Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
CREED
T hat was a close call. Mackenzie and I need to be more careful. There is too much at stake if her parents find out about us. But there’s this other niggling feeling I have that all is not as it seems.
The room is suffocating. All glass chandeliers and gold-trimmed everything, the kind of wealth that doesn’t just exist—it flaunts itself. Waiters in crisp white jackets weave through the crowd, silver trays balancing champagne flutes and overpriced appetizers no one’s actually going to eat. The air is thick with designer perfume and polished lies, every conversation a careful game of who can sound the most impressive while pretending they give a damn about whatever cause this fundraiser is actually for.
I don’t belong here.
Never have, never will.
I might be wearing the suit, but I feel the weight of it like a noose. These people can smell an outsider, even when he’s cleaned up. They smile too much, talk too soft, and give me the kind of looks that say he doesn’t belong, but we’ll tolerate him because we have to.
Fuck them.
The only reason I’m here is because the Yates’ instructed me to – well not in so many words, but I know better.
Mackenzie moves through the crowd like she was born for it, her smile effortless. In a sleek black dress that clings to every dangerous curve, she looks untouchable. And every man in this room can’t keep their eyes off her.
This Mackenzie is not the one who trembled in my arms the other night, terrified he father might catch us. She is a lot of things—a little liar, manipulator, walking goddamn temptation—but nervous and scared? That’s new. And I don’t like it. When she thought we might get caught, she looked almost helpless.
And now, now, I catch it again, the second he walks in. One moment, she’s poised, the perfect princess, champagne glass dangling between her fingers like she owns the whole goddamn room. The next? Her spine locks up, her grip tightens just slightly, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she clams up.
Nothing obvious. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But I do. I noticed it the first day we met at her house, but I just figured it was because she was surprised to see me again. But now, I know her too well. Well, enough to know that it has nothing to do with the fact her father is a powerful man.
Mackenzie doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. But the way her chest lifts like she’s forcing a breath tells me everything.
Then her father is beside her, and I’m close enough to catch the subtle twitch of her fingers as his hand lands on her shoulder, then her lower back. It’s gentle, a fatherly gesture to anyone watching, but her reaction is all wrong. Not annoyance, not irritation. Something closer to restraint.
Interesting.
She doesn’t flinch—Mackenzie Yates doesn’t flinch for anyone—but she wants to. And that? That fucks with me more than it should.
I expect her to turn and flash that sharp little smirk she gives me when she wants to get under my skin. But she doesn’t. She just stands there, eyes locked forward, like she’s forcing herself not to react.
And when her father leans in to whisper something, she shifts. Subtle, barely noticeable, but enough that his breath hits her hair instead of her cheek.
Enough that I see it.
Then she makes the mistake of looking at me.
Her eyes meet mine, and for half a second—just half a goddamn second—there’s something raw there. Then she blinks, and it’s gone, replaced by the same steel armor she always wears. She turns away first.
And now I’ve got a problem. Because I was so sure I had her figured out. So sure she was a confident little minx, who only wanted to keep us a secret to keep me out of trouble.
But this? This looks a lot like fear.
And I need to know why.
* * *
She’s swirling the last of her drink in its glass, lounging in the corner of the empty balcony.
I lean against the railing, watching her. “Didn’t think there was a man alive who could shake you, little demon.”
She doesn’t blink. “There isn’t.”
Liar.
I push off the railing, step closer, just to see if she’ll move. She doesn’t, but I catch the way her jaw tenses. Good.
“Right,” I say, slow, deliberate. “Must’ve been my imagination then.”
She smiles, soft and poisonous. “Must’ve been.”
But I see the truth now. And I don’t let shit like that go.
Not when it comes to her.