Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Brooks
Sneaking Daphne on the jet hadn’t been easy.
But nothing with her ever was.
I had to attend a White House event this evening. I’d told my father showing up with a swollen eye and a face that looked like I’d lost a cage fight probably wasn’t great for his approval ratings, but he’d been adamant I come.
But leaving Daphne alone right after her Initiation? Not happening.
She was finally mine, and I was taking full advantage of it until this ended.
That was the problem.
I’d known Daphne would never be just a Fawn to me.
My obsession with her had already gotten worse, and we were barely a day in. That’d been my true fear about selecting her.
Not because I hated her.
Because once, I’d loved her.
Problem was, my brain hadn’t gotten the fucking memo that I wasn’t supposed to anymore.
I checked my watch for what had to be the twentieth time since takeoff. If anyone had caught me before we were in the air, this plane would’ve never left the ground.
Why, you ask?
I’d held Daphne at gunpoint, zip-tied her wrists and ankles, before taping her mouth shut. Then I’d stuffed her into my oversized luggage like some fucking serial killer.
I’d at least left the zipper cracked enough for her to breathe.
See how nice I am?
Getting the suitcase up the stairs and through the garden outside the Fawn Quarters had been a bitch, but I’d managed.
While waiting for us to be up in the air long enough, I opened my text thread with her, scrolling all the way back to the beginning and reading our first texts.
Even after all these years, I couldn’t bring myself to delete them.
Me: Hey, what’s up?
Daphne: Who’s this?
I remembered staring at those two words like a fucking idiot, typing my answer, deleting it, then typing another.
I was never nervous around women.
Daphne had decided to make herself the exception.
Me: Take a guess.
Daphne: Brooks’s hot friend?
Daphne: Josh, right?
Fucking Josh.
He’d asked for Daphne’s number again at the gym the next morning. I’d answered by smashing the basketball into his face and chipping his tooth.
Fucker didn’t ask me again.
Me: It’s Brooks.
Daphne: Brooks who?
Me: I’m offended you need a last name.
Daphne: You texting me a lame, “WHAT’S UP,” offends me.
Me: What would you have preferred I said?
Daphne: Hello, Princess. Sorry I kept looking at your chest while talking to you in the kitchen. Also sorry I made my friend cancel his date with you because I made him look like a freaking jack-o’-lantern.
Me: Hello, Princess. Sorry I kept looking at your chest while talking to you in the kitchen. Also sorry I made my friend cancel his date with you because I made him look like a freaking jack-o’-lantern.
Me: Better?
Daphne: Much.
Me: How’d you find out about Josh?
Me: And wait, how the fuck did he get a date with you?
Daphne: He found me on social media. It’s the new form of stalking these days.
I remembered grinding my teeth at that message.
Josh had already lost a piece of his tooth over Daphne. I’d considered maybe he needed to lose more.
Daphne: Why are you texting me?
Her rudeness had caught me off guard. I’d never had anyone speak—or rather, text—me like that.
Me: I was bored.
Daphne: Are you one of those guys who can only talk to girls via text?
Daphne: Can I start calling you Bashful Brooksy?
I rubbed the back of my head, remembering how I’d stared at my phone and wondered what the hell was wrong with this girl.
She and my sister had always said stupid shit when I was around. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
Daphne had a smart-ass comment for everything.
It should’ve annoyed the shit out of me.
Stupidly, I kept waiting for the next one.
Me: Fuck no.
Daphne: You should’ve said yes.
Daphne: Now I know you don’t like it.
Daphne: I shall now make that your official nickname.
I hadn’t answered her for a while then.
Some chick had sent me a nude, but my cock didn’t twitch once when I looked at it.
I’d only wished it were a nude from the girl who was currently giving me a weird-ass nickname.
Daphne had been eighteen then, so I could’ve asked her for one.
I didn’t, though.
Swear to God, that didn’t make me Bashful Brooksy.
Me: I texted you because I was bored.
Daphne: Wow, you shouldn’t have admitted that.
Daphne: I’m going to text with Josh now. He said he was texting me for a date. Not because he was bored.
Me: Josh isn’t your type.
Daphne: Oh, really?
Me: Yes, really.
Daphne: What’s my type then?
Me: Me.
Daphne: My type sends me flowers.
Daphne: Garden roses and peonies.
Daphne: Goodnight.
I’d ordered the damn flowers before I went to sleep and had them delivered the next day.
It was the first flowers I’d ever bought for a girl.
I scrolled to her response, finding the pictures of the flowers she’d sent me.
Daphne: One point for you.
Me: What do I do for another?
Daphne: Call me later. 2 a.m.
Me: I have an event with my father at 7 a.m.
Daphne: I know.
Daphne: Roses are just the beginning of impressing me.
I’d called her at two.
And every night after that whenever I could.
Those late-night conversations were what had fucked me.
I could’ve had the shittiest day imaginable, spent hours smiling for cameras and shaking the sweaty hands of people I fucking hated, and then Daphne would answer the phone and somehow make it better.
I locked my phone and massaged the back of my neck.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, stood, and grabbed my luggage from across the jet. The top shifted as I dragged it toward my seat.
Daphne was probably preparing to murder me in there.
I sat and unzipped it.
A furious blond came flying out like a jack-in-the-box from hell.
I barely had time to grab the scissors and cut her free before she stood and punched me in the arm.
“What the hell?” Philip yelled from behind me.
“Sit,” I hissed at Daphne, tapping the chair beside me as she ripped the tape off her lips. “Don’t make a scene.”
Her face burned a bright red.
She looked ready to punch me again until she noticed Philip charging toward us. That sure made her ass drop into the seat.
“Brooks—” Philip charged toward us, his buzzed gray head nearly brushing the cabin ceiling.
He said my name but glared at Daphne.
I held up a palm. “Relax.”
“Relax?” He threw an arm toward her. “You know who she is.”
“Yeah.” I leaned back in my seat. “My Fawn. Where I go, she goes.”
His brows pulled together.
I stared back, waiting for him to challenge me.
He smartly didn’t.
I liked Philip. Trusted him with my life.
But neither of those things meant I’d listen to him.
His thin mouth twisted into a snarl as he gave Daphne one final look before returning to his seat.
Philip had been a Night Son before joining the Secret Service. Most of my detail had been, actually. He understood what it meant when a Son claimed a Fawn.
He also knew I was full of shit.
Sons didn’t drag their Fawns around like emotional-support animals. Most barely took them outside Saint Vale unless they married them later.
Philip was pretty loyal to me, but there was a good chance that he’d tattle like a little bitch to my father when we landed.
I didn’t give a fuck.
Daphne was my Fawn now. If I wanted her somewhere, that was the excuse I’d use.
Daphne turned in her seat to make sure Philip wasn’t holding a gun pointed at her head before looking at me and crossing her arms. “This is absolutely insane, Brooks. I’m not stepping foot into the White House.”
She must’ve been suitcase snooping on my conversation during the drive here.
I leaned back like we were discussing the weather. “Yes, you are.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s your grave then.”
I dropped my hand and shifted toward her. “Actually, it’s yours. I’d behave if I were you.”
“What happens when we land then? I’m supposed to exit the plane and just waltz right into the White House?”
“No.” I nudged the luggage with my shoe. “You’ll go back in there.”
She kicked the luggage away from us. “I don’t think so.”
“Either in the luggage or I throw you out of the emergency exit before we land. Your pick.”
She closed one eye, then the other, as if thinking deeply. “I’ll decide when we land.”
“You try to play any games, and I’ll tell them you snuck on here with the intention of killing me.”
“Your threats are getting so boring.” She faked a yawn.
“I think I’ve gone through with plenty that weren’t, my Fawn.”
“First, you drugged me.” She slumped deeper into the seat and gestured dramatically around the cabin. “Now, this.”
“I could’ve done worse.”
She scoffed.
“I could’ve actually killed your father.”
Her stare turned murderous. “And fuck you for that mental image you replayed in that room over and over.”
I adjusted my collar. “It was what needed to be done.”
“Mentally torturing me needed to be done?”
“I made sure your Initiation was tamer than what some others wanted.”
“Others like who? Your father?”
“Yes.” The answer came before I could reconsider it.
Her brows lifted.
Hell, I think mine did too.
“I’ve always been truthful with my Fawns,” I added. “I won’t change that with you.”
With Daphne, shit came out of my mouth that I normally kept locked inside my head.
That was another fucking problem I had with her.
“Tell me about your other Fawns,” she said.
I rubbed at my tired eyes. “What do you want to know about them?” Scooting closer to her, I knocked her elbow off the armrest and claimed it for myself.
“Who was your first Fawn?” Being the pain in the ass she was, she jabbed her elbow into my arm before resting hers right over mine.
I let her keep it there. “Veronica Lowell.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Her father is a dictator. Like, a cruel one.”
“She wasn’t cruel.”
“But her father—”
“And what about your father?”
Her smart mouth snapped shut.
I wouldn’t point out the obvious that we weren’t all carbon copies of the assholes who’d raised us.
“Why did you choose her?” she asked.
“My father set it up. He told me who I needed to choose, so I did.”
“Did you even like her?”
I shrugged. “She was cool. A little boring, but I’d take boring over annoying.”
She elbowed me harder.
I smirked.
“And your second Fawn?”
“Mariana Lowell.”
Daphne’s head snapped toward me. “Wait … her sister?”
“Cousin. Mariana’s father killed Veronica’s to take over the country. Now, we needed him in our favor.”
“Dog-eat-dog world out there, man.” She tsked.
I knew I shouldn’t have told her that.
Oh fucking well.
I missed our endless conversations like this.
The ones where we talked about absolutely nothing and never ran out of shit to say.
I peered over my shoulder at Philip to find him hunched over his phone, his finger stabbing at the screen.
If he broke my trust and reported Daphne was on this flight, I’d have him replaced.
“Do you ever talk to your old Fawns?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “They both still attend SVU.”
I rubbed my thumb over my chin. “I see them around sometimes, but we don’t speak.”
“Why not?”
“My need for them is done.”
She winced. I knew exactly where her mind went.
Eventually, my need for her will be done too.
Fawns weren’t always chosen because a Son wanted to fuck them. Sometimes, they were chosen for their last name. Their family. The secrets they knew and the doors they could open.
Veronica had been useful.
So had Mariana.
Pieces on a board. I moved them where I needed them to go, got what I wanted, then moved on.
Simple as fucking that.
Daphne should’ve been the same.
She fucking wasn’t.
The pilot’s voice came over the speaker, telling us to prepare for landing.
“Back in the suitcase,” I told Daphne, nodding toward it. “Time to sneak you into the White House.”