27. RECLAMATION
TWENTY-SEVEN
reclamation
Pippa
The decor of the new ballroom is gaudy. Gold light spills from chandeliers the size of small planets, refracting through crystal and champagne flutes, catching on sequins and polished shoes. Everyone here is dressed to be admired or feared—some manage both.
My skin has been crawling all night as I’ve had to smile and nod and rub elbows with criminal after predator after egotistical asshole.
My date, Jake, is a younger version of all these gross old men in power, and it’s set me on edge all this evening.
I’ve managed to keep things cordial and flirty, feigning interest in his boring, one-sided, and self-absorbed conversations all night.
It’s all been worth it, because we are approaching Magnus Troy.
My pulse ticks against the inside of my throat.
“Breathe,” Jules says softly in my ear. “You’re doing great, Pip.”
I don’t respond as Jake steers me forward with a proprietary hand at the small of my back.
“You’re clear,” Hudson says through the comms. “Junior is across the room—no line of sight.”
Troy stands near the center of the room, surrounded by men who laugh too hard and women who tilt their heads just enough to look interested. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him. Smaller. Age has hollowed him out, but the self-importance is still there, puffed up and polished.
Jake squeezes my waist. “There he is,” he says, breath warm against my ear. “Try not to swoon.”
I don’t reply. My heart races. I picture myself outside of my body. Time for the role of my lifetime. I twist the solitaire stone just slightly. The motion likely looks like I’m fidgeting—nervous to meet the Pedophile of the United States.
You can do this, Pippa.
Do it for Catherine.
When we stop in front of him, Jake clears his throat, already smiling too wide. “Mr. President, may I introduce Pippa Saint James.”
Jake gestures to me.
I step forward.
There’s a beat—a fraction of a second where the room seems to dim, where the music dulls into a low hum—before Troy looks up.
When his eyes land on me, I freeze.
The air shifts. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough that I do.
His smile falters. Comes back wrong.
He blinks once. Twice.
“Sorry,” he says slowly. “Have we…have we met?”
My stomach drops.
Everyone in my earpiece says comforting, encouraging words. They remind me to stay calm, to not read into it.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
I’m fifteen again.
He smells stale, like heavy cologne and something sour. I didn’t know I’d be alone with him. I thought Sophie would be here. I thought…
His hand is too close; his voice is too low. He’s saying things I don’t understand yet—not fully—but they make my skin crawl.
“You’re mature for your age,” he says with a smile, like his compliment is the greatest gift.
I don’t respond. I can’t speak.
“I like your name, Catherine. It suits you. Timeless and royal.”
Dad’s best friend doesn’t even know he picked my name for that very reason. Gross.
None of Dad’s friends know about us—not our names and not that we hideout in the bunker during their parties.
It’s for our safety, our dad says.
Safety from who?
His best fucking friend?
I wonder if Sophie could hear me if I call her name. Where did she go?
It’s my fault for being so eager and coming in here. I should have known better than to trust her.
“Your hair is so pretty. Blondes have more fun, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows as he pulls at a lock of my hair. I know he wants me to interact with him, be charming, but I am frozen.
Tears prick my eyes.
Maybe Sophie will be back any moment. Lunch had been normal—boring, but nothing sinister.
Now this old man is sitting next to me…flirting. He’s way older than dad. Too old to think I could want—
“Sophie told me you wanted to give me a tour of the estate,” he says.
I blink my eyes a few times. In a small voice, I ask, “Haven’t you been here before? Sophie said you and D—” I stumble. “Jared are, like, best friends, right?”
Sophie told me to refer to Dad as Jared. I almost forgot. But maybe if he knows I know Jared, he will stop. Or maybe I should tell him Jared is my dad, even if that bitch Sophie told me not to. Maybe that will protect me.
“Oh, I’ve been to some parties here, of course, but this estate is so big, I’m sure there are rooms I haven’t seen.” He’s leaned in closer, but there is no room for me to lean back any more than I already am.
“Let’s go, pretty girl, I want to see what you have to show me.” He grips my arm to rise with him from the table. His hold is tight enough to keep me next to him as we walk out of the dining room and—
“Pippa?” Enzo’s voice over the comms snaps me back.
Troy’s eyes have gone wider, but not with confusion or alarm, with curiosity. “It’s your eyes,” he says. “I swear I know you.”
The room tilts.
“Stay with us,” Hudson says. “You’re safe. You’re in control.”
I pull in a breath and lower my chin just slightly. When I speak, my voice is softer. Raspy. Practiced. “No, sir. We haven’t met.” I let a hint of awe creep in. “I’m sorry I’m so flustered. It’s just an honor to finally meet you, sir.”
Troy watches me like I’ve said something fascinating.
“I would remember meeting you,” I add, equal parts demure and genuine.
This brings a smile to his face. Ego—always start with their ego.
“I guess that is true,” he says, leaning closer. His smirk makes my skin itch. “You’re stunning, sweetheart. Are you having a good time tonight?”
Disgust curls hot and sharp in my chest.
“I’m flattered, sir,” I say. “Yes, the gala has been lovely.”
He hums, pleased with himself. “Isn’t it?”
He finally extends his hand to shake mine—to touch me.
I swallow.
He’ll never touch me again after this.
After tonight, he’ll never touch anyone else.
I take Troy’s small, clammy hand firmly in mine. I ensure the ring makes contact with his swollen, bruised skin.
The poison transfers cleanly. Invisible. Perfect.
“Make sure you say good night before you leave, dear,” Troy says with a smile as he releases his grip. “I’d love to set up some more time with you—and your friend here,” he jerks his chin toward Jake.
I simply smile and nod.
As Jake and I walk away, I meet Jules’s gaze across the room.
I lift my chin slightly, nearly imperceptibly.
Confirmation.
Jake laughs too loud. “What’s it feel like to have the President of the United States flirting with you?” He squeezes my hip. “My date caught President Troy’s eye. That man has great taste.”
I say nothing. He continues to grope my backside. I still say nothing. No laugh, no encouragement. He thinks he’s on a streak.
“God, it must be nice to be beautiful, huh? I mean I know I’m nice to look at, but beautiful women like you, you could have any man in here, couldn’t you?”
His hand lowers.
Hudson and Enzo curse over the comms.
My smile dies. I turn to him slowly. “Take your hand off me.” My voice is measured, but lethal.
His grin slips. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
His fingers tighten instead, digging into my ass.
Something in me snaps. Not loud, not messy. Clean.
I grab the arm on my ass and squeeze his wrist as I remove it. I squeeze—hard—placing his arm at his side and making sure he can’t pull away.
“Listen to me. Being in this room has confused you. You think it means you matter. It doesn’t.
Men like you mistake tolerance for interest. You mistake entitlement for attraction and money for worth.
No matter how high you climb, you will still be nothing.
You don’t intimidate me. You bore me. Touch me or any woman like that again, and I will make sure everyone here knows exactly what you are. Understand?”
His face reddens. “You think you can talk to me like that? I can end your career.”
I step closer and flash him a lethal smile. “Go for it.”
I cross the ballroom toward the corridor of single-stall restrooms. The bathroom is marble and mirrors and blessedly empty.
I brace my hands on the sink and breathe.
I did it.
It’s over.
I look myself in the eye in the mirror and smile. I’m proud of you, Catherine.
Knock, knock.
My head whips toward the sound.
Through the comms, Hudson whispers it’s him.
When I open the door, he slips in, locking it behind him. He pulls me into a hug. “You good?” he asks quietly.
I look up at him. Really look. And I start laughing. It bubbles out of me, shaky and bright and real. Tears well in my eyes. “I did it,” I say. “I actually did it.”
Hudson beams with pride. “Fuck yeah you did. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too.”
He gives me a soft, tender kiss. Nothing steamy. Just care and something that feels a lot like adoration. Or maybe…love?
I wouldn’t really know what a kiss or hug shared with love feels like, but as I stand in Hudson’s arms, I feel cherished and safe.
He caresses my face and tells me I should head to the van soon. I agree. We embrace one more time and exit the bathroom one at a time.
Back in the ballroom, the energy has shifted. It’s louder now—sharper.
I make my way to the bar and ask the bartender for club soda with lime, needing something cold and bubbly. The bartender delivers my drink, and Eva speaks over the comms.
“Pippa, I think Junior is heading to the bar—”
My skin prickles. I freeze as if my body knows I’m next to him again for the first time in fifteen years. My mind catches up when our eyes meet.
His widen.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t flinch. Don’t show signs of recognition. Years of practice, training, and self-preservation instinct activate. I won’t give myself or my sisters away. I lift my glass to my lips to partially obscure my face.
I give him a small, polite smile, but nothing more than I’d give any stranger.
His shock is apparent as he stands less than six feet from me. The bartender asks him for his order, but his attention is locked in on me. He takes a slow, small step toward me. “Catherine?”
“Excuse me?”
His jaw tightens. “It’s you.”
As if on cue, Jax appears at Junior’s side—a tall wall of a man now blocking Junior's view of me.
“Good evening,” Jax says.
It takes a moment for Junior to realize Jax is speaking to him. He shakes his head to turn his attention to the imposing and lethal law enforcement officer next to him.
“You Junior Volkov?”
Junior calmly shakes his head, feigning confusion. “No.”
“You sure about that?” Jax asks in a menacing, low tone.
I can’t see Junior, but I see the shift as he lifts his hand to shake cordially. “Michael Grant. And you are?”
“I’m on security detail for the President tonight.”
“Ah, well, if you’ll excuse me, my date is waiting for me.” With that, Junior turns and walks directly to the building exit.
Jax and I make eye contact. He’s assessing me. I’m trying to decipher what Jules could have said to get him over here. I heard commotion over the channel when Junior was approaching, but I’d tuned it out. Now I wish I hadn’t.
He gives me a polite, tight-lipped smile and simply walks away.
That works for me.
With my drink in hand, I scan the ballroom again. Jake is talking to Cramden—undoubtedly tattling on me—or sucking up to the senator. Or both.
I’m so ready to be out of here.
Thud.
Several shrill screams rise above the din.
Chaos erupts in the ballroom. All attention focused on the center of the room. On the collapsed President.
Secret Service rushes forward, moving people out of the way.
Medics and ambulances are called.
Whispers. Gasps. Tears.
Men of power fail to take charge, standing by in shock.
A gurney is wheeled in by a team of medics a few moments later. The crowd parts for them and I watch as they put President Magnus Troy onto the stretcher.
He is unconscious.
It worked.
I did it.
I turn on my heel, and I leave the ballroom through the southeast corner. Walking briskly, I make my way directly to Enzo and Eva. Two quick blocks later, I rap on the sliding door.
Enzo opens it and pulls me into his arms.
Where Hudson brings me a safety that feels like gentleness and comfort, Enzo’s safety is menacing and unyielding. He’d burn down the world for those he loves.
Little by little, I think I might become one of those people.
He pulls back and takes in the calm, cool, and collected woman in front of him—no mask, no role—the real me. The whole me.
A small smile dances across his lips. “You did it,” he whispers.
I simply smile back. I’m at a loss for words.
“Fuck, Pippa. How do you feel?” Eva asks from her seat farther inside the van.
I give Eva a huge smile. “Fucking amazing.”
She approaches and pulls me in for a hug, too. I know she’s glad this is over for me, too.
I take a deep breath. “That was definitely Junior. He clocked me.”
“We know,” Enzo replies. “We’ll deal with that later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want—” I start.
“I’m sure,” Enzo replies. “Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about you.”
The weight of a million memories, scars, and painful regrets are lifted. I feel…I feel ready.
Ready for a new chapter.