Forty-Five
Kat
Not Falling - Mudvayne
Elias pulls the Bentley to a slow stop inside the parking garage.
The ride here was almost silent, although his hand was on my knee the whole time, grounding me.
Sweat beads on the back of my neck. I have no idea what I’m walking into.
A flicker of nerves flutters in my stomach—but it’s muted.
Where there would normally be fear and indecision, there’s now power and composure.
The headlights blast against the concrete pillars before the engine goes quiet. For a moment, neither of us moves. I glance around at the vehicles parked nearby—black sedans, a couple of shiny motorcycles, a sleek silver Porsche. I swallow hard, and Elias gives my knee a small squeeze.
“Once we’re in there… it’s different,” he says, emphasizing the last word.
“I can’t show weakness, not even for you.
They need to see the leader of The Circle.
Not the Elias you know.” He pauses, searching my face for a reaction.
“I don’t want you to think that’s me. Not with you.
” A muscle in his jaw ticks as a flash of something passes over his face.
I take his hand in mine, giving it a firm squeeze. “You don’t have to protect me from you. I’ve already seen the real you, and I’m not afraid.”
He smiles, pulling me forward and giving me a soft kiss on my forehead.
We both take a deep breath as we exit the car.
He opens my door for me, taking my hand and helping me out.
I’m aware of every inch of exposed skin in this dress, but instead of shrinking from it, I own it.
I plant my stilettoed foot on the floor, the fabric pooling at my hips, exposing my skin from ankle to hip, and rise from the car.
The air in the garage is cooler than outside, goosebumps peppering my exposed legs. My heels click against the concrete floor as we make our way to the elevator. The sound echoes further than I expected, but something about it makes me feel divinely feminine.
Entering through the doors, it’s eerily quiet.
There’s a big metal detector scanner in front of the elevator doors, and three big security men guarding the entrance.
But other than that, it’s just an empty, shiny, white room.
I lengthen my stride as we approach the scanners.
I get ready to take off my jewelry, but Elias holds my hand firmly and pulls me through the scanner with him.
It screams out an alarm, but none of the security guards move to intercept us.
They just incline their heads and let us walk.
Standing outside the elevator, Elias presses his thumb against the scanner before hitting the call button.
He takes my hand, the gesture instantly grounding as I feel the heat from his hand move through my arm and into my body.
A small camera sits in the corner above the elevator, red light blinking like a beacon.
I straighten my spine, knowing someone is watching right now. Let them watch.
As the elevator door closes, Elias leans in close. “Your choice of dress is fucking cruel, little rebel,” he says, trailing his fingers up my bare thigh.
I playfully bat his hand away. “Show no weakness, boss man.”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile, and a low rumble comes from his chest. The air is thick with tension as the elevator doors open, the top floor coming into view.
The room swallows me the moment I step inside.
White walls stretch in every direction. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and something else.
Something metallic and cold. Every surface gleams under the fluorescent lights.
Glass, steel, marble—all immaculate without so much as a fingerprint.
No art. No clutter. Nothing unnecessary.
I don’t know what I expected the headquarters of a syndicate to look like, but it definitely wasn’t this. It looks like a tech company. Everything is clean, organized, and quiet.
Why is that more unnerving?
There are maybe fifty computers, but only about five are manned at the moment.
People stop what they’re doing as we pass.
Heads lift to watch us as we walk towards a partitioned room at the back.
I pull my shoulders back and lengthen my stride.
The fabric of the dress sways with my movement, letting slivers of skin peek out with each step.
One man slowly removes his headset, eyes following us.
Another woman pauses mid-typing, her fingers hovering above the keyboard as she listens.
Inadequacy creeps up my spine through instinct, but I don’t let it fully form. I just tilt my chin up and fix my gaze on a point on the wall ahead. If they’re going to look, they can look at someone who isn’t intimidated by them. I’ve survived worse than this room, and I’m not fucking prey anymore.
Standing outside of the boardroom, Elias allows me to take a breath before opening the door and motioning me to enter.
I step inside and immediately know I’m not supposed to be here.
The boardroom is long, all sharp angles and polished surfaces that reflect the overhead lights in a blinding way.
The white walls from the control room carry through, giving the room an unnatural cleanliness to it.
Gareth and Cain sit to the left of a large mahogany table, and eight more men occupying the other seats.
Power clings to them like a second skin.
As the door closes behind us, the small murmur of conversation dies, and their eyes turn on me in unison.
The weight of their stares hits me like a physical force.
But don’t let it shrink me. Some stare at me with curiosity, trying to figure out who I am and why I’m here.
Others look at me with pure disgust—one even has his lip curled.
My spine stiffens when I realize he’s wearing a biker cut, and two of the men don’t even bother to hide the slow drag of their gaze over my body.
I catch a brief tick of Elias’s jaw in my periphery.
One man lifts a single eyebrow while another adjusts his cufflinks without breaking eye contact.
No one speaks. They don’t have to. I already know I’m breaking some kind of rule just by breathing the air in this room.
That thought alone is enough to send my mind into a flurry.
I guess I now know the meaning of drunk on power.
In the corner of the room, Gareth rises from his seat. The scrape of his chair against the hardwood floor echoes resoundingly in the quiet room. He moves to the corner and pulls out a thick leather chair—and places it directly beside the head of the table. Beside Elias’s seat.
A ripple moves through the room. Shock and anger.
One of the men straightens in his seat. Another leans forward, his arms resting against the table with his fingers steepled.
I don’t need anyone to tell me this has never been done before—I can see it, in the tightening of jaws and the stiffening of shoulders around the room.
They’re fucking pissed. One of the men in a biker cut lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
Elias leads me to the head of the table, his hand never leaving mine, and he takes his seat. I take my seat right beside him.
No one objects, but I can feel it coming. The air has changed. Every single man in this room understands that something has shifted—and it’s not in their favor.
“Speak,” Elias says, his deep voice breaking the stillness.
Most of the men in the room avert their eyes, suddenly losing the nerve to speak. One man, however, steels his spine and doesn’t shy away from Elias’s stare.
“Who is this?” he asks. His tone is calm, but I don’t miss the way his fist is curled on the table.
I glance over to Elias, and his face lets me know that he doesn’t miss it either. Cain folds his arms and leans back in his chair, watching the exchange with a smirk on his face.
“Is there a problem, Michael?” Elias asks.
Michael’s face grows red, and his knuckles turn white. “These meetings are Circle members only. I’m not permitted to bring my sergeant-at-arms. I assumed the rules applied to everyone.”
Elias rubs his jaw with a smirk before finally looking at him. “They do.”
The room stills, and I don’t look away. If he wants to question my place, he can do it while looking me in the eye.
“But yet here she is,” Michael says, gesturing towards me before leaning back in his chair.
“I welcome questions at this table, Michael, as you well know. But did you ever hear the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’?” Elias pauses, his voice menacingly low as Michael fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. “Tell me, Michael. Are you the cat? Or the mouse?”
Michael lets out a short breath before he inclines his head. “Understood, boss. My mistake.”
Elias’s stare lingers on Michael for a moment longer before scanning the rest of the table. Michael’s shoulders relax a fraction. Around the table, the rest of the men shift in their seats, and the air in the room grows thick with tension.
“Does anyone have something of value to bring to the table?” Elias looks at each person in turn. None of them meet his stare.
The silence stretches for a few seconds too long. One man flips his pen between his fingers before realizing he’s being watched and quickly sets it down.
“Ivan?” Elias’s eyes narrow on a man wearing a white tank top under a blue suit jacket. “You’re being awfully quiet. Do you have anything for me?”
Ivan adjusts himself at the table. “No, sir. We’re still looking into everything.” Ivan’s voice is careful. It’s the kind of answer you give someone when you’re trying not to say the wrong thing.
“Boss, check this out,” Gareth says from Elias’s left. “Just before this meeting, we caught a partial match of the cut on the security footage of Elizabeth’s apartment.”
He digs deep into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He smooths it out on the table, and my heart stops. The entire world narrows to the grainy photo on the table. The edges of my vision blur, the white walls fading away to darkness as my pulse roars in my ears.
My body feels cold and hot all at once. I’m frozen, yet my skin is fucking vibrating. I can’t look away. That single piece of paper sits on the table like a loaded gun.
I reach for it, ignoring Elias’s hand tightening around my knee in warning. The men around me are statues. No one shifts. No one speaks as I hold the photo up.
“This is the Iron Angels,” I say, my voice surprisingly strong despite the monsoon raging inside me.
A scoff comes from the other side of the room. One of the two men wearing biker cuts raises his eyebrows, giving me a look of pure disgust.
“Impossible,” he says with a sneer. “The Iron Angels dissolved years ago.”
“They did. But the Iron Angels never went away. They just disappeared. They still operate in secret. They joined other clubs so no one would dig too deep. It obviously worked.” Anger boils beneath my skin.
I’m used to having to explain myself, but something about it being in a room of powerful men hits differently.
“Do these other clubs know? Because I fucking doubt they would be cool with split loyalty.”
“Do you think the Iron Angels give a fucking shit? No,” I say, the power in my voice shocking me slightly, but I don’t stop. “I don’t know if they’re all in on it or if they operate in secret. But they’re still. Fucking. Here.” I punctuate the last three words, blood rushing to my ears.
Elias looks at me, a brief flicker of pride passing over his features before the mask slides back into place.
Gareth taps furiously on his phone before speaking. “It’s true. It’s the same patch.” He pulls out a photo on his phone of the full patch.
I avert my eyes. I swore I’d kill myself before I ever looked at those fucking colors again.
Elias’s nostrils flare as he slowly and meticulously rises from his chair. “Would anyone care to answer why a table full of, what I assume to be, intelligent individuals did not see this?” He bangs the table at the last word, glasses of water vibrating with the impact.
“It’s not our fault, boss. They were dissolved!” the man in the cut protests, his face turning a deep crimson at the accusation.
“You of all people should know how quickly things change, Trip. Or have you forgotten?” Elias’s voice is lethal and sharp yet soft enough to cause a false sense of security.
Trip’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing, his lips sealed together as he focuses on Elias. Unspoken words fill his mouth, but none leave his lips. His fingers curl slowly against the tabletop before relaxing again.
Elias reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out his pistol and slamming it on the table. The sound cracks through the room like a shot. One of the men at the far end of the table straightens in his chair, and I suppress the jolt that runs through me at the sound.
“I have ten bullets in this fucking chamber,” he says, his eyes raking over every single man at the table. “It’s your choice whether they go into the skulls of the Iron Angels or yours.”
Bodies bristle as his words hang in the air. Everyone at this table, including me, knows that his threat isn’t an empty one. Michael taps away furiously at his phone before putting it face down on the table.
“I’ll have answers by morning, boss,” he says, looking squarely at Elias. “Nothing comes into Bridgeport without the Kings knowing.”
Elias leans forward, palms flat against the deep wooden table. “If that were true, Michael, then I would think you would have told me. I’d hate to think that the leader of the Kings has proven to be… inefficient. I hate inefficiency.”
The conversation around the table continues, but the words blur together, my pulse drowning them out. My fingers curl against the underside of the chair as my leg bounces underneath and sweat gathers at my hairline.
If the Iron Angels are here, then so is Owen. And if he’s in the city, it’s not a matter of if he finds me. It’s when.