. She’s chaos, and I’ve spent my life avoiding chaos. Predictability keeps us alive. Chaos will get us killed.
How would Uncle Oscar handle this?
Much better, for sure. And probably much gentler too.
Oscar had this way of seeing through people without breaking them apart.
He’d pull the truth out like a magician pulling a coin from behind your ear, leaving you wondering how the hell he did it.
And he’d leave you better for it, somehow lighter, even if you didn’t deserve it.
I’m not Oscar, though. Not even close. I’m too blunt, too impatient, and definitely too cynical. But he taught me what I know, and I owe it to him to try.
I shift my stance, leaning into the tension between us, pressing just enough to see how she’ll react. Maybe I’ll get a clue. Maybe she’ll crack. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself I’m still the one in control here.
“Know how lie detectors work?” I ask, letting a teasing edge slip into my voice.
“They ask questions and make you tell the truth first, to see how your body reacts. That’s what I do.
I pick up on how you act when you’re telling the truth.
Then I watch how you change when you lie. It’s all about patterns.”
It’s a half-truth. Sure, patterns are part of it, but there’s something else, something unexplainable that lets me see through her.
She scoffs, but there’s hesitation behind it like she’s not sure whether to dismiss me or take me seriously.
“And girl…” Levi chimes in, “… he wouldn’t even need patterns to read you. Even I can read you right now.”
He’s been watching her as closely as I have, but not the way I am.
He’s amused.
I’m not.
There’s way too much at stake here—more than she could possibly understand.
This isn’t only about tricks and illusions, not some game we’re playing under neon lights and half-truths.
This is about survival, ensuring we don’t end up buried in the wreckage of our own plans.
She’s a wildcard, a skilled, fiery wildcard, but even the best cards can burn you if you play them wrong.
I can’t afford to play her wrong.
I can’t afford for her to be anything less than what we need her to be.
One slip, one misread, and everything we’ve built and are fighting for could turn to ash.
The ghosts of the past are clawing at our heels, and Veronica isn’t the kind of enemy you fuck around with. She’ll rip us apart if we let her.
Glitter scoffs again, louder this time as if the volume will make it more genuine. “Patterns?”
“Yeah.” I step closer into her space, deliberately testing her reaction.
She stiffens but doesn’t retreat. Ah. She’s competitive, prideful, and always ready to hold her ground.
I’m not buying the act. Not entirely. “Eye movements, facial tics, body language all shift when someone lies. It’s not magic.
It’s reading people. And knowing which people to pick because they show you how open they are to what you’re doing.
A mentalist can read people’s true intentions from the tip of their noses in seconds. ”
Something flickers in her eyes. Whatever it is, she shakes it off quickly. But I saw it. I always see what people want to hide.
And she hides a whole fucking lot.
“It’s just another field of magic,” I continue, acting as though I didn’t notice.
“Instead of fast hands fooling the eyes, I get into people’s heads.
The subconscious is easy to persuade when you’re in.
It’s a skill, one you can learn.” I’m too close now, but I don’t step back.
I need to see what she’ll do with this proximity.
She’s clearly uncomfortable, her body tense.
There’s something about this girl, this woman, that’s making me curious despite the alarms going off in my head, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. “Still want to learn?”
I don’t know if I can really teach her to get into people’s minds. It’s a skill you can learn, yes, but still, not everyone is capable.
What I absolutely need her to learn, and quickly, too, is how to keep others out.
I’m not the only mentalist in town. I’m just the best, and I have no idea what kind of people are working for Veronica. We can’t have her get close to Harrington and Nicholas only to be manipulated against us because she’s such an easy target.
Glitter’s throat bobs as she swallows, and she meets my eyes. “How does this even work?”
“There are five ways to hypnotize someone,” I start, holding her gaze.
“The first is shock induction. You enter the mind through a moment of shock, catch someone off guard, say sleep, and they’re under.
The second is a pattern interrupt, like when someone offers you their hand to shake.
They’re willing, open, and that’s when you pull them into a trance. ”
Her eyes don’t leave mine. They’re almost emerald green in this light.
“The third is what you’ve seen in movies…
the pocket watch, the swaying pendulum. That’s fascination.
We use the eyes to relax someone, bring them into a trance.
Then there’s the relaxation method itself.
The whole close your eyes, breathe, you know the drill.
” Her posture softens a fraction, and I know I’m getting to her.
“And the fifth?”
I smile, knowing I’ve caught her attention. “Conversation. But I combine one and two most of the time. When we are baffled, we become hyper-suggestible. And it’s the most effective with people who are already receptive.”
“Like me,” she mutters as if on reflex.
“Exactly. Like you.”
She’s too easy to pull under. Too receptive.
Why?
I’ve had a lot of easy, gullible marks over the years, but I don’t think she’s one of them. I study her, still trying to figure out what it is that keeps her teetering between defiance and curiosity. She’s not the kind of person who lets her guard down without reason.
So why does she open her mind so easily for me?
My gaze wanders to her elegant neck, and I watch her pulse quicken.
“All right,” she says as if unfazed, but her heart is giving her away. “Teach me.”
That challenge in her tone tells me she wants to prove something to herself or maybe even to me. But she’s not ready. She doesn’t know how deep this will go, how exposed she’ll be.
Because we didn’t tell her.
Fuck.
“The reason hypnosis works is because I set up a pre-frame, something that primes your mind to be more receptive,” I explain before I can overthink what we’re doing.
Levi is still watching, amused but focused. He knows what I’m doing—testing her, pushing her boundaries—so he keeps quiet for once.
Her walls are up, but I’ve seen them crack.
I want to see it again.
It’s a sick kind of fascination.
“When you know it’s coming, you should be able to brace yourself, hold against it. But if I know how to bypass your defenses, it’s only a matter of time till I’m back in your head.”
Her lashes lower, and I catch a slight narrowing of her eyes—a defensive move. “Is that so?” she challenges, her voice a little tight, as if she’s trying to convince herself she’s got this.
It’s so easy to rile her up, to dare her into things. It’s almost cute.
Her lips press together, and for a moment, I notice how perfectly shaped they are, even when they form that stubborn line.
“You’re welcome to try and stop me.” I shrug. “In fact, I want you to. Put up your best walls. Let’s see if you can keep me out.”
She tightens her grip on her arms, those long lashes fluttering as she narrows her eyes again in determination. Those subtle movements, the micro-expressions she can’t hide, betray her more than she realizes.
“Go ahead,” she mutters, daring me. “Do your worst.”
A flicker of vulnerability.
Then uncertainty.
My fingers brush against her wrist, and her pulse hammers under my touch. It quickens, and I pause. Her freckles, barely noticeable, are scattered like stars across her nose.
Fuck, get a grip, Koen.
“This is the pre-framing,” I murmur, forcing myself back on topic. “Part shock, part making sure you’re letting me touch you willingly.”
I tug at her wrist, my other hand tapping her forehead with just the right amount of pressure. She shudders, then her body begins to melt, already giving in.
“Sleep.”
And just like that, her body relaxes against me. No resistance at all, even though I told her to try keeping me out. She’s letting me in, whether she realizes it or not. And God, the way she gives in so completely makes my cock twitch in my jeans.