Chapter 28
HATCH
The smell hits first. Berries and cotton candy, cloyingly sweet and thick enough to taste. Smoke fills the room, and mirrors cover every surface from floor to ceiling, fracturing the dim red lights infinitely in every direction until it’s impossible to tell where the room begins or ends.
So I see my worst nightmare reflected hundreds of times like a sick fucking funhouse.
Frog is sprawled shirtless across the bed, not bothering with his mask. His soft, hairy gut glows pale pink beneath the lights, and his slacks are undone. One hand drifts toward his dick with the lazy confidence of a man who doesn’t expect to be interrupted.
And Lucy’s beside him. Under the covers, naked everywhere they don’t shield her.
Her cheeks are flushed, her hair disheveled, and her lipstick is smeared.
But the worst part? She doesn’t even look scared.
She doesn’t look scared, because she’s so obviously fucking out of it that I don’t think she even knows where she is.
Instead, she looks at me with a sweet, lazy smile, hazel-blue eyes unfocused and gazing at me like I’ve hung the moon.
She opens her mouth like she’s going to greet me, but I press one finger to my lips.
Shh.
She obeys immediately.
Then in one breath, my gun is in my hand, the barrel settled against Frog’s sweaty temple. With my next breath, my threat that comes out barely louder than a whisper.
“Pull your prick out and your brains will paint these mirrors red. You hear me?”
He freezes.
His nose and cheeks are still swollen from me kicking his ass days ago, and dark purple bruises ring both eye sockets.
He looks up at me through his red-rimmed gaze, moving sluggishly from the Smoke.
Either he’s too high for the gun to his skull to register, or he’s too fucked in the head to care, because his mouth curves into a wet, thin-lipped smile.
“Well, look who it is.” His voice is so nasally it’d be comical if I didn’t want to murder the fuck out of him right now.
His gaze slides toward Lucy, a hint of smug possession there that makes my trigger finger ache.
“She owes me this, you know. After what she did back then? It’s been a long time coming, and Castle finally saw fit to let me have my revenge. ”
I don’t know what he’s going on about, but I jab the barrel into his temple harder.
“She doesn’t owe you shit. Look at her again and I’ll blow you away, motherfucker. We’ll have a real nice Jackson Pollock funhouse up in this bitch.”
He glares at me. “Get outta here and mind your business, hero. You pull that trigger and we all die. ’Sides, Castle put her in here with me for a reason. You really want to go out not knowing why?”
Curiosity sparks, but I keep my voice quiet and monotone. “You don’t talk about her. You don’t talk to her. In fact, don’t say another fucking word.”
I keep the gun where it is, but my gaze flicks to Lucy. I want her out of this goddamn bed. But I also don’t want her exposed in front of this monster any more than she already has been. And I have no idea how lost in her mind she is.
I swallow, but my voice still comes out rough.
“Alice, baby, are you okay—”
Frog lunges, slamming his shoulder into my chest before I even clock him coming.
His attack is lumbering and sloppy, but there’s enough desperation behind it to drive me sideways into the nearest mirror.
Glass implodes around my temple, blooming a spiderweb from the point of impact in every direction at once.
My vision flashes white as someone screams, the sound warped and loud and pumping straight into my bloodstream like adrenaline.
For one disorienting second, the room multiplies. A hundred enraged versions of me, a hundred Lucys shrieking my name, and a hundred Frogs charging at me. One of them swings again, pathetically slow, and reality snaps back into singular focus.
I duck beneath his arm on instinct, then grab the back of his head as he stumbles past me on the momentum of his own wayward punch and drive him face-first into the mirror.
The remaining glass fractures and crashes down around him like sheets of ice, slicing into his bare back and showering him with glittering confetti shards.
I’m breathing hard and feeling a little lightheaded from either the Smoke or the hit to my head, but I wait for him to get up.
When he doesn’t, I straighten and touch the tickling sensation at my temple. My fingers come away bloody. I huff and glare at him.
Frog lies curled up on his side with his mouth hanging open and his eyes shut. His freshly re-broken nose is flattened into a snout, making him look more like a pig than a frog.
“Orion would laugh his ass off knowing I let you get a lick in.”
I stand and draw my leg back and kick his side. He doesn’t even grunt, so I crouch beside him and sneer.
“You’ve touched my girl without her consent twice now. But that was the last time.”
When I’m sure he’s KO’d, I nod to X.
“Come get this bastard. Then there’s a number I want you to call. I’ve got plans for him.”
“Sorry, bo. I can’t.”
I whip my head toward him and do a double take. He’s still standing outside the room, hands braced on either side of the doorway.
“The fuck, dude? The least you could do is cleanup.”
“Shit, Hatter. I’m already feeling it from the door. How the hell are you fine in there?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap. “Just get in here.”
“I’m talking about the Smoke. You should be going crazy right now.” He wipes his brow and shakes his head. “If I go in, I’m useless to you both.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t have time for this,” I grunt, already grabbing Frog by the arms and dragging him unceremoniously through broken glass. It scrapes and screeches across the mirrored floor until I dump him half outside the doorway.
“Here.” I hand X my phone. “Call Harry. Tell him you’ve got a delivery. He’ll know what it means. He’s done this type of thing before.”
X eyes me but takes my phone and nods. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing.”
“Thanks.”
I turn back toward Lucy and cross the room to crouch in front of the bed. There, I pull the sheet over her shoulders, covering her bare chest before bracketing her with both hands on either side of her on the mattress.
“Hey, baby. You okay?”
“You came.” She watches me with glassy, wonder-filled eyes. Then she murmurs, almost to herself, “No one’s ever done that before.”
I frown. “No one’s ever done what before?”
Her lips twitch into an almost sad smile. “No one’s ever saved me.”
Sorrow drives into my chest and drags downward, carving me open and stealing the air from my lungs.
“What?” The word’s breathless, so low I don’t even hear it.
No one’s ever saved her before? But I know she went through some kind of trauma as a kid—something so horrible her friends and family refuse to even hint at it. Was part of it that she had to survive alone?
What she said, combined with what Frog claimed—that she “owed” him—spins through my brain, igniting a dozen new questions.
Before I can ask any of them, her fingers cup my cheek.
I freeze.
My bare cheek.
My eyes dart to the floor, to my mask then my hat, both ripped off when Frog attacked me. I’m completely exposed to her beneath the pink Smoke-filled light.
Shit.
There’s no way she should know who I am. Dash constantly scrubs all traces of our images from the internet, and the last time she saw me was at a masquerade.
But still. That mask felt like a shield against getting caught. Being this bare in front of her… it’s terrifying.
And thrilling.
She can see me. Not only that, she’s touching me.
Caressing my skin, tracing my jaw, following the faint scars there.
I shiver when she outlines the individual rose petals tattooed over my right brow and brushes over the silver pointed stud in my eyebrow.
Her touch is featherlight and impossibly careful, as if there’s a memory hidden beneath her fingertips that’s just out of reach, and like a bubble, it’ll pop if she presses too hard.
“I saw you in a dream once,” she confesses. “And every night after that.”
What the hell does that mean?
Her fingers slide up into my hair, and the sheet falls to pool in her lap. As wonderful as her body is, I’m prisoner to her curious eyes.
“Are you my blue-masked prince?” Her brow furrows as she genuinely tries to work through it, all while my mind races at the question.
“My Hatter?” Her nails lightly dig into my scalp as her body goes rigid and her expression turns fragile enough to shatter.
“Or the Fury prince who’s going to kill everything I love? ”
In my periphery, every mirror in the room throws the truth back at me. Her questioning gaze. The hopeful way her eyes search mine. The utter terror on my face over what she’ll do next.
She knows.
Some part of her knows who I am. And she’s looking at me like she isn’t sure whether to hug me or push me away. Whether to run or stay.
I cradle her head with one hand and lightly press my lips to her forehead in a kiss, then whisper.
“I’m the man who wishes he could keep you.” I close my eyes against the emotion threatening to escape before clearing my throat and releasing her with a command that comes out hoarsely. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I shrug out of my vest first, then yank my dress shirt over my head before pulling it down over hers.
She lets me guide her arms through the sleeves and tug the hem until it falls to mid-thigh.
The whole time, she just watches me with that soft, unfocused wonder that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
When I pick her up bridal-style, I thank God she still has everything below the waist on. If she was any more vulnerable than she already was, I would’ve actually lost my mind and killed Frog right here and now, answers be damned.
My heart squeezes when she immediately curls into my chest, circling her arms around my neck and tucking her head in the crook of it.
What I wouldn’t give to feel this every day of my life. But tonight changes nothing about the choices I’ve made, so I swallow that feeling and focus on getting my girl safe. That’s the first order of business.
Second? Figure out what the fuck Frog was talking about.
One thing at a time.
X whistles from the doorway as he pulls my phone from his ear and points behind me.
“Take the back door.” He jerks his chin toward a panel hidden in the mirrored wall, nearly invisible in the reflection. “Go straight to Chef. He knows how to deal with Smoke sickness. I’ll be back after I meet up with Harry.”
I nod and carry her through.
The back hallway has mercifully clean air, and Lucy drags in a deep breath the second the door closes behind us and lets out a moans.
“Lucy, you okay?”
Her brow furrows. “How did you… know my…”
The words drift away as her eyes roll back.
“Fuck, Lucy?”
I break into a sprint, but by the time I shoulder through the kitchen door, she’s shaking, sweating, and my heart is lodged in my throat.
Chef turns from the stove and drops the pan he was cleaning, and it clatters to the floor. He launches into Spanish I don’t understand, but the urgency in his tone is universal.
“Smoke sickness,” I answer.
As if on cue, Lucy gags. I rush her over to the trash can fast and lean her over, steadying her upright with one arm while my other hand holds her hair back.
The angle’s awkward but effective, and she grips my forearm and the rim of the trash can like lifelines as she purges every-goddamn-thing she’s ever eaten apparently.
When she’s finally finished, my heart races with anxiety and guilt.
“You okay, baby?”
She groans and shakes her head no, leaking black streaks of mascara tears over her white masquerade mask.
“Fuck. I know. I’m sorry.” I slip off her mask, hoping she won’t be pissed later. When she slumps against my bare chest, exhausted and wrung out, I stroke her hair and kiss the crown of her head. “So fucking sorry. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Chef is already at my side with a damp cloth in hand.
“She probably isn’t done,” he murmurs, making me wince.
I lean away to let him dab her face, taking over after a few pats to gently wipe her mouth with the cold towel. She looks up at us both with an expression that’s equal parts pain and gratitude, then slides to just me with something else I feel too guilty, too hopeful, to name right now.
Unable to hold her gaze, I swallow and turn to Chef.
“Please.” My voice comes out rough. “Can you help her?”