Chapter 16
Cillian
Where I’m expecting the redhead—aka Malika Serran—I’m not expecting the two other men standing in Electra’s kitchen.
Sweat dampens the brim of my ball cap. Electra must have figured out that Lara’s drink spill last night wasn’t an accident and called her family together to trap me. Is their goal instant execution or torturous interrogation?
Quinn’s face develops on my lids. What will happen to her when I don’t show up at the deli in three hours?
Perspiration fogs my lenses and makes my glasses slip.
I press them back into place as I tighten my grip around the box of brown butter scones Jeneva let me bake in the flower shop’s test kitchen.
Not without something in return, of course.
Oh no, Jeneva had terms.
Malika raises her nose and sniffs the air. “Hmm, something smells delicious. Elle, did you Doordash breakfast?”
“Doordash?” I hear Electra say. “How do you even know what that is?”
“Because I’ve stayed with you before, and you have a passion for takeout.”
“No, I have a passion for not cooking. There’s a difference.”
Malika roots around her denim trouser pockets and pulls out a folded twenty. “Here.”
“Mom!” Electra finally steps into my line of sight.
“What?” Malika glances at her raven-haired daughter.
“That’s not a delivery boy.”
“It’s not?” I think Malika frowns, though it’s hard to tell behind her thick bangs.
“First off, delivery people can’t come up here, and secondly—”
“He’s the boyfriend,” Dorian supplies, his pitch edging downward in disapproval as he also steps closer.
The guy is ultra-protective of his sister, so his distaste for me is neither alarming nor surprising.
“My daughter has a boyfriend?” The Texan drawl hits my skin with the power of a blast chiller.
Dorian grumbles something in Atlantean while Malika glances over her shoulder and impales the speaker with a look more serrated than the blade Trenton used to destroy Quinn’s face.
Electra, on the other hand, keeps her eyes on me.
“Pardon my surprise, but Elle mentioned we were meeting tomorrow.” Malika tucks the twenty back into her pocket before finally smiling and sticking out her hand. “I’m Malika Serran, the mother.”
Oh, I know who you are. You’re the guardian of the mine I intend to destroy.
I shake the Atlantean’s hand, which is firm and cold, nothing like her daughter’s silken warmth. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Serran.”
Monta ambles into the foyer, reaching out a hand. “And I’m—”
Dorian slots his body between us, thankfully forcing Monta’s arm down. “Not her father.”
“Now, Dorian…” Monta protests.
“Dorian, can you take Gael to the living room?” Electra asks.
The brim of my cap is soaked now. Has the navy turned black? Can the women sense my elevated heartbeat?
“Please come in,” Malika says.
I feel like a vampire just granted entry into the house of his next victim, which is ironic since I’m the one walking into the monster’s den. The Atlanteans might not drink blood, as some in the organization believe, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.
“Actually, now’s not a good time, Mom.”
Couldn’t agree more…
Electra crosses her arms over the loose-fitting black T-shirt, the hem of which flirts with her navel. “Can you give Cillian and me a moment?”
“Yes. Of course.” Malika smiles like she knows a secret. “See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.”
As she walks away, Electra hisses, “Ma’am?”
I swallow as my pulse finally slows.
“How did you get here?” Electra asks.
“I drove. Nice garage by the way.”
“No, I meant, up here.”
“Oh. Before I left Bloom’s, I ran into Mrs. Murphy, who traded me her key fob for a few of these. Here.” I hold out the bakery box.
It takes Electra almost a full minute to relieve me of it.
“She told me about your underground parking and the Penthouse elevator.”
“I imagine I also have Fiona to thank for giving you my address?”
“No. That was Jen, actually.”
Her eyes taper. “How the hell does she know where I live?”
“Prior deliveries, I imagine. I didn’t ask, I just… Well, I was glad for the information since I texted you multiple times since last night, but you never replied.”
“I meant breakfast tomorrow. Did I forget to write that?”
“You did.” I add a smile. “I hope you like the scones. Mrs. Bloom asked for the recipe, so I think they’re good.”
Electra’s gaze drops to the green bakery box stamped with the Bloom’s Blooms logo. “You made these?”
“I did. Cost me a drink tonight, though.”
Electra frowns.
“Jen let me use the test kitchen before the shop opened.” I watch Electra’s face carefully. “In exchange for a drink tonight.”
Is it me, or do her pretty eyes flash? I’d like to think that what I felt when she ran to Malachi last night isn’t one-sided.
I can just hear my father whisper, “If you’re ever in too deep, son, forget the surface, head straight for the shore.” One of the few lessons he managed to teach me before the asshole in the other room took his life.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to fill the man with lead and drag him back to HQ to torture him. I know Trenton and Hudson would appreciate—
What if I renegotiated Quinn’s release? What if, instead of destroying the mine, I brought Gael Monta in?
I don’t realize I’m white-knuckling my gym bag strap until Electra’s gaze sweeps over my fist. I let go so fast that blood charges into my fingertips, causing them to prickle.
“I know this—” She waves a hand behind her, like she’s blowing away smoke. Except there’s no smoke. “That this isn’t real. But maybe cut down on the womanizing. Especially women the whole family knows.”
It takes my mind a second to catch up. “We’re only going as friends.”
If this were real, I’d have shut down Jeneva immediately. Truth is, I almost did, but then I thought it could come in handy.
“I told her that you and I were dating.” When Electra’s silence endures, I add, “That’s why I really wanted to bring something homemade. First impressions and all.”
“Even if my mother falls under your charm, it won’t change the fact that this is make-believe. You really need to remember that, or you’re going to get hurt.”
Her reminder feels like a sprinkle of lemon juice on a knife wound. Did I completely misread her last night?
I take a step back. “I should go.”
“Yeah. You should.” Electra’s mismatched eyes are liquid, churning with thoughts I’d pay good money to learn. Suddenly, they light up. “Did you really tell Jen we were dating?”
I like that she’s still ruminating on this. “Yes.”
“And she still asked you out?”
“She figures you and I aren’t serious, given that you’re hung up on another guy.”
Electra’s mouth flattens, and the preternatural light drains from her stare. “How the hell does she— Whatever.”
“Come with me tonight. Show her that it is serious. Jen loves to gossip, so she’ll spread the word around town, which will help sell our relationship.” I call the elevator, which instantly dings. “We’re meeting at Cliché at nine. I’ll text you the address.”
She snorts. “I’d rather go on vacation with Ines.”
Instead of stepping into the elevator, I pivot. “Please.”
The Atlantean leans against her doorframe. “I’ll think about it.”
I realize that’s not a yes, but it’s also not a no, which I consider a win. Jeneva will hate it, but hopefully, it’ll cool off her zeal to pursue me.
I turn back around to call the elevator again, only to find the doors gliding open. Someone’s in a hurry to get rid of me…
I make sure to act surprised by peering between the call button and my ride a few times before finally stepping inside.
My stomach dips as the elevator plunges to the parking level.
I don’t get how people enjoy living so far above the ground.
I suppose the Atlanteans aren’t afraid of a sudden housefire, or a malfunctioning windowpane, or psychopathic stepsiblings eager to toss you from their thirty-third-floor rooftop.
I’m only alive to tell the tale, because Quinn knocked out an unsuspecting Hudson with a bat, before swearing to Trenton that she didn’t love me like she loved him.
He’d asked her to prove it by agreeing to go out with him.
I’d yelled at Quinn not to, but what did my best friend do? She said yes, but only after making him promise to set me on my feet.
High on his win, Trenton had flung me aside as though I’d weighed no more than Quinn’s bat. My glasses had fallen somewhere in the street below, but their absence had done nothing to spare me the shine of Quinn’s cheeks.
I didn’t know if she was crying about the fate she’d just condemned herself to, or about the fate I’d almost met. All I knew was that, to save me, she’d given my asshole stepbrother a decade of her life.
I’d tried to stay—for her. But six months after my mother’s death, I called it quits and asked the organization’s accountant for my inheritance, only to find out that Trenton had wired it into his account. He told me I could have it—if I stayed. If I left, I walked away with nothing.
I forfeited my parents’ savings. What I didn’t forfeit is Quinn. Before leaving Boston, I’d tried a few more times to reason with her, but she chose Trenton. Chose to marry him. Kept saying it was better for everyone and swearing he wasn’t so bad.
The man who’d run over my dog wasn’t so bad…
That’s the day I bought the Woody and hit the road. It took me four years to buy a burner phone and call her to make sure she was still alive, and then another two to trust her with my new number.
The few times we managed to talk, she didn’t complain about her situation, but I knew her well enough to sense she was miserable.
After her cheek…after she finally escaped Trenton, she confessed she’d stayed because she loved to fix broken things and had the delusion that Trenton was broken.
But a year into her marriage, she realized there was no fixing pure evil.
Unlike Hudson, who had a few screws loose, Trenton’s level of depravity was unmatched.
No, I’m wrong. It is matched. By Monta.
Is the monster sweet-talking Electra right now? Will she fall under his charm the way Quinn once fell under Trenton’s—or will her adoptive family succeed where I failed?
When the elevator spits me into the underground parking lot, I tip my cap low to avoid the cameras and walk at a clipped pace toward my car. Just as I round a pillar, I freeze, because parked beside the Woody is a shiny black Escalade from which a blond boy is exiting.
“But I just got here,” Alexander Monta wails into the cell phone pressed to his ear.
I consider booking it out of there, but of course, that’s when his pale-blue eyes land on me. I start up again, trying to even out my pulse as I walk past him.
Gael’s kid tracks me with his gaze, then full-on turns when I get into the station wagon. Before he can ask why I parked in a spot reserved for the Penthouse, I duck into my car and get the hell out of there.