46. Juliet #2
The words, I know, are coming from a place of understanding—of personal pain that few others know.
I wonder if Paris’ friends from his school even know the scope of what he’s been through.
I wonder if he’s let anyone else in the way he did me.
Sometimes, I think the only reason either of us ever admitted to what happened is because we were strangers—because we could walk away and never see each other again.
Neither of us understood how that one night would form this bond. No matter how much time apart we are. No matter how long it goes between when we see or talk to each other—no one understands the truth of our past more than we do.
Stepping forward, I cup his face, turning it back to mine. “I know, Paris,” I whisper. “I’ll be careful.”
He sighs and presses his cheek into my palm for a single second before finally stepping back. “All right then, I’ll set something up. If you don’t hear from me, then just expect something in the mail. Keep an eye out.”
“I’m staying with Morpheus,” I remind him. “He probably has someone go through all of the mail.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Paris says with a shake of his head. “Morpheus will have to be invited, otherwise it’ll look suspicious, but once you’re there—I can distract him to give you time to meet up with who you need to.”
My insides are a churning mess at his words. This is happening. It’s really happening. Relief has never felt so clean and fresh, like I’ve been suffocating for days and this is the first real breath I’ve taken.
“You are a god, Paris,” I murmur, grateful.
“Yes, I know,” he says, all blasé, but then his expression turns serious. “These men of yours…” His words are a hedge and I level him with a serious look.
“Don’t even think of checking them out,” I snap. “No background checks will change my mind. I know them.”
He chuckles. “If you’re warning me away from a background check then the odds of them having a record are pretty high.”
“You and I both know that not everything is as it seems.”
Paris’ grin turns sad. “True,” he agrees. “Very true. Fine, I’ll lay off their backgrounds—but you should give me their names, regardless. If I see them around, I’ll keep them in my good graces, but only for you.”
I pause. “I love them, Paris.” The words are quiet, but the admission is not. It hangs around my neck like a noose threatening to steal the last of my soul. I’m choking on those words. The reality of what loving the Scorpion Kings has done, where it’s put me.
Paris doesn’t respond for the longest of moments. When he does, it’s in true Paris fashion. “Well… fuck,” he says.
The laugh I release is watery. “Yeah, I know.” I shake my head. “Never thought it’d happen, but I’m only telling you that so you know—if anything happens to them, it’ll fucking kill me.”
“I won’t hurt them, Jules, you can count on that promise.”
I nod. “Thank you, Paris. You’re a good friend.”
We’re out of time. Murphy is most likely getting antsy and if I need to make it back here next week, then I need to get going. I give Paris all of the information on the guys that I can and he hugs me once more before disappearing through the door away from Murphy’s eyes.
Bea is back and she leads me, with my new outfit, back to my bodyguard. Murphy is annoyed when I first catch sight of him, his brow creased and his body rigid. When he sees me, though, he calms quite a bit.
“Are you ready, Miss Donovan?”
I march past him. “I’m done if that’s what you’re asking, and I want to go back,” I snap. “Where’s Roquel?”
Bea’s eyes linger on my back as Murphy and I leave the secret rooms behind and head back out into the club’s main hub. My heart is hammering against my rib cage.
I did it, I realize. I really fucking did it. I managed to make something happen right under Morpheus’ nose. Maybe I can get away. Maybe I don’t have to be the princess in the fucking tower.
I ride the high of my success all the way through the rest of the night—which ends rather quickly once I make it back to my friend. Roquel is slobbering drunk and stumbling in jerky movements as she dances wildly on top of a table when I spy her.
“Shit.” I hurry in her direction, glaring at Hughes who stands to the side, eyeing her with no small amount of disgust even if he doesn’t step forward to stop her. “Roquel!” I call out.
“Jules!” Roquel whirls around, cantering to one side and nearly falling off the damn table. Only then does Hughes finally step up. He grips her arm and pulls.
“Oh my gosh.” Roquel giggles, fluttering her lashes up at Hughes as she lets herself slide right into the big man’s arms. “You’re soooooo strong.” One delicate hand grips his bicep. “Do ya work out or somethin’?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “Perhaps it’s time to return home, Miss Donovan?” Murphy’s suggestion sounds more like an order than a question, but I’ve done what I came here for, so I let it slide.
“Yeah,” I nod towards Hughes and Roquel. “Let’s go.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, Murphy practically leaps forward.
He and Hughes head back to the elevators and with each floor that we descend, I feel the chains of Morpheus’ hold finding their way back around my limbs.
The flashing lights and men and women dripping in money and high fashion blur in my periphery with how fast Murphy leads me out of the club.
I knew it wasn’t real freedom, but for just a moment—it felt like it.
Back in the town car, Roquel whines as Hughes deposits her onto the seat next to me. “ No ,” she huffs and cries. “We were having so much fun.” She hiccups and leans her head back against the window.
“We can always come back,” I suggest, much to Murphy’s and Hughes’ obvious dismay—their dark, annoyed gazes finding mine in the rearview mirror.
“Really?” Roquel claps her hands loudly.
“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile. “You know my uncle wants me to be happy.”
So long as that means I’m firmly under his thumb and in his grip.