Chapter 5
Kane
I’m not where I’m supposed to be.
That’s not a moral statement; it’s a logistical one and, most likely, a big, big problem.
Calloway is in Concordia, ears open, doing what we agreed we’d do—watching for any sign the elites are looking for us and, most importantly, have clocked Worcester.
That’s where Rook and Kylie are still holed up in the hotel room.
The last I heard from Rook was yesterday evening, and I think Kylie’s at least willing to talk to him after we kidnapped her.
Prior to that, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and taken three showers.
It’s a little complicated, to say the least. But then again, most relationships don’t start with a kidnapping.
Cal and I have mostly stayed out of Rook’s hair while he and Kylie figure shit out. We’ve focused on keeping our ears to the ground, hoping to devise some sort of preemptive move when the elites finally get around to hunting and killing us for our crimes.
Right now, I’m supposed to be with Cal in Concordia—our hometown and the place we will most likely never be able to go back to after having taken Kylie Moon.
Instead, I’m just outside Boston, in a wealthy suburb, sitting across the street from a shopping district that looks like money built it just to prove it could.
Pristine walking paths with perfect landscaping and storefronts that wouldn’t dare advertise a sale.
Only full price here, baby. Just luxury brands that expect you to drop five figures on a fucking pair of shoes.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn sidewalks are heated.
She steps out of one of the stores with two shopping bags in her hands and sunlight bouncing off her dark brown hair.
My chest tightens. And my eyes fixate.
Fuck me. Why is she so goddamn beautiful?
Her name is Blair Windsor, and as of last night, she’s completely wrecked my fucking world without even saying a word to me.
Her mother, Devney Windsor, follows behind her, and her teenage sister, Bonnie Windsor, appears bored.
The knot in my stomach grows.
I definitely shouldn’t be here. I should be in Concordia where Calloway is, keeping my ears open and making sure no one’s sniffing too close to Worcester.
Instead, I’m watching a rich girl buy clothes with the sole purpose of “impressing her future vampire husband.” A vampire husband who only exists in her mind, that is. The elites don’t give a shit about wedding bells. They just want blood. And to breed.
My phone buzzes.
Cal: What are you doing right now?
I glance at the message and then at Blair across the street.
Me: Just a little surveillance.
It’s not a lie. I mean, I am surveilling…her.
Blair laughs at something her little sister Bonnie says, nudging her gently with her elbow.
Clearly, everything is peachy keen fucking jelly bean in her mind.
She’s going to find her prince charming vampire and live happily ever after once she’s chosen by him at the Selection—or the “Choosing Ceremony,” as she’s eloquently dressed it up when talking about it with her mother.
Mind you, what Blair is excited about is not a choosing or a ceremony. It’s a fucking auction where rich, vile bloodsuckers pay for her blood, for her virginity, and for the right to do as they please—for her. Like she’s a damn Volkswagen.
There’s nothing ceremonial or romantic about it.
Also, seeing as the first time I laid eyes on Blair Windsor was less than twenty-four hours ago and I know her full name and everyone in her family’s names, I do realize I am well past stalker territory here.
Not to mention, the intense amount of eavesdropping I’ve been doing over the past two hours has given me a plethora of knowledge about Blair Windsor, and Google has certainly helped answer some of the questions I’ve had.
Blair Windsor is twenty-three years old.
Her father, Harry Windsor, is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company that sells medical devices, and he sits on several boards within the medical and tech communities.
Her family isn’t just rich, but rich. She’s lived her entire life with a golden spoon in her pretty little mouth, and I couldn’t be further from the type of man she’s imagined in her mind.
I’m blue-collar, working class, and callused hands. To her, I’m probably no better than gum on the bottom of her shoe.
Unfortunately for me, I’m hopelessly locked in on her.
She’s my fucking fate.
And it’s really starting to make sense why Rook acted like a moron whenever Kylie was around.
Cal: Everything good?
I watch Blair flip her hair over her shoulder before pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her purse. Her younger sister Bonnie bounces around her, and Blair rolls her eyes while she slides the gloss over her luscious mouth.
My chest clenches, and a jolt zaps my fucking nerves at the sight of her perfect pink mouth.
And then my stupid phone buzzes in my pocket again.
Cal: Where are you?
Shit. I stare at it for a second too long.
Me: Concordia. Same as you.
I’m nowhere near Concordia right now, and this might be the first time I’ve ever lied to my brother about something this important.
Cal: Where at in Concordia?
Me: Just around. Trying to keep moving, you know? Not staying in one place for too long.
Cal: What are you seeing?
Fuck me. What is this, an interrogation?
I glance up. Blair laughs at something Bonnie says again. Devney doesn’t laugh but gives a small smile, and I reckon that makes her a regular comedian. And they head to the next store.
Me: Uh…nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to worry about.
Cal: Worcester was quiet when I was there. No tails on me coming or going. Kylie hasn’t bolted.
Me: How’s Rook?
Cal: He’s good, actually.
Me: So…it’s working out?
Cal: Well, fuck yeah, it’s working out. Fated mates, bro.
Fated mates, bro. Yeah. Fucking tell me about it.
I look up from my phone on instinct, and Blair, her sister Bonnie, and her mom walk back out of a store and head to the next one. Must have been a disappointing showing in there.
Cal: You seen Holland?
Me: No.
Cal: Well, if you see him, keep eyes on him. If he moves, I want to know.
I type back with my thumb without looking down, watching the sun bounce off Blair Windsor’s hair and her pretty fucking skin instead.
Me: You got it.
Across the street, Blair stops near a window display, adjusting her coat while Devney prattles on about some dress she thought Blair should’ve bought.
My phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth fucking time.
Cal: Change of plans, let’s meet up now. Describe the scene.
I hesitate. He wants to know where I am right now.
Shit.
Me: Same old. Mall. Shops. People.
Cal: Why are you at the fucking mall?
Across the street, Blair turns her head slightly, scanning the crowd before she refocuses on her mom as she talks intently about fashion choices and which stores they need to go to next.
Cal: KANE
Just my name. All caps. No punctuation. That’s Cal’s version of a raised eyebrow.
Me: So, funny story, I might not be in Concordia…
Cal: Where the fuck are you?
I grimace as I type the truth.
Me: Rich suburbs. Boston side.
Cal: What in the fuck are you doing near Boston?
Because of her. It’s all because of her. Ever since last night, she’s all I can think about. She’s all I can sense. She’s the only fucking thing on my goddamn mind.
I don’t answer right away because answering feels like admitting something I’m not ready to admit.
But then, something happens. For the first time in Holland Thorne’s miserable fucking existence, he actually helps me.
Across the street from where Blair stands on the sidewalk chatting with her mom and sister, Holland the slimefuck approaches from the valet stand.
He looks like a douche in loafers and khakis and shiny Ray-Bans on his face.
He, of course, is showcasing that easy smile of his while his goons Mark and Evan flank him on either side.
At the sight of him, Blair and Devney smile, and even Bonnie offers a wave.
Clearly, the whole fucking Windsor family knows him.
That twist in my gut clenches tighter.
Holland kisses Devney’s cheek like he belongs in her world. He speaks to Blair. She laughs and smiles like she hasn’t a clue the true piece of shit that he is.
Cal: KANE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?
It takes all my willpower to pull my attention away from Blair, but I manage to send Cal a quick message.
Me: Relax. I came here on a little bit of a whim, but it worked out. Slimefuck is here with his two goons.
He knows who Slimefuck is instantly.
Cal: Keep eyes on him.
Across the street, Holland leans in close to Blair, saying something low. Her expression shifts—excited, pleased, proud.
Devney nods, and a satisfied smile crests her mouth. Bonnie still looks bored. Frankly, I don’t know the kid, but goddamn, she’s growing on me. I’d be bored out of my mind if I had to stand there listening to Holland Thorne prattle on.
I open my ears and try to listen.
Something about tomorrow.
New York.
A penthouse.
Damien Snow.
Blair’s heart is racing with excitement. And under all of that, even though Holland is a shield and I can’t read his intention at all, his two brofers’ intentions hum like a live wire. They have ulterior motives, and not a single one of them is being sincere right now.
But it’s clear from their body language they want Blair to feel excited about the whole fucked-up situation they’re planning for Damien Snow—a very important vampire elite.
I don’t know Damien personally, but I know enough about him to know he’s a vicious kind of man. He was the one at the preview last night smelling her fucking neck.
My jaw tightens, and I quickly shoot Cal a message back.
Me: He’s currently setting up something for a woman who was at the preview.
Cal: Anything about us?
Me: We don’t appear to be on his radar right now.
Holland’s only focused on Blair. He wants to sweet-talk her as much as he can to make her willing and compliant. But she has no fucking idea how dark his mind probably is. How devious it all feels, just being able to read Mark’s and Evan’s intentions.
Cal: Don’t do anything stupid. Let’s head back to Worcester in about two hours.
Don’t do anything stupid? It’s starting to feel too fucking late for that.
Across the street, Blair turns slightly. Her hair catches the light. She smiles at Holland like he’s the bridge to everything she wants.
And inside my chest, the bond pulls so hard it feels like it’s tearing something loose.
Tomorrow.
NYC.
Penthouse.
Damien Snow.
None of that sounds good.
If it’s not the auction, it’s against the rules to meet up for anything prior—and even her fairy-tale version of the Selection will be off the rails for good. If it is the auction, I’m out of time anyway. Plus, the mere idea of her going on a trip with anyone but me feels akin to murder.
Three birds, one stone, because really, I’m saving us both here.
Fuck. The narrative you’re spinning sure as hell better hold up later, Kane.
Because there is no version of this where I walk away. And things are about to hit overdrive with absolutely no chance left for reverse.