Chapter Seventeen
HE’S DRUNK.
Of course he’s drunk.
The mask he has on, a basic white affair that matches his tuxedo jacket, has slipped a little down his face, but I can see that the flesh beneath it is red and flushed. Something about the way he moves implies his gaze is glassy, and the way he’s leering at the poor teenage waitress balancing a plate of satay skewers...
Well, it’s obvious. Drunk as a fucking skunk.
I swallow. There are so many things I wish I could scream at him right now, so much anger. And I want to be righteously angry. I want to storm up to him and slap him across that smugly indifferent face of his and let him know exactly what I think of him: stealing from me, from my inheritance, from my parents, from my dead mother.
But I’m not going to, obviously. Not here.
“Excuse me.” Someone jostles past from the hallway into the lounge, jolting me back to reality.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and step to the side. I’m still glued to John. He’s chatting to some associate, not really paying attention, swirling his glass of bourbon, and if he sees me...well, he probably can’t focus enough to tell that I’m me.
At least, I hope.
“Maren.”
My heart jumps at the sound of my name, but when I turn, it’s just a familiar broad figure with a wolf’s mask.
“Tuck,” I say, and feel my shoulders relax.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says. “You can’t get away from us like that.” He smiles.
“Sorry,” I say. “It was just...” I shake my head, not sure if I should explain about the whole LJ and necklace situation, and decide that it’s better to keep that quiet for now. “What’s everyone up to?”
“Oh, you know,” Tuck says lightly, tipping his head to the side. “Just working the room.”
I can’t help but giggle a little at that, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Uncle John either, too afraid that if I let him out of my sight, he’ll somehow spring on me.
Tuck follows my gaze and furrows his brow slightly above his mask. “Is that...”
“My uncle,” I mutter, the quietest whisper I can manage. “He hasn’t seen me. Or doesn’t recognize me if he has.”
“Ah.” I can almost feel Tuck stiffen next to me, and I have to admit I relish that little protective gesture on his part. “God, I’d like to punch his lights out.”
“You and me both,” I say. “And the lights on his precious Jaguar to boot.” I ball up my fist.
“Hmm.” Tuck taps his chin. “A Jaguar, you say?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah.” I’ve always hated that thing. “Little sport sedan. Beige, of course.”
“Probably in the valet lot?”
“Of course,” I say. “Why?”
“Be right back.” He darts away before I can stop him, and I stand there trying to look casual for an agonizing two minutes, then three, until finally Tuck reappears, grinning broadly under the mask.
“I think we’re taken care of,” he says. Before I have a chance to ask what he means, a red-jacketed Fox Hunt employee weaves his way in from the kitchens and bends over to whisper in my Uncle John’s ear.
“What?” Uncle John roars, getting to his feet unsteadily. “How could they—how did you—this is unacceptable!” he sputters.
The waiter says something apologetic and makes some gesture to pacify him, but it’s no good. Uncle John tries to puff out his chest, which makes his stomach puff out more than anything. “Unbelievable! Incredible! Unacceptable!”
A stream of other words pour from his mouth as he staggers to the door, brushing just on the other side of Tuck as he leaves the lounge and disappears out the front doors.
I turn to Tuck, eyes agog. “What did you do?”
Tuck smiles. “Let’s just say that Jag will need a new set of tires. But I’m sure the tow truck will be gentle with it.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. The relief is so sudden and so unexpected, so fresh and light in my body that there’s no other way to let out the energy. Tuck laughs too, and gently touches my hand. “It’s good to see you smile, Maren.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s been an...interesting night, I have to admit.” I touch the front of my dress bodice where the necklace is still nestled.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Tuck says. He takes a sip of champagne that he procured somewhere. “Tell you what, this is one hell of a stuffy crowd. Heist or no heist, this isn’t exactly my choice of company.”
“I’ll cheers to that,” I say, even though I don’t have a glass.
“Here.” Tuck grabs one from a passing waiter and hands it to me. “Salud, as Will would say.”
We clink glasses, and I take a sip, but no more. My face already feels flushed from the glass I’d downed prior to LJ stealing the necklace.
“So what exactly are you...doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice strategically low.
“Like me, specifically?” Tuck puts a hand on his chest. “Right now, I’m hanging out with you.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I mean, in the...heist.” I lower my voice even further on the last word.
“So do I.” Tuck’s eyes sparkle. “My role is looking after you. Well, that, and a quick hijack of the venue security system. Which, speaking of, should be deploying in...” He straightens his arm to glance at his smartwatch. “Now.”
Bwaaaaamp. Bwaaaaamp.
The ear-shattering sound of an alarm blares through the room.
“Jesus!” I slap my hands to my ears, as do most of the partygoers around us. “That is LOUD.”
“What’s that?” Tuck says, grinning and cupping a hand around his ear. “Can’t hear you over the fire alarm!”
I sigh and smile at him as the room descends into the chaos of huffs and jittery partygoers, only broken when a put-upon maitre d’ rushes to climb up on a footstool.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouts, barely audible over the bwaaaamps. “There’s no reason for alarm—”
“Poor choice of words,” I yell-whisper to Tuck, who laughs.
“—but I will have to ask everyone to proceed calmly to the nearest fire exits. Should only be a moment!”
People are grumbling—visually—even over the blaring, mind-shattering loudness, but they start to file outside through the main foyer. Tuck nods in the direction of the exit, gesturing to me, and I follow, feeling strangely giddy, like we’re about to play a game of hide and seek. He takes my hand again, firmer this time, and a flutter lights in my stomach. I follow him back out to the main hallway, past the grand staircase and out onto a terrace I vaguely remember.
As we sweep out onto the back lawn, Tuck leans in and whisper-yells in my ear above the alarm.
“You want to see something cool?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ask me to steal something, are you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, his voice going down to a more normal volume as we get farther and farther from the building. “I’m more of a behind-the-scenes guy. The guy in the chair, radioing ahead to the others in the superhero movie, you know? But I’ve been casually exploring this place. Never been here before.”
“Okay,” I say. “But just—”
“Wait right here,” he says. “Going to check that the coast is clear.” He drops my hand—to my slight disappointment, I can’t help but feel—and I nod, and stay in place as he darts away around the corner of the building.
I touch my mask for the zillionth time that evening to make sure it’s still in place, and fold my arms around myself. The other partygoers are somewhat older—trophy wives and rich husbands, well-heeled lawyers, red-cheeked doctors, and so-and-sos from around Sherwood—and there’s something of a thrill to being hidden in plain sight amongst them. Knowing John is gone, knowing that no one knows I’m here, let alone here with a band of outlaws about to rob them blind...
Well, it’s satisfying.
“My goodness!” a woman gasps a few feet away from me, pointing out towards the distant treeline. “Is that a wolf?”
“Don’t be silly,” her male companion says. “It can’t be a...”
But he trails off. Curious, I follow her gaze, out across the expanse of lawn, and see what she’s talking about.
It moves quickly and fluidly, more a flash between branches and trunks than anything else, but it’s unmistakably a wolf: long sweeping tail, perked ears, jaws that look intimidatingly big.
That, or it’s a really huge dog.
Because weirdly—maybe it’s the moonlight—it doesn’t look gray or black or dust-colored like I’d think of a normal wolf. It’s lighter, a warm honey brown color that unmistakably catches the light.
And then it’s gone—disappeared again into the depths of the trees.
“Well, I never,” huffs the woman, tightening her fur stole around her shoulders—a dead fox, I notice. Classy, I think sarcastically. But on brand, I guess.
“Excuse me, excuse me!” cries a stressed-out sounding voice. “I’m pleased to say that the premises are safe. You may re-enter.”
The sound of the crowd goes from grumbling to begrudging murmurs, with a few cheers going up from some rowdier guests. I look around, about to give up and head back in, when—
“Hey.” Tuck bounds back into my vision. “We’re good.”
I look left, then right. “That was all the time they needed?”
“That was all the time they could get,” Tuck said. “But they know what they’re doing.”
I frown. He’s breathing a tiny bit hard, and the top stud of his tuxedo shirt is undone, which it wasn’t before.
“You’ve got a...” I gesture, but Tuck doesn’t catch on, so I just fix it myself. “Here.”
I slip the stud back through the buttonhole, my fingertips just brushing his skin.
“Oh, thanks.” He grins. “C’mon, let’s go have some fun before we have to bust out of here.”
He takes my hand again. Maybe it’s the champagne, or the thrill of the heist, of my mother’s necklace safe in my possession, of Uncle John getting his ass handed to him, of seeing a goddamn wolf prowling the grounds of the Fox Hunt club without coming near us, but my palm feels warm in his. Easy. Safe.
The chatter and clamor of the party starts to fade as Tuck leads me around the corner of the wall, to where a small set of stone stairs leads down to a small clearing. It’s a little crisp out now, the air just cool enough on my skin that I feel goosebumps prickle up.
“Where are we going?” I say.
“Like I said, somewhere cool.” Tuck turns and grins at me under his mask. “Trust me.”
I follow him over a small stone footbridge that spans a small burbling creek, and onto a narrow flagstone path that leads us to a perfect view of the Fox Hunt Club. From a distance, it’s not so bad: all golden windows and stately brick walls. No hints of the despicable people who are crowding its insides and slurping up booze.
“Ta-da.” Tuck stops, and I almost walk into him as I turn back to the direction we were walking. It’s a tiny, gated garden, with hedgerow walls and a tiny lantern hanging from the arbor at the entrance. The light scent of roses drifts over to us, the only sound the murmur of the water nearby and the occasional chirp of crickets.
“Damn,” I say, almost doing a double take. “Did you just conjure this up?”
Tuck laughs. “I wish. Not a magical power I possess, unfortunately.” He drops my hand—to my disappointment—and jumps to open the gate for me.
“My lady,” he says, bowing gracefully.
I snort. “Thank you, uh...good sir.” I do an awkward curtsy as I sweep in the gate.
Inside, it’s like a postcard: dainty buds of wild roses peeking out of flush, leafy brambles, moonlight painting every surface with silver, and a small statue gleaming white-bright in the center: an angel, with her wings spread and her hands cradled to her chest.
“Wow,” I breathe. I’m not a sentimental type, but this caught me off-guard. I reach out for the statue, brushing my fingertip against the marble that’s smooth as glass.
“You like it?” Tuck says, sounding as proud as if he’d carved it himself. “I thought...never mind.”
The bashful tone in his voice has me turning around. “What? You thought what?”
Tuck’s averted his gaze, but looks up when he sees me turn. “I...thought she kinda looked like you,” he says. “Just a little.”
It’s so sweet, such a kind, thoughtful, Tuck thing to say that a smile curves on my lips out of instinct. I take a step toward him, lifting the mask from my face as I do.
“You think?” I tip my chin and tilt my head toward the statue, inviting him to get a better look. “Because I don’t think I’m exactly the angelic type.”
Tuck pushes his own mask up his forehead and off, letting it drop to the ground. His eyes are intense on me, then the statue, then me again. I can practically feel the beam of his gaze, holding me in place—but gently, like he simply wants to study me. To admire me.
“I beg to differ,” he says. “You’re as angelic as they come, Maren.”
I snort. “Seriously, Tuck, I’m not. I swear like a sailor and I’m covered in motor oil most of the time. I’m not...delicate and benevolent, or whatever.”
Tuck shakes his head, the earnestness on his face shining even as his eyes go dusky. “No, I disagree. You’re a different kind of angel. The kind that avenges. Stands up for what’s right. Helps people.” He rolls his eyes briefly to the sky, a pink tinge on his cheeks. “God, that sounds incredibly cheesy. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, I think I get it,” I say. “More flaming sword angel than golden harp angel.”
Tuck smiles. “Exactly.”
We’re standing close, so close, too close to ignore how near to touching our bodies are.
And I know.
I know it’s that make or break moment, where either we’re going to kiss or we’re going to awkwardly shuffle apart and never mention it again, banish the moment to unspoken memory forever.
And I don’t want that to happen.
I’m here in this silver-cloaked flower garden, freer than I’ve been in weeks, years, dressed exquisitely in an elegant gown with a beautiful golden god of a man staring me down like I’m the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.
Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m foolish, maybe I’m impulsive, but I know what kind of life I lead. A girl like me doesn’t get opportunities like this every day, if she ever gets them at all.
And I don’t want to lose my only chance to be kissed like this.
I close the distance between us and press my lips to his.
He’s surprised, I can tell. But he doesn’t resist, doesn’t pull back, but takes me by the waist and tugs me closer, with a surprising amount of force for someone usually so gentle. His lips are firm on mine, pressing harder, seeking deeper, and a small groan escapes his throat that lights a spark right in the center of me.
“God, Maren,” he whispers. “I’ve been dying to do this since I first laid eyes on you.”
The compliment sends heat flooding to my cheeks, and I take even more of him, feeling the dart of his tongue flickering feather-light as his grip tightens on my back. I pull him by his neck, tasting the richness of him, the warmth. It’s bliss.
I don’t know what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, who I even fucking am at this point.
It feels like two minutes ago I was a broke and desperate orphan girl about to lose everything, and now I’m dressed in a designer gown, stealing jewels from the assholes who cast me out of society the minute my parents were cold in the ground, and letting an ungodly hot man trace circles down the small of my back.
It feels too good to be true.
And maybe it is.
Because the next time our lips part, just for the barest half-second, a wave overtakes me. Powerful, disorienting, like the ground’s been yanked from under me.
No. No, no, no. Not now.
“Maren?”
Tuck’s face swims above me, stars wheeling behind him. There’s chill air where he was pressed against me, dizziness skittering through every nerve ending. I stumble a step or two backward, grabbing a branch for support. The brambles bite into my flesh as I grip it, but it steadies me—not fully, but enough.
When I open my eyes, Tuck is there, clear—well, clearer, concern tightening his handsome features.
“Maren,” he says. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t know—”
“It’s fine,” I manage. “Just my...condition. Probably should have skipped the champagne.”
Except the champagne was a while ago now. This was...something else. I shake my head.
“I’ll get the others,” Tuck says hurriedly. “We’ll abort the mission. Get you—”
“No,” I say, with as much force as I can manage, because that’s the last thing I want. “No,” I say again, and shake my head gently. “I’m fine. I just need to...” I suck in a breath and stand myself back up properly. “I’ll be okay,” I mumble. “Just need to get to the bathroom, splash some water on my face.”
Tuck rushes forward. “Do you need me to—”
“No,” I insist, and I start to believe it. The more time that elapses after the kiss, the steadier I feel. “I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”
Tuck smiles. “I know. But—”
I don’t wait for him to finish, and brush past him into the night.