Chapter 13 #2
“There is champagne, food, music,” he continued. “I personally curated the guest list. Make connections, Mr. Blackwood. This gathering separates the appropriate from the unworthy.”
The odd turn of phrase would have confused the unsuspecting. But this was a vetting. The word didn’t need to be spoken.
As they climbed a flight of stone stairs, Rhys’s hand brushed hers. He noticed before she did that her fingers had curled into fists. Her nails bit crescents into her palms, and though it wasn’t easy, she forced herself to relax.
“He’s repulsive,” Rhys murmured under his breath, pitched for her ears alone. “But try not to let it show.”
“I’ll do my best, but I should’ve practiced being furniture.”
His hand moved to her back, warm and reassuring. “Some in the lifestyle find objectification freeing.”
She huffed softly. “That is definitely not my kink.”
“Use my arm if it helps you stay steady. Just try not to leave nail marks. The jacket is Armani. It’s Mateo’s. He’d make me buy him a new one.”
She glanced up just enough to catch the glint of humor in his eyes. That small, unexpected lightness eased the knot of tension in her chest. Not enough to calm her completely, but it made it a little easier to breathe.
The terrace wrapped around the building, and the view from the rear was breathtaking.
The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing.
Above it the last traces of sunset streaked across the darkening sky.
To the sides, nearly enveloping them, the rainforest danced with fireflies.
Laughter bubbled from clusters of people.
Champagne flowed like water. And everywhere she looked, she saw wealth, power, and entitlement.
It was surprising how many of the guests she recognized.
Art-world elites from the profiles she’d studied in recent weeks.
Trophy wives draped in gold and gemstones clung to the arms of their older, filthy-rich husbands.
Politicians and celebrities whose scandals she’d heard joked about on late-night TV.
A tech mogul wealthy enough to purchase the entire coastline.
She had to wonder how many were like their host. The kind of man who smiled, who blended in, who bought and sold people.
The women’s postures varied, but the message didn’t. Heads angled toward the men as if hanging on every word but rarely speaking. Smiles measured, behavior practiced—like hers.
Her hand rose to the choker at her neck.
Glittering, delicate, beautiful, it matched so many of the other women, but was a collar, nonetheless.
A mark of ownership. A brand. Rhys hadn’t chosen it for aesthetics.
He’d chosen it because he understood exactly how these men thought.
These women weren’t kneeling, but they were owned all the same.
As they moved through the room, eyes slid over her. Not seeing her, but what she signified. An accessory of the man beside her, like his cuff links, to be admired but nothing more.
Gaby kept close as Rhys played his part flawlessly.
He networked, discussed art values, and exchanged business cards.
He touched her when it suited him: a guiding pressure at her hip, his thumb brushing her knuckles, a slow stroke through her hair, petting her like a cherished cat when a guest complimented him on her beauty.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. That didn’t make any of it easier to stomach.
Then fragments of a conversation snagged her attention.
“Private gallery in Madrid—”
“Three pieces smuggled out before—”
Her instincts ignited, and her gaze lifted. Not high, just enough to scan faces, hands, posture, searching for any sign, any hint of Natalie’s trail.
Then she made a mistake. Two, actually. She’d drifted too far from Rhys and met a man’s eyes in the crowd. It was for no more than an instant, but recognition flared. The kind that marked her as prey.
Gaby’s breath stalled when he began walking toward her.
The man arrived smiling, as if entitled to the interaction. “Well, hello, lovely. I saw your interest from across the room.”
Before she could correct him, Rhys’s voice cut in with deadly calm. “Camille. I warned you not to wander off. Come here, now.”
The reprimand slid down her spine. His rescue more than welcome. She moved beside him immediately, hands clasped, head down, the picture of chastened obedience.
The man persisted. “I couldn’t help noticing your stunning companion.”
Rhys turned his head just enough to acknowledge the man. “Is that so?” His voice was silk over drawn steel.
Either oblivious or too reckless to take heed of the warning, the man chuckled. “Well, when something that lovely looks my way—”
Rhys placed his body cleanly between them, using his size to intimidate. “Tell me,” he murmured, his tone even but lethal, “are you in the habit of taking things that don’t belong to you?”
The man blinked, his smile faltering. “I… Excuse me?”
Rhys’s expression never changed, but his posture radiated warning. “Should I expect you to pick my pocket next?”
Gaby swallowed hard as the man went pale and took a step back.
“No. Of course not,” he sputtered. “I meant no offense.”
“You should go before I grow angry,” Rhys said softly, every inch the predator álvarez expected him to be.
This time, the man backed up two steps, muttered another apology, then turned, heading briskly straight for their host.
Gaby’s stomach dipped. It had been a setup. A deliberate testing of Blackwood’s mettle.
At the man’s murmured explanation, álvarez’s gaze slid across the terrace. When it connected with Rhys, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. The kind that opened doors to the darker layers of his world.
Rhys leaned in a fraction, his voice low. “We’ve accomplished what we set out to do. Let’s thank the bloody bastard and call it a night.”
They approached álvarez, who placed a hand on Rhys’s shoulder as if greeting an old friend. “Leaving so soon?”
“After a long day of travel,” Rhys replied smoothly. “But the evening was enjoyable and informative. I made several promising connections. Thank you.”
His smile sharpened and he dipped his chin, as though the gratitude were his due.
When Rhys’s fingers curled around her arm, and he started them toward the exit, álvarez made the offer they’d been waiting for.
“Before you go, Lucien. I’m having a private exposition at my residence next month.
Le Caduta will be displayed in full. I would be pleased to extend an invitation. If your schedule allows.”
He played it perfectly. Not eager or indifferent. Interested. “Fortunately, my schedule is flexible.”
“Excellent. Then we can discuss it more over brunch in the morning,” álvarez offered, his smile widening as if granting a privilege rather than tightening a noose.
When he returned to his other guests, Rhys guided her out. Lightning flashed in the distance as the rain picked up.
“Did you know about brunch?” Gaby asked. “Or is this a new twist?”
“It was mentioned. I’d hoped to avoid it if tonight was successful.”
“But now he expects you.”
Their car pulled up, cutting off further discussion. Gaby gripped his arm as they made a dash for it in the downpour, abandoning her role out of necessity on the slick stone steps. They were soaked by the time the driver closed the door behind them.
Gaby shivered, as much from relief as from exhilaration. “We did it,” she whispered, while they were alone in the car.
“We advanced the mission but still have a way to go,” he corrected, but she caught the hint of satisfaction in his voice.
They fell silent when the driver, even wetter than they were, slid behind the wheel.
As the limo pulled away, Gaby leaned closer to Rhys. “What about Leland and Mateo?”
“They’re following,” he murmured.
She twisted to look out the rain-streaked rear window. Sure enough, through the sheets of water, she caught the faint glow of headlights six car lengths back.
Gaby eased back into her seat, drawing a slow breath as the vehicle wound through the rain-swept roads. A tremor ran through her, hope pulsing like adrenaline. Threaded through it, the aftershock of spending three hours as nothing more than a pet on a leash.
She couldn’t imagine a lifetime of that. Yet Natalie was out there somewhere living it. No matter what it took, she refused to abandon her to it. She’d burn the world down first.