Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
GEMMA
If the Crownes celebrated every holiday like we were the ones who invented it, the Horsemen celebrated like heathens desecrating the original. The party’s theme was “Blood of the Gods.” Everyone was to come as some kind of divine tragedy.
It was their version of a toga party.
“I love a theme,” Kennedy said. In a lilac dress that barely reached her thighs, her stomach and back entirely exposed, she was supposed to be Persephone.
“You should have gone as Medusa,” Blaire said. “It suits you.”
Everything was more sinister, sexier. The champagne was dyed deep, blood red. The bottle service girls dressed like a Greek chorus, with short togas and red, glittery blood sparkling their skin.
Kennedy smiled. “And you still have time to go as a bitch.”
I’d had my dress made months ago, when this was supposed to be just another party. Strings of diamonds and glittery silver draped over sheer fabric. A slit up to my hip gave it a semblance of a toga shape, and more strands of diamonds fell from my hip, down my bare thigh.
Diamond butterfly wings sealed the look.
I was Psyche.
I’d always been fascinated with mythology. My favorite was the story of Psyche and Eros. It wasn’t as famous as some, like Hades and Persephone.
But it…stuck with me.
Eros was supposed to kill Psyche, but instead he fell in love with her.
“Do you see that guy dressed as Zeus?” Kennedy asked. “Does he look familiar to anyone else?”
Our eyes wandered to a tall man with blond hair, wearing a toga.
“Oh my God, Kennedy,” Blaire said. “You dated him for, like, six months.”
Kennedy tilted her head. “I don’t see it.”
The stairs to the balcony were roped off, and tonight the normally unguarded stairs were blocked by two scary-looking men. My eyes traveled up to the second floor. The balcony was empty.
The odds of seeing him, or any of the Horsemen, tonight were low to none. They didn’t throw parties so they could party.
I stared at the empty balcony, the black railings like a rainbow oil slick under the reflecting neon lights. A sudden, sticky feeling slid inside me, coating my gut and throat like tar.
Was I…disappointed?
No fucking way.
“You called him Trust Fund Freak.”
“Oh!” Kennedy’s eyes grew. “He cut his hair.”
I stood up. “I have to pee.”
“I could use a bump,” Blaire said, standing as if to go with me.
“I’m actually going to pee.”
Her brow wrinkled in suspicion, like I’d just told her chocolate milk came from chocolate cows, but she didn’t follow me as I wove through the VIP section. I wore no panties and no bra, so I easily felt the weight of the diamonds and the cool metal against my skin.
Disappointed? I don’t get disappointed.
What did I think was going to happen?
That he would be waiting for me? That this time he would explain his absence?
It wasn’t like I wanted to see him. Nothing good ever followed—
I stilled. Someone stood in the middle of the general admission floor. Bodies twisted and writhed around him, and he stood still, staring.
At me.
I thought to my shared location, just as someone stepped in front of me, blocking the man.
Wraith.
Goose bumps peppered my flesh. Wraith was my height, maybe a little smaller, but he owned the room. I swallowed, taking a step back. He stepped with me, closing the distance and then some.
“Do you know what it means for a Horseman to leave a contract unfinished?”
“I—” I broke off. “I don’t care.”
His hollow, tattooed eyes blade-sharp, he barked a bitter laugh. “Of course you don’t. Grim knew that when he saved you. He knew that when he tattooed his chest. He knew that when he bound his soul with yours. He knew that when he continued to keep you in debt.”
“Why the fuck are you telling me this?”
He stepped even closer, until his subtle, dark scent enveloped me. “If Grim is your reaper, then you’re his fucking reckoning. He knows you’re going to kill him, and he refuses to let go.”
Without another word, Wraith disappeared into the shadows. I stood frozen to the spot, forgetting what I’d been doing.
Oh, right, bathroom.
The bathroom was private and huge, especially for a club. It was all black marble with vines of gold. Velvet oxblood curtains hung on one wall. On the other, a thick-cut sink with gold vining through the black marble.
I pulled my lip gloss out, dabbing my lips.
Grim’s reckoning?
Yeah, fucking right.
I shook my head just as the door opened behind me.
“Bruh, occupied—”
I broke off. A person reflected in the mirror. His hair was a mop of messy brown, and he held a knife in his hand.
The guy from the floor.
He took a step closer, and I leaned back.
“I know you make your posts for me,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve been talking to me. Dressing for me.”
His voice disappeared into a sickening groan.
I exhaled. They were all the same. I don’t know why that bothered me more than, you know, the threat of imminent death. They were like everyone else, obsessed with the idea of me.
This time I was feeling a little more than the usual numb exhilaration. Feeling…kind of pissed off.
“Is this your big display to show the world Gemma Crowne belongs to you?” I asked, stepping closer. “What a waste of fucking time. Everyone owns Gemma Crowne.”
Fury flashed in his eyes just as the door opened again, so quiet I wouldn’t have noticed had I not had a perfect view of it.
Grim leaned against the doorjamb. None of the Horsemen ever dressed for their theme, so of course he wasn’t wearing some kind of toga.
He somehow looked more expensive in his simple black pants and black shirt, rolled up to his forearms to show off his tattoos.
The buttons of his shirt were slightly undone, messy almost, like he couldn’t be bothered to finish it.
On that sliver of tan skin I saw the edge of the three scratches that tattooed our destinies together.
I knew who he was really supposed to be. The gold arrow dripping with something that might be blood made it obvious.
Eros.
He rubbed his jaw, a barely there smile tweaking the side of his mouth. Something flickered in his eyes, an emotion like gold glittering at the bottom of a black well.
Humor?
Maybe, but it felt darker.
“I’ve imagined this so many times,” the guy continued, oblivious to the threat at his back. He pressed the knife to my neck and the familiar rush overcame me.
I stared at Grim, angling my neck up for the knife.
An offering, but not for this asshole.
Grim’s eyes pulsed, locked on my arched neck, and I felt the vibration in my bones. That twisted, dark thing between us shimmered in the air. My teeth tingled like if I’d eaten too much sugar. It landed electric in my gut.
“I bet you’re even more beautiful dead—”
Blood splattered my face, neck, and chest. The knife he’d been holding fell from his hands, clanging against the marble. Blood the color of dark wine poured out of the silky straight line from his neck. Behind him, Grim held a knife to his throat, gaze locked with mine.
I barely had a moment to register the promise in Grim’s eyes, when the man fell to the floor.
Blood pooled beneath my stilettos, slid like liquid metal down Grim’s knife, coating his fingers.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
With each drop of blood, my heart rate slammed against my chest. Grim’s eyes were locked on my neck, the vein in his own throbbing.
Something was about to shatter.