Chapter 5 WHISPERS OF FEAR
My fingers shake as I reread the email. I fiddle with the emerald pendant nestled on my chest, grazing the tiny notches again.
Ms. Anderson,
Apologies for the delayed response. Per your request, I shadowed you for two weeks. No unusual persons noted, but this SUV with Illinois plates appeared within a hundred feet of you on three separate occasions, which could be coincidental.
Regardless, I’d advise caution.
Emerson Clarke
I flip through the photos of a black SUV with tinted windows. Lingering outside Fleur. Near the Italian deli I frequent. A block from my Upper West Side apartment. It looks similar to the one outside the office this morning, but I can’t be sure.
Chill curdles inside my gut as I cross my office on the forty-ninth floor to the large window overlooking Fifth Avenue.
Rain hammers the glass panes, the wind howling a mournful wail. Fog mists over the city, an endless swath of murkiness. How I wish it were spring—sunshine, flowers in bloom.
Normally, I’d curl up on my oversized lavender armchair at home and read. But worries swarm my mind instead. Why would anyone follow me? For money? For photos? Something worse?
My chest tightens.
I stare at the black puzzle box on top of my desk.
Could it be my mysterious admirer?
No, it can’t be.
These puzzle boxes started showing up randomly years ago. When they first appeared, our family was on high alert. I had a bodyguard tailing my every move, expecting a stalker to escalate. But the gifter covered up his or her tracks well.
And nothing ever happened. Just the occasional puzzle box.
Eventually, I shed the bodyguard, eager to get some semblance of normalcy.
Over time, the puzzles became a treat I’d look forward to…a strange comfort. Whoever this person was knew I’d enjoy them.
I rub my arms. It’s toasty in here, but I’m still so darn cold.
Unsettled, I flip on the flat screen, hoping some background noise will cheer me up.
“—reporting from what used to be Café Aroma. Officials say the fire was contained to the building—”
My mouth drops as I stare at the wreckage of the quaint coffee shop I visited this morning. Charred walls, blackened floors, melted plastic. Nothing recognizable.
What the hell? Everything was fine a few hours ago. What about the other customers? Or Leanne, the waitress with sad eyes?
“Two men, believed to be the owner and his son, were found deceased.”
Two men. So, not Leanne. Relief sweeps through me, followed by a pinch of guilt. Two people died today. That’s still sad. Even if it was the asshole who scared Leanne.
“Arson isn’t suspected. Rumors alleged the café may be a laundering front for ‘The Association.’ But whether the mysterious society exists is still unproven.”
My blood runs cold, and my mouth dries. The goosebumps return with a vengeance.
The Association exists, all right. The news makes them sound like an urban legend, but I know better. They’re real—rich and powerful.
Unstoppable.
Unless you have someone more dangerous on your side.
His face crosses my mind—dark hair, a masculine jaw, a singular scar, and blistering emerald eyes. I shake it off.
The Association has tried for years to recruit my family. We should be flattered, they say. Unlimited power will be ours.
But when we said no, they resorted to threats and violence—embezzlement, kidnappings, and what they did to my half sister, Taylor, when she was sixteen? I shove the dark thoughts away.
Repulsed, I turn off the screen. My palms sweat as the earlier unease burgeons into fear. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m safe.
I slip my pendant back into my dress, nestling it against my skin. The metal warms, and a heartbeat from the past pulls me under.
Hollow Gardens. An elm tree. A carved message on its trunk. A boy who stole my heart and whispered my name like a prayer—my first and only love—who vanished one day without a trace.
Where are you, Kian?
Enough sulking around.
Action, not reaction. I type a message to Emerson.
Lana
I’d rather play it safe too. I saw a similar SUV this morning outside my office. I’ll be careful. Let me know what you find.
With renewed determination, I grab my purse and Emerson’s packet, then head across the sky bridge to The Orchid.
I’ll chat with my siblings or get a quick massage to settle my nerves. Then I’ll tackle the pile of work waiting for me. And starting next week, I’ll volunteer at the animal shelter Belle used to work at. Time to find that missing passion.
Fifteen minutes later, I stride into our family’s reserved room at the club. My family is big—seven of us, not including Dad. Someone’s always here.
The grand halls are quiet today, my footfalls echoing against marble. Muffled conversations take place in secluded alcoves—deals made, news disseminated. A few patrons and waitstaff nod as I pass them by.
Low chuckles reach my ears when I open the door to our room.
Maxwell, who’s the CEO, sits on the leather sofa, a tumbler in his hand, and a smirk on his lips. He loosens his tie and shakes his head at whatever’s being said.
Across from him, in classic reformed playboy dishevelment, is my partner-in-crime growing up, Rex, who’s number three in the Anderson sibling pecking order: Maxwell, Ryland, Rex, Ethan, myself, then our half sisters Grace and Taylor.
They stand when I enter—our etiquette classes growing up clearly paid off.
“Oh, look what the cat dragged in. Ditching work, little miss E?” Rex snickers.
I narrow my eyes. “Look who’s talking, Cassius.”
Rex scowls. He hates his middle name. Our parents alphabetized ours—Maxwell Angus, Lana Elise, all the way down the line. We’re the alphabet siblings.
“At least I actually get work done,” I quip and launch myself into his open arms, immediately feeling more settled.
“It’s all about working smart, not hard.”
I snort. Classic Rex.
“Everything okay?” Maxwell asks, clearly concerned. “Not like you to stop by midday.”
The man misses nothing.
“Just rattled. The café I was at this morning got burned to a crisp. The news said something about The Association. Then there’s this.” Releasing a sigh, I hand him the packet. “It might be nothing, but still…”
My brothers frown as they look over the papers.
The temperature of the room drops ten degrees. A muscle pulses in Rex’s jaw, and Maxwell’s gaze hardens. They stare at each other.
Click.
Click.
I whirl around, my mouth parting when I see the maddening devil step out of the bathroom. His fingers twirl his lighter, clicking it on and off.
Driving me crazy.
The man never smokes, but he makes his presence known by clicking that thing. I bet it’s a coping mechanism for whatever ailment infects his twisted mind.
Elias Kent, with his dark, formidable looks and towering frame, sucks the oxygen and light out of every room, all without saying a word. His startling green eyes snare mine as he advances toward us, his strides slow and measured.
Danger and menace radiate from him.
His stony gaze sweeps down my body, like he’s coldly assessing my value.
But then, for a split second, something shifts.
There’s a flicker of heat in his eyes.
I hiccup, my skin warming. The slow, sensual drag feels like a caress.
I’m going nuts. I hardly know the man.
“The Association, you say?” His voice comes out in its usual gravelly whisper.
Grayish daylight from the windows cuts his face in harsh shadows. Were it not for that menacing scar spanning his left cheek down to his jaw, he’d be handsome—beautiful, even.
He reminds me of a panther—sleek and elegant, but one hundred percent predator.
You can never turn your back on him.
“I-I didn’t know you were here. Don’t you need to patrol the Rose floors or something?” I swallow, my heart sprinting in circles for no reason.
Almost a decade ago, Elias inserted himself into our business, helping us manage the personnel working on the five floors of sex and sin. Maxwell said without Elias’s tight leash, chaos would happen. Rich people and vulnerable sex workers equate to problems.
Unless there’s a mobster feared by all watching your every move.
“Stay the hell away from The Association,” Elias snaps.
Another command. Not even a please or a hello.
A little sugar first would be nice. I clamp down on the thought. Absolutely not.
He narrows his eyes as if he senses my changing mood. “And stick to your safe little cafés here. No coffee is worth your life.”
The man looks down his nose at me, contempt dripping from his voice.
Indignation sears my insides. “What’s it to you? The last I checked, I already have four older brothers, and none of them break laws for a living.”
His lips twitch—just barely—I swear, the man has no soul. He cocks his head as if studying me like a problem to solve. Then, a shadow crosses his eyes, and he arches his brow, clearly finding me lacking.
I don’t like him at all. But the darn butterflies beat their wings in my stomach again.
“Trust me. I wouldn’t want you for a sister.”
“You overbearing, misogynistic—”
“Whoa.” Rex tugs me back. “I’m all for fun and banter, but this stretches beyond—”
“Shut it, Rex.”
“You should look into this,” Maxwell murmurs, still staring at the photos. He hands them to Elias.
I snatch them back. “No way. I’m in more danger with him,” I eye the mobster, “than a random SUV when everything could be a coincidence, anyway.”
“Give them to me.” Elias snaps his fingers.
“No.”
His eyes turn glacial. “I won’t ask twice.”
“Or what?” Because I have no sense of self-preservation, I step close to him. “You’ll tie me up and rip the papers out of my hands?”
Elias’s eyes flare, a sharp hitch of breath to follow. He doesn’t respond, but stands still, towering over me, his throat rippling as he swallows.
I struggle an inhale, my nerve endings lit up like sparklers.
He leans down.
“Don’t tempt me,” he whispers, so softly only I can hear.
A shudder moves through my traitorous body. Why am I reacting this way to him? I shove the papers at him.
“Fine. Look all you want. It’s nothing, guys. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Not waiting for a response, I storm out the door, eager to escape the suddenly stifling heat.
And I swear, the asshole’s dark chuckles follow me out of the room.