CHAPTER FIFTY #2
Emmery hoped to the gods he spoke the truth, and this wasn’t some trick. But she really had no other choice. As she caught sight of it, she noticed an S carved into the handle. For study she presumed, though that felt too obvious.
She braced a hand on the bed to get a good angle—
The Treasurer lunged, but the chain snapped him back against the bed as he flailed, and yet he tried to get his legs around her.
Emmery flared her flame and snarled at him, ready to melt his damn face off. The Treasurer made a small pathetic noise and shrank back against the bed as if he wished he could sink into it.
“Behave or I’ll make good on my promise,” she said through gritted teeth.
Emmery sparked her flame and melted the ring holding the key.
The Treasurer wasn’t done with his nonsense. “Now that you have your key, release me.”
Emmery tucked it between her cleavage alongside the handcuff key. As she surveyed those crimson eyes, she felt absolutely no remorse. So, she said in her best sing-song voice, “I don’t think so.”
She jogged for the door, slipped outside, and slammed it shut behind her.
Her heart raced as she burst back into the club. The Treasurer’s cries were luckily absorbed by the music. Because now that she had the key, she needed—
Dez.
Emmery searched the room, shoved people aside, and her eyes darted everywhere. He couldn’t have left without her, could he? Her heartbeat ticked like a clock, counting down the seconds, and she didn’t know how long they had or if they would make it at all.
Emmery darted through the crowd, her eyes peeled for that familiar curly hair, tall stature, and broad shoulders.
A few times she thought she caught sight of Dez, but they faded back into that black silhouette and she surged on.
Her elbows swung. She didn’t care if she struck someone.
They were all too intoxicated and lust drunk anyway.
Maybe something had happened to him, he’d been caught or—
When a hand snagged her elbow, she squealed and spun with her flame ready at her fingertips.
A heavy relieved sigh slipped between her lips as she met Dez’s eyes. Then, unable to control herself, she stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her feet lifted off the ground as he held her to him, their bodies flush.
He smelled thickly of blood, and it covered him: his chest, neck, and face. Had someone done that to him? Why were his curls strung out like someone had run their hands through them? But maybe she’d done that earlier. Her stomach sank.
He set her back on the ground and gave her a stupid little smirk.
Emmery shoved his chest. “Where the fuck were you?”
“Your affection knows no bounds.” The smirk grew into a smile. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want it to go to my head.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled. She spun for the exit. “Let’s go.”
They made their way across the club to where Reize claimed Deimos’s study dwelled below.
The close location surely wasn’t a coincidence.
It seemed typical of a god to mix pleasure and work so carelessly.
As they ran, Emmery’s feet slapped against the stone floor, and she winced as the pain radiated through her heels.
“Where are your shoes?” Dez hissed over his shoulder as they darted down a shadowed hallway lit in the same amber hue as the rest of the Hollow.
She tried to match his pace but this silly dress and lingerie fought her, all while the corset stole her breath. “I—uhm, sort of forgot them,” she wheezed.
“You forgot?” He grasped her hand and ushered her down a spiral staircase. “Good thing you didn’t forget that lovely lace. I’d undoubtedly be too distracted and break my neck on these stairs.”
She resisted the urge to turn around and slap him. “I didn’t take them off if that’s what you’re asking,” she spat back instead, the response winded.
As they reached the bottom of the staircase a door made of black iron loomed ahead. Like a vault.
“It’s not. But is it wrong that I’m relieved?” he asked, a little breathless.
Emmery rolled her eyes and fished in her corset for the key. “I don’t see why you care.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
With the key in hand, her fingers fumbled, and she missed the keyhole twice. Her heart pumped too fast as the high that had set her blood ablaze, now slogged through her veins like mud. She growled and clenched her teeth as she missed a third time.
Dez gently took her hand in both of his. “Look at me, Emmery.”
She refused. Refused to even give him a glimmer of attention after what he had done. What they had done. Together.
It was wrong, wrong, wrong.
But it felt so damn good. And complicated everything.
Dez kept a firm grip on her hand, and she blew out a frustrated breath.
“I’m not letting go until you do,” he said, his voice more than a little exhausted. “We don’t have time to waste, so I suggest you do as I say.”
Reluctantly, she peered up at him.
“Tell me why you’re angry with me.” He reached for her face, while he held her and the key hostage in his other hand. Humiliation coloured her cheeks, especially when she leaned into his touch.
“I’m not angry,” she muttered under her breath.
Lover, the Treasurer had called him. What a joke. What a sad, pathetic joke she was for giving into him and for what she’d done to Shade. She truly was awful. They both were.
“It’s practically radiating off you,” he said with an uncertain laugh. “I can handle your fire, and though that angry scrunch to your nose is beyond adorable, we need to work together. So you need to talk to me.”
Though she hated it, he softened her, worming under her skin, and smoothing her creases, and rough edges until she couldn’t manage to be sharp.
“We … you know we shouldn’t have done that,” she breathed, her throat burning and chest tight.
As if her words hurt, he flinched and cast his gaze to the floor, regret heavy in his eyes. Like an expert thief, he slipped the key from her fingers and slid it into the keyhole. The lock clicked and the door creaked open on worn metal hinges.
He turned to her and took her face in his hands.
Emmery’s brows pinched, but she let him hold her.
“We’ll discuss what happened later, yeah?” he said softly.
Other than the fact they could never do that again, she wasn’t sure what there was to talk about. “Fine,” she replied.
Dez braced his brow against hers, the gesture so intimate, soft, and she breathed him in, as he did her. Hesitantly, he kissed the tip of her nose.
As if called by name, Emmery’s heart leapt to attention, and banged against her ribs. However, she didn’t want this. Couldn’t want it.
“Let’s go get what we came here for,” he said hoarsely.
They turned to the door that held their futures behind its iron grip.