Chapter 27
27
T he rhythmic thrum of the helicopter blades hums through my chest as we descend onto the Waldorf Astoria’s rooftop helipad. Sunlight bounces off the skyscrapers, gilding the city in a sharp, golden glow. Inside the cabin, tension coils beneath a forced calm. Beckett watches me too closely, searching for cracks in my resolve, while Whit’s stare all but confirms that if he had his way, I’d never step foot off this aircraft. The only one who looks remotely entertained is Quinn, effortlessly guiding us to a smooth landing like it’s just another casual afternoon flight.
“Well, at least you didn’t crash us into a building this time,” Whit says dryly.
“For fuck’s sake, it was once! And there was no getting around it.” Quinn turns to me, unfazed. “They’re just jealous because I’ve got the big stick,” he adds with a wink, one hand stroking the helicopter control between his legs. I can’t help but laugh as Beckett and Whit groan.
The hotel staff greets us with flawless efficiency, escorting us off the helipad, through the lobby, and straight to our penthouse suite without so much as a pause. The space is absurdly opulent—soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers dripping light, and furniture plush enough to swallow a person whole. It feels almost insulting to give it nothing more than a passing glance before Beckett pulls out a tablet, swipes across the screen, and projects a detailed map of the hotel onto the wall.
“Let’s go over this again,” Beckett says, voice carrying that unmistakable command he slips into when he’s in work mode. “Celest, you know the ballroom layout. Hawthorn will surround himself with the who’s who of society—he always does. He’s predictable. As long as Quinn makes a spectacle of showing you off, he’ll already be watching before you’re even introduced. He’ll stay in the ballroom until he finds someone to entertain him. That’s where you come in.”
Whit’s jaw tightens. “Stay close so we can keep things under control. Do not let him take things too far. If you need an out, you signal. Got it?”
I nod, even though we all know there’s an entire elevator ride where I’ll be alone with Hawthorn. “Got it.”
We don’t have much time to review the plan before I need to get ready. It’ll take me longer, so I leave them to go over the exit strategy again. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to get dolled up, and I’m curious to see how they’ll react when they see me next.
I take a final look in the mirror, adjusting the delicate strap of my gown. The deep red velvet clings to my body, soft and rich, molding to every curve as it drapes down my figure. The backless design plunges daringly low, exposing my bare skin to the cool air. Behind me, the train flows, a cascade of luxurious fabric that sweeps with each step.
My hair is loosely pinned to one side, soft waves tumbling over my shoulder. My lips match the exact crimson shade of my dress, and a smoky winged liner accentuates my eyes, giving them an air of mystery and allure. Honestly, it’s the best my makeup has ever looked.
I exhale, steadying myself. It’s not nerves—this is all part of the plan. But as I turn to leave the room, a flicker of anticipation curls inside me. I open the door and step into the main suite, where the guys are already scattered, dressed in their tuxes, focused on the final details of the mission. The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor draws their attention.
I stop just shy of the center of the room, turning slightly so that the train of my gown sweeps dramatically behind me. I hold my hands loosely clasped in front of me, lifting them slightly to ensure my arms bend just right, giving my figure the perfect lines. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch the way their gazes snap to me in unison—it’s almost comical.
The air freezes. Quinn’s jaw drops first, his expression pure, unabashed disbelief. Whit leans forward slightly, arms crossed, but his fingers dig into his biceps as if grounding himself. Beckett remains ever composed, not moving, but his eyes darken, tracing every detail of the gown—and what it reveals.
“Well?” I ask, letting a hint of a smile tug at my lips. “Do I pass inspection?”
Quinn throws his hands in the air, shattering the silence. “Nope. Absolutely not. Turn around, go back in there, and put on a potato sack. No way am I letting you leave this room looking like… like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence as I arch a brow.
“Like a goddamn wet dream,” Quinn snaps, his voice laced with both frustration and desire. “No other man is touching you when you look like that.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Too bad. You’re just going to have to deal with it. And besides…” My voice drops as I turn fully to face them. “You get to stare at me in it all night—and work together to figure out the most interesting way to peel it off later.”
The tension in the room spikes. Whit clears his throat, but his eyes remain locked on me. Beckett’s jaw tightens, just enough to notice, as he rakes his fingers roughly through his short hair. Quinn, though, is still muttering about potato sacks and murder, giving me the perfect opportunity to push them a little further.
“Want to know a secret?” I ask, my voice teasing as I perch on the arm of the couch, the slit in my gown falling open, offering them a glimpse as I glance between them.
Their eyes narrow, interest piqued. “What secret?” Beckett asks, his voice low, just a hint of curiosity threading through the calm exterior.
I lean back, crossing one leg over the other, exposing my naked hip. My voice drops, almost a whisper, but it’s louder than the weight of the silence between us. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” I murmur, letting the words hang in the air. “The lines showed.”
Quinn groans, a dramatic sound that fills the room as he drags a hand down his face, like speaking has physically pained him. “You’re actually trying to kill us.”
Whit’s lips curl into a playful, mischievous grin—that could rival Quinn’s—his eyes dark with something far more intense. “Good thing we’ll be keeping a close eye on you all night,” he murmurs, stepping into my space, his hand trailing up the length of my exposed leg. “I’ll be taking note of anyone who dares to touch you.”
Beckett’s voice stays even, but the subtle steel behind it makes it clear he means every word. “Let’s hope for their sake, hands don’t wander. They’ll end up joining their buddy Hawthorn by the end of the night if they do.”
When the elevator doors open, we step into the grand hallway leading to the ballroom, and it feels like entering a different world. Dozens of chandeliers sparkle overhead, their light casting an ethereal glow, while the soft murmur of the elite fills the air. The grandeur around us—gleaming marble floors, towering columns, and guests draped in their finest—makes everything feel surreal.
As we stroll down the black-and-white checkered corridor, Quinn adjusts his cufflinks and leans in, his voice playful yet underneath lies something seductive that sends a ripple of heat through me.
“You know, Celest, you’re about to cause an absolute scandal tonight,” he murmurs, the words curling around me like a challenge.
Suddenly, I can’t wait for the night to end.
I let my gaze linger, trailing up the length of his body, savoring every inch of the perfectly tailored tuxedo that clings to him so damn well. A teasing smile tugs at my lips as my eyes finally meet his. “You’re one to talk. You in that tux?” I pause, allowing my gaze to drop lower before locking back onto his. “It’s really doing it for me.”
He grins, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Careful, Celest. Flattery will get you everywhere.” Then, his voice drops lower, and he leans in, adding, “At least, it’ll get me everywhere inside you.”
A flush heats my cheeks, and I briefly wonder if they’re the same shade as my dress.
Behind us, Beckett clears his throat, his voice steady but edged with concern. “We won’t let you out of our sight.”
Whit’s voice follows, still wrapped in that same intense focus. “If you need to bail, signal. It doesn’t matter if it blows the mission—we’ll get you out.”
Before the ballroom doors swing open, Quinn inhales deeply, straightening his bowtie, then takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “It’s showtime.”
The room hums with energy, filled with glittering elites, champagne flutes in hand, their laughter ringing out in soft waves. Quinn moves through the crowd with ease, effortlessly charming everyone. His grin is wide, posture relaxed, the epitome of confidence. It’s not long before someone spots him.
“Quinton! Haven’t seen you at one of these in ages.” An older gentleman in an ostentatious tux greets him from a small group, raising his glass in the air to catch Quinn’s attention.
Quinn smirks, raising his glass in acknowledgment. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I’d show my face—especially after meeting the most gorgeous arm candy and needing to take out my new accessory.” He gestures toward me with a charming grin, smoothly adding, “This is Evelyn Ashford.”
I step forward, offering a polite smile as I slip into the role we rehearsed. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” I say, my voice warm yet poised, striking the perfect balance between elegance and approachability. As I extend my hand, the older man takes it, pressing his lips to my knuckles, his smile too wide, too practiced. What is it about ridiculously wealthy old men? It’s rare to meet one who doesn’t immediately make my skin crawl.
Quinn’s hand rests lightly on the small of my back, casual yet purposeful—significantly lower than what’s proper. “Evelyn’s been kind enough to let me drag her to one of these stuffy gatherings,” he says with a wink, earning a chuckle from the group. “I couldn’t resist showing off something so beautiful… something that’s mine.”
I let my gaze sweep over the small crowd, keeping my expression composed. “Oh, stop, he insisted,” I tease, swatting at Quinn lightly. “But I have to admit, the company makes it worthwhile.”
Finally, we reach a circle of guests that includes Alaric Hawthorn. He’s everything I expected—charismatic, charming, with a sharp undercurrent of arrogance that immediately puts me on edge. Quinn’s playful jabs quickly escalate into competitive banter, and I catch the exact moment when Hawthorn’s gaze shifts—he’s decided to make his move, if only to one-up Quinn.
He asks me to dance, and I glance at Quinn with a coy smile before accepting. On the dance floor, it doesn’t take long for Hawthorn to lean in, his lips grazing my ear as his voice drops low. “A girl like you doesn’t belong with a little boy like Quinton. You deserve a real man.”
I laugh softly, my fingers lightly trailing along his arm, just enough to tease. “A real man, huh? And who might that be?”
“I could show you.” I stifle the shiver of disgust, twisting it into something that feels more like intrigue as I catch the way his gaze shamelessly roams over my body.
The dance ends, and as Hawthorn guides me off the floor, his hand lingering just a beat too long on my lower back, I spot Quinn waiting off to the side. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an edge to his gaze—like he’s holding something back, fighting to keep his anger contained beneath the surface.
As we approach, Quinn’s grin spreads, easy and confident, but his posture is stiff, his movements deliberate. He steps between Hawthorn and me with a little more force than necessary, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me tightly to his side, his touch firm and possessive. “There you are,” he says, his tone smooth, but it holds a warning beneath it. “I was starting to miss you.”
Hawthorn raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Didn’t take you for the clingy type, Quinton.”
Quinn laughs, the sound dismissive, and light—too light. “Oh, I’m not,” he replies with a flicker of something dangerous in his grin. “But Evelyn here?” He glances down at me, his smile widening just a little too much. “She’s worth keeping close.”
Before I can respond, Quinn presses his drink into my hand, not waiting for a reply. “Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s something darker beneath it—a command disguised as a favor. “I’ll be right back.” He glances at Hawthorn, his grin sharp and almost mocking, then grabs my free hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of my palm. I know it’s his way of telling me to stay safe. “Try not to steal her while I’m gone.” His gaze locks with mine, and for a brief moment, a flicker of unease flashes across it, disappearing as quickly as it came. He slaps Hawthorn on the back—just a little too hard—and laughs, making it seem friendly before walking away, calling out to someone across the room.
Hawthorn’s glare morphs into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dark as he watches Quinn disappear into the crowd. “Tempting offer,” he says, turning back to me. His gaze sharpens, unnervingly intense, sweeping over me like a predator sizing up its prey, lingering just a touch too long. I force a smile, pushing back the chill creeping up my spine, doing my best to keep my composure. “I hope you’re worth it.”
“So,” he murmurs, stepping far too close, his hand reaching out to twirl one of my loose curls around his finger. His voice is low, and this close, I can smell the whisky on his breath. “What do you say we get out of here? I’d hate for you to waste your evening with a boy when I could show you what it’s like to be with a real man.”
I hesitate just long enough to make him think it’s a difficult choice, letting the moment linger, making him think he’s won. “Alright,” I finally say, as if coming to some reluctant decision, passing him Quinn’s drink. “Looks like you’ve successfully taken both Quinn’s date and his drink.”
Hawthorn laughs, knocking back the glass with a smug grin. He’s a ticking time bomb now, the drug working its way through his system.
As we step into the elevator, the doors close with a soft hiss, and I’m alone with him. For the first time tonight, unease creeps in. Hawthorn glances at me, a predatory smile curling on his lips. “You know, I made a new friend this evening—a southern guy. Said he lost something important to him.”
I blink, genuinely confused, but I keep my smile in place, playing the part. “Oh really? I’m not sure I follow,” I say lightly, tilting my head just enough to mask my unease. “What did he lose?”
Hawthorn’s smile widens, the look on his face predatory and cruel. “Why, you, Celestina. I hope you know how to beg.”
No.
It can’t be.
My ears are ringing.
I’m going to be sick.
I can’t breathe.
Oh God, no.
I need to get out of?—
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, revealing a figure I never thought I’d see again. Perhaps if I’d paid closer attention to whose eyes were on me tonight, or if the guys had noticed the man lurking in the distance, watching my every move, I wouldn’t have been so surprised to see him now.
“Josiah,” I whisper, my blood running cold, the name slipping from my lips like a death sentence.
Before I can react, Hawthorn shoves me into Josiah’s waiting arms. A sharp sting at my neck—cold, cruel—sends a jolt through my system, and within seconds, my vision blurs. My legs betray me, and I lean heavily into Josiah for support.
His scent, familiar and sickening, fills my nose—a reminder that this is no dream. It’s a nightmare come to life. The last thing I see clearly is Josiah handing Hawthorn an envelope, his voice as quietly sinister as I remember.
“Everything you need’s in there.”
As my consciousness fades, all I can think of is my guys—how they’ve promised to never let me go. They’ll come for me. I know it. But what if they can’t find me? The thought twists my stomach, but I push it away. They’re my anchor, my strength. They won’t break their promise.
I hold onto that belief as everything fades to black. Wherever they are, I know they’re coming for me—no matter what it takes. I know they are.
But what if they’re too late?
The darkness within me screams.