Elle
The metal cage squeaks from the strain of the added weight. It dangles back and forth precariously as Hale pulls himself up and into the cage with Stassi as if he doesn’t notice Gant at all.
The band below screeches to a halt. Given the size of the crowd, it should be impossible to hear what’s being said from so high up and yet, Hale’s voice, strained and breathy, creeps along my ears like an icy spider because of Stassi’s microphone.
“What do you have on?”
“The uniform,” Stassi says, a timid smile creeping across her lips. “I know you’re short-staffed. I figured I could help as a feature tonight with my dancing.”
Fuck, do they know we can hear their muffled whispers?
Rie must be thinking along the same lines because she shoots from around the bar and heads for the band.
“You’re not the help, and it’s your birthday.”
“And your grand opening. You…you don’t like it?”
“No.” It comes out so low, so calm, so…threatening. “Take it off.”
“What? Right here?” Stassi asks, her voice laced with a dare.
“ Stas, ” a low growl.
“What’s the problem?” It’s just a whisper, one bordering on disbelief and rising panic.
“You wearing it.”
“You picked it!” At the microphone’s screech, Stassi clearly becomes aware that we can hear them, but it’s too late. “’s wearing it. The other girls are wearing it, so you must like it.”
I shrink at my name, at Gant, who’s still hovering on top of the cage like a bloody vulture ready to pounce.
“Not on you.”
My heart freezes with the entire room.
“What’s wrong with me?”
I can hear self-consciousness creeping into her tone.
“You’re not one of them!”
“What makes me different from them?”
My eyes fly to the girls, Hale’s girls, who’ve been stalking around the party all night in hopes of having a chance with him later. But as I spare them a glance, I see what Stassi sees. They're all blonde, but that’s where the similarities between them and her end. They’re tall, long and lean like lingerie models with perfect proportions.
“Where’s Zedd and your father?” he hisses. “Thank God they aren’t here yet.”
I don’t get to hear Stassi’s response because the band strikes up a tune at Rie Rie’s insistence. A second after they do, more screams cut through the music as Stassi jumps from the cage and plunges into the arms of some Bradley boys below. It’s so damn smooth I’d think it was all planned, but then I see that deranged look in Gant’s eyes again and know that nothing is planned.
Nothing is going according to plan.
A metallic click forces Hale to tear his eyes away from an escaping Stassi to Gant, who’s sliding along the side of the cage. It’s descending toward the bar in the original position against the back wall at Rie Rie’s command.
I swallow hard as it inches closer, and closer, and when it’s in earshot, I hear Gant mutter lowly, “I must still be in my nightmare.” His bloodshot eyes shoot to Hale. “Or hallucinating.”
“Gant — ” Hale begins, but Gant propels them closer with a swing and jumps just as gracefully as he does in every ballet class once they're dangling over the bar top.
His shoes land directly in front of me as he crouches and reaches across the bar. His knuckles graze my cheek before his fingers gently slide into my hair. And then he tugs on it, just enough for my chair to roll closer. One second my ass is on the cushion, the next I’m wedged between his spread thighs as he pulls me against him and sticks his nose into my hair with the biggest inhale.
“She’s real,” he whispers to himself when he pulls back to peer those crazed eyes into mine.
The unsettling feeling coiling in my gut doesn’t offset my racing heart as I take in his scent, too, a comfort I loathe.
We’re so close, I swear our eyelashes would brush if I weren’t struggling to pull away from him, not that it’s any use. He fists his hands in my nape and holds me tight.
“She’s real,” he repeats as his left hand shoots backward, stopping the cage from finishing its descent. Gripping the bars, he wrenches the door open, and those black, sleepless eyes peel from me to zoom in on Hale. “And you had her. My little dove. This whole time.”
For once, Hale seems at a loss for words. But it doesn’t last long. “She helped me out in a tough spot.”
“And I haven’t?”
“Not lately,” he snaps, clearly agitated at losing sight of Stassi.
“This all over me telling you no?” Gant’s eyes cut to me, his fist tugging on my hair harder as I squirm. “Try to get away from me again, and I’ll haul your ass over the bar.”
“Like a fucking rag doll?” I sneer. “I’m not your doll, Gant. Not any more. What about that, don’t you understand?”
“I’m not the one misunderstanding anything.” he turns back to Hale, squeezing me tighter. “I understand our relationship just fine. It’s Hale who's forgotten ours.”
“I’ve forgotten the horsemen?” Hale snorts. “The brotherhood? I’ve been here for weeks with no brothers in sight.” He points to me. “But then a sister came along.”
“She sure did.”
We all turn to Zedd, slinking through the crowd that parts easily for him.
Stassi wasn’t the only one who’d put thought into her outfit. Zedd’s pinstriped suit should be gaudy with the tiny trail of crystals along each pinstripe, and yet he complemented Stassi perfectly. Or he would have.
“You had them both here,” he hisses, shooting me a glance before glaring daggers at Hale again. “You knew Stassi planned an entrance without me, and you said nothing.”
“Like I knew what the fuck she was up to,” Hale says, then his gaze darts over Zedd’s shoulder. “Your father isn’t here, is he?”
“Why would I invite him to a brothel?”
Hale’s expression turns stony, but I don’t miss the slight slump of his shoulders. “This isn’t Pierrot's.”
“Hard to tell,” Zedd says, eyeing a passing volunteer's corset. “I don’t know what I was thinking, giving you a chance to host — ”
“You never gave me a chance!” Hale snaps. “I asked, no fuck that, pleaded for your help. For months”
“Your mother — ”
“ Your help! I wanted my brothers, and they abandoned me. For what? Mmm? What the fuck have you two been up to with Bae and Etienne?”
“Don’t change the fucking subject. Etienne isn’t even here,” Zedd snaps back. “If you checked the group chat for something more than a cash-out, maybe you would’ve known that.”
“Like you would’ve known where your sister was if you weren’t so busy cooking up shit no one wanted? Masala margaritas? Posting to your stories but can’t answer a single fucking text — ”
“Shit no one wants? Is that why you asked me to cater my own party? Five thousand seasoned wings?”
“But it’s cool when you’re chefing it up for Gant’s pet, right? Who’s really the pet?”
“ Fuck you. ”
“Yeah, well, fuck you too!” Hale spits.
“That much is obvious,” Gant says, cradling my head tight against his neck. “You wanted to fuck me. Hurt me. I was going insane, and you kept her away from me.”
“I tried contacting you. Multiple times. You wouldn’t fucking answer.”
“You weren’t .”
“ Clearly . However, I get why you need her so badly. She’s a good girl.”
Gant’s eyes darken and bleed, the white vanishing beneath his narrowing lids.
“ was there for me when no one else was. All you fucking did was show up.” He glances at Zedd. “Oh, and happy birthday, bitch.”
“ Happy birthday .” Aria sings songs as she appears beside Zedd with a raised champagne flute and a dress made of dripping diamonds that imitates fringe. Someone else is with her, or they were. Before I can get a better look, she’s gone in a whip of thick, glossy black hair and a blur of gold.
“You brought her here?” Zedd grits his teeth, his eyes wide as he turns to Aria. “To my fucking party.”
“Imagine bringing a birthday gift to a birthday party on the birthday boy’s birthday,” Aria says with a roll of her eyes. “Insane, I know.”
One second, Zedd’s behind Gant squaring off with Hale, and the next, he’s darting after the girl and brushing past Aria, who spills her champagne. She catches my eye before looking away dismissively as if we’ve never met.
A twang of something I’ve been trying to stifle pangs in my chest at the sight of her because the girlish attachment we’d formed keeps rearing its ugly head in betrayal and…longing. Missing? Because I miss her.
Stassi’s a breath of fresh bubbly air, but Aria’s a grey cloud that can brighten or darken, depending on the mood. She’s more neutral, unafraid and unapologetic to be blunt. I could use that now. Not the bubbly positivity of Stassi, or the sheer bitch mode of Rin who's undoubtedly somewhere in the crowd recording for Beaussip.
Time pauses for a beat as we all gaze at each other. From the awkward looks between Aria and me to the hatred flowing between Gant and Hale. To Hale’s apparent anxiousness about a missing Stassi.
Aria. The horsemen. Everyone was having a shitty time friendship-wise.
“Is that all you think we did? Show up?” Gant asks calmly.
Hale nods. “What else would you call it?”
“I don’t think you’d want me to do more than just show up, Haley.”
Both Hale and I stiffen at the nickname.
“Fire , now, or I’ll show you an example.”
“He’s not firing me,” I hiss. “I’m not just an employee but a stakeholder. It’s part of our contract.”
“Contract?” Gant hisses, tugging my hair and catching my eye. “Like what you and I have?”
Have? Had. He can’t seriously think I’d still help him find the driver that killed his mother. Of course, I’m going to, but not for his sake.
“She lent me the money for the renovations, and if I agreed to hire her over the breaks and on the weekends-”
“I don’t give a fuck what the contract says. Set it on fire. Fire her.”
I look at Hale. Can business trump friendship?
Weirdly enough, Hale’s been the only person I could rely on for the past week. I’d been fed to the wolves so many times.
Don’t feed me to him again.
Please.
But then Hale rips his baby blues away from me as the lights dim, and a familiar tune plays. The signal for the temporary workers to dance in their cages. Cages. Stassi. Or at least that seems to be Hale’s train of thinking.
“Fuck this,” he murmurs, the colour draining from his face as he jumps down from the bar and into the frozen crowd who’s watching us over their recording phones.
Beaussip is going to have a field day tomorrow.
At the same time, Gant pushes me back into my chair and lands beside me, his fingers creeping around my neck.
“Anyone who orders a drink from tonight is dead,” he says coolly. “Whether you go to Beaulieu or not, I’ll make sure of it.”
No one says a peep.
“Order them from me instead,” Rie Rie says unhelpfully near the band. Her chest is sparkling, and it takes me a second to realise she’s gathered some crystals and stuffed them into her top.
If Rie pours the drinks, they’ll really be dead then, but I can already feel my flesh turning cold as Gant turns his back on the slowly reanimating crowd and gives me all of his attention.