Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SLADE
Graves yaps in my ear as my grandfather stares at me from across the room. He’s already positioned at the reserved table for the Eight. It takes balls of steel to sit there when he hasn’t completed the Severing. He must believe he’s a shoo-in.
I have no idea what Graves is droning on about.
Something regarding his daughter visiting from Florida, whom he hasn’t seen since her mother took her away, and how he’s worried.
I’ve never heard Graves sound concerned about anything that wasn’t EV-related or tied to money, but through the broken words and blurred sentences, I catch it—the edge of worry buried in his tone.
Whatever. I don’t care.
All I can think about is tonight and the stage they’ve flooded with cameras for the live stream, and—I glance back toward my grandfather still staring. I’ve got to get out of here.
Thea.
If I leave, I’ll miss her.
Kenji strolls up, thumb swiping rhythmically across his phone. He’s tied his hair low at the nape, his suit fitting close, with the open collar exposing the ink sprawled across his neck and chest.
“Kenji.” Graves extends his hand to him, but in classic Kenji fashion, he ignores it and doesn’t spare him a glance.
I shrug as Graves snarls. He turns and saunters, high-fiving and slapping the shoulders of members selecting seats to best see the stage. With our chapter disengaged tonight, more drinks and cigars drift among the men gathered in clusters, lost in business and selective conversation.
Kenji pulls out the leather chair shoved under one of the marble tables and gestures for me to sit. But I don’t want to, and when I don’t, he snickers and plops down, still swiping at his phone.
I sigh, and he turns to look up at me. “Since you’re just standing there glowering, why don’t you get us some drinks?” Then he grins that sheepish grin that doesn’t mesh with the undercover psychopath he carries around with him.
I blink, staring at him.
“Slade. Dude, what the hell is up with you?”
I shake my head and walk away toward the bar and signal for a whiskey on the rocks and a strawberry daiquiri with a tiny umbrella for Kenji. When I return to our table and set it in front of him, it’s his turn to glower.
I grin and sit next to him.
Hums of anticipation murmur through the crowd, and my knee bounces, feeding off it.
What will she be wearing? I’m sure she’s terrified. I have half a mind to wander back toward the rooms I’m almost sure they’re sequestered in.
Light dims in a theatrical fade, and I catch Kenji shake his head as the harsh white overhead pulses with red that soaks the room. Conversations turn to whispers, and sultry music that’s bass-heavy follows.
My stomach lurches.
EV staff managing the Culling mill about, heads down and adjusting lenses and cameras, feeding the stage to the rest of the chapters.
An irrational feeling enrages me at the thought of more people getting a glimpse of Thea and from better angles. I glare at the cameras, tapping the pads of my fingers on the table.
“What is your problem?” Kenji asks, finally sparing a glance toward the stage.
I take a swig of my whiskey and use a middle finger to push up my glasses.
“I wish Vaughan were here,” he says, deadpan.
The volume of the music increases, and a projection screen lowers, showing the camera feeds from all the rooms. I comb through the footage, looking for her.
One room is empty, and I can only assume whoever was in there is now on their way up to the stage.
I spot her in the lower left-hand corner, curled into a ball against the wall.
Her hands are tugging at her hair, as if she’s in a panic.
The girl she’s paired with is in the corner, nearly out of the shot. I can’t tell who it is.
My hands grip the leather armrests, squeezing so tight that when I let go, depressions remain.
Red numbers flash on the screen. First fifty, then increasing by the hundreds, then thousands.
“Welcome to the Culling,” EV’s AI voice singsongs.
“Thank you for joining the Chicago chapter. Whether you’re joining us from your chapter’s headquarters or from the comfort of your own home, please use discretion as outlined in your society vows.
All votes should be submitted in guard coin.
As a reminder, the Chicago chapter is not able to participate this evening, and all guard currency has been suspended in this city until further notice. ”
Kenji snorts. “Who uses that shit?”
My grandfather. Me. Every member but Kenji. As I look over to the Eight’s table, my grandfather tips his head back and laughs at something. It’s a fake laugh, and it’s hilarious—even the sadists smile for the camera.
The footage blinks away, replaced by two red counters ticking up from zero. Two girls emerge onstage—one dressed in red, the other in black. Their faces are ashy, but sparkles glaze their skin, reflecting a blood-glinting shimmer.
“Five, four, three—” The female voice counts down.
“This is so stupid,” Kenji murmurs, loud enough for a sleezy member behind him to hear.
“Don’t ruin it for the rest of us. It’s the perfect opportunity to see who we want to bid on next week, you ungrateful little shit.”
I stiffen, and Kenji freezes. He sets his phone down, then opens his suit jacket, giving me a peek at his twin Berettas sitting on each hip. He swivels around, tilting his head. “Utter one more word in my direction.”
The middle-aged man’s eyes, weighed down by bushy eyebrows, widen when he realizes it’s Kenji he spoke to, and he shuffles away.
Kenji picks up his phone again and sighs, turning it toward me. Colorful candy bursts across the screen in mini-explosions as he thumbs a few pieces over, matching them and chasing a coveted combo. “He ruined my streak.”
I nod, fisting my hands over my lap.
Bring the screen back up. I need to see her.
The girls on stage dance, rather poorly if I might add.
Their heels wobble, sweat beads as I’m sure many haven’t danced in a long time, and their lips tremble with the effort to keep smiling.
As they see the numbers click up on the screen, their hips sway wider, and the men in the room chuckle and holler as through they’re a bunch of school-aged boys.
Finally, the numbers pulse, declaring one the “winner.” They lead her offstage, restraining the other girl for show before dragging her the opposite way.
I fist my glass as the screen flickers back to life, and my eyes immediately go to the bottom screen to find Thea missing from her room.
There’s an uptick in my pulse.
When the lights drop even lower, I can’t decide if my mind is playing tricks on me, or if the red haze is deliberate.
Sensual music plays that crawls under my skin as Thea and …
Juliette shuffle on stage. The men in the crowd cheer, making a show of biting their knuckles and raising their glasses, their liquor sloshing over the side.
Juliette immediately shrugs off her bralette straps, letting them fall over her shoulders. Thea doesn’t even seem to realize what she’s done. She just stares, a deer in the headlights, while the men erupt into a frenzy.
Guard coin pours in, hitting over ten thousand in seconds—all for Juliette. Her hips roll, and her arms raise, slicing through the air and slowly twisting in time with her body. She bites her lip and scans the room until her eyes snag on mine. Then she’s hooked, gaze only on me.
Juliette’s fingers graze her thighs, teasing at the edges of her outfit. The men salivate, panting like the repulsive dogs they are to get closer to the stage.
My attention darts back to Thea. She’s still frozen, as if she can’t bring herself to move.
Dance, Thea. Dance.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she drags her focus around the room in front of her. Most men are watching Juliette, but her eyes meet mine, and I hold them, offering a quick flick to Juliette. Thea follows, and her eyes widen when she sees her provocative moves.
In that one second, something shifts. Thea’s jaw tightens, and she flips her wild hair out of her face.
The last flicker of hesitation still burns in her eyes, but resolve flows over her expression.
It’s uncertain, but she sways her hips, unpolished but raw and real.
Her body begins to answer the beat of the music pounding. When she locks eyes back toward me—
I snarl as a man blocks my view, and I stand, reaching out to grip his shoulder. He flinches, and I shove him out of the way. His body stumbles sideways, then crashes into the table next to ours.
This garners Kenji’s attention, and he smirks at me over his phone. I shrug. He’s not hurt, just out of my way. Where he belongs.
Unfortunately, the entire room turns to Thea, their gazes snapping to her as though they’re magnets. Her guard coin rises, yet still trailing Juliette, who commands the edge of the stage with confidence.
My mind wars with itself. If she doesn’t dance, she’ll be subject to the Culling, and if she does—they’re watching her. The thought sits wrong. Not because she’s mine, but because she shouldn’t belong to any of them.
A low, sharp bitterness burns as hundreds of eyes drink her in. Wanting her. Those bright blue irises, glassy with unshed tears, her thick, rich curls strewn around her sweat-licked face. Not a single one of these men deserves to look at her.
I want to drag her off that floor and hide her. My jaw clenches, and on instinct, I gravitate forward.
“Uh, Slade? Oh, hell,” Kenji says from somewhere behind me.
My fingers curl inward into my toughened palms. The tension rushing through me isn’t just want. It’s something more dangerous. The need to keep her safe. What is she doing to me?
I can’t help it. I’m sucked in, staring at her creamy skin marred only by the dandelion tattoo floating up her arm.
Obsession isn’t supposed to look like this, is it?
It’s not supposed to feel like a weakness.
In my mind, it’s power, ownership, control over where and when she pulls me in.
But … damn it, it’s the opposite. I’m powerless and even less in control of my actions when it comes to her.
I inhale a breath full of cigar smoke and sweaty cologne, then adjust my glasses as she nervously licks the beads of perspiration off her Cupid’s bow.
I’m losing it.
I’m losing control.
The guard coin continues to click up, but it’s nowhere near Juliette’s. The song will end any moment now, and she’ll—
Damn it.
I snap.
Cutting through the few members in front of me, I shove past them.
She’s still dancing by the time I reach the stage.
My hand bolts out, wrapping around her waist, my other gripping the back of her thigh.
Before she can blink, I pull her forward and sling her over my damn shoulder.
She gasps and tries to twist, but I don’t stop.
Soft boos and irritation rise, and the music fades into nothing.
“Hey!” someone yells. “You can’t do that!”
The muscles in my neck tick with every thrown word or boo, but I just walk. Heat crawls up my spine as I hold her thighs. Her hair, dangling upside down, tickles the backs of my knees through my suit pants, but I burn through any logical thought to put her down.
They’ll be mad you took her.
What are you going to do?
I can feel my grandfather’s eyes on me, and I avoid the Eight altogether. I’ll have to negotiate my way out of this one.
Kenji yells after me. “Slade! Slade, wait.”
I don’t slow down.
She’s done being a show.