by Lola Gabriel
“We’re all freaks?” she offered, and again, she was aghast at her word choice. I need to stop talking, like, right now! she yelled to herself. Do not open your mouth again!
“In a manner of speaking,” Vander agreed. “We are all damaged in our own ways.”
What a cliché. Everyone is damaged. No one can claim a perfect life. What a crock of shit. Somehow, that burst of thought remained in her head, where it belonged.
“What party are we going to?” Sawyer asked, determined to change the subject. She didn’t want to talk about The Order. If she was stupid enough to agree to this random encounter, she was going to have fun. After all, when was she ever going to get a chance to hang out with the super-rich again?
“A designer friend of mine is having a show,” Vander replied in a manner that Sawyer found somewhat evasive. “It should be interesting.”
The car continued onto I-24, merging onto I-40, and Sawyer found her curiosity growing.
“Where does this friend live?” she asked suspiciously, wondering what kind of designer resided in the middle of nowhere. The only thing she could think of was that the party was at the airport…
Oh, my God! Where is he taking me? A pang of fear coursed through her body as she glanced at the stoic man, who remained fixated on her with inquisitive eyes.
“Well?” she demanded. “Where are we going?”
“The airport.”
“What? No way!” Sawyer yelled, lunging forward, her chocolate eyes flashing in fury. “I didn’t agree to go on a plane!”
“Just relax, Sawyer. There is no reason to be upset. We’re only going to a party,” Vander intoned, his calm voice grating on her nerves.
“A party where?” Her tone had raised three octaves, and her eyes darted around the limo, seeking an out. How could she escape safely? She was in a car coasting down the interstate at sixty miles an hour. There was no stopping until they reached their destination.
“New York City,” Vander responded, and Sawyer gaped at him.
“New York City,” she repeated, her eyes wide. Then she sank back into the seat, her heart pounding as the realization dawned on him. “The fires,” she mumbled. “It wasn’t my imagination.”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
Sawyer exhaled slowly, her mind spinning with the revelation. She shook her silken hair, the long layers falling across her face to partially hide her features.
“No,” she said flatly. “No, I can’t do this again. Not after with what happened in France.”
“What happened with Jericho should have never happened.”
“Oh, no?” Sawyer spat, venom and hurt singing her words. “He wasn’t supposed to die? That wasn’t part of the plan?”
“I know how upsetting it all was for you, Sawyer,” Vander said quietly. “I know you and Jericho were very close.”
Her gaze narrowed. What do you know about me and Jericho? she wondered furiously. What do you know about anything?
“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” she sighed. “I was going to find out one way or another.”
Vander eyed her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently. “We’re going to a party, just as I said.”
Sawyer scoffed lightly, folding her arms over her chest. She understood now why he had picked her up so early. The flight to New York was three hours. “Whatever you say. You can drag me anywhere you want, Mr. Kinrade, but I’m not getting involved in The Order again.”
He nodded understandingly. “And you should know by now that we would never do anything to coerce you into working with us. If you wanted to continue using your immeasurable skills in our organization, you know we could always use your help, but if not…”
He trailed off, and Sawyer felt a smidgen of guilt touch her gut. She would be foolish to think that she had not played a major hand in finding the dragons in France.
Dragon, she reminded herself. You found one dragon. There has never been proof that there were more. Well, not definitive proof.
To date, she was the only one known to have brought down one of the beasts, although it had been a collective effort to find the cave where he had been hiding.
The cave where Jericho lost his life.
The grimace at the memory was apparent on her face, and a look of compassion fell on Vander’s.
“I swear,” he promised. “Tonight is only about enjoying ourselves. If you choose to stay with me in New York, I welcome your insights, Sawyer. You’ve done our group a great service thus far at a great detriment to your own wellbeing. But if you want to go home, I will have my jet bring you back in the morning.”
His jet? He’s going to bring me to New York on his private plane. You’ve never even seen what a private plane looks like. Not even in a magazine. Maybe in a movie—
“In the morning? Oh, no! I can’t go with you!” she realized, her eyes bugging as the limo steered off the interstate and toward the airport.
He stared at her pensively. “You don’t believe I’ll return you?”
“It’s not that,” she sighed. “I have a dog.”
“J.J., right? Janis Joplin? I like that a lot.”
“You know my dog’s name?” Sawyer gasped dubiously. “What the hell?”
Vander grinned enigmatically. “I have been following you very closely since you joined The Order.”
“I haven’t joined The Order!” Sawyer growled. “I… spent some time inside the group.”
His smile faltered slightly, and he sighed.
“That’s disappointing to hear,” he replied. “I had come to think of you as one of our most valuable members.” Sawyer blinked at the unexpected compliment, but she kept her guard firmly in place.
“I already told you, Mr. Kinrade, I’m not doing this. You’ll have to find someone else to help you. And I have to get home to my dog. Tonight.”
Vander nodded slowly. “You’ve got a good sense of honor and responsibility,” he commented. “Especially since the dog is your dad’s and not yours.”
“Well, my dad is dead, and I’m not about to euthanize a perfectly healthy animal by putting her in a shelter.” She didn’t mention the offers her former neighbors had made to take in the dog. He knows enough personal shit about me as it is.
“I’ve already made arrangements to have J.J. babysat.”
“Wha—how?” she gasped, unsure if she was impressed or horrified. “Is someone in my apartment right now?”
“She’s a member of The Order,” Vander assured her, and Sawyer was not sure if that made it better or worse. “She owns a doggy daycare, so if you should choose to stay on, J.J. will be well cared for in your absence.”
“How long have you been planning this?” Sawyer demanded, a slight dizziness overcoming her as she realized that she had been under surveillance. I’m usually smarter than this, more aware. How did I not notice that someone’s been watching my every move for months?
She admitted that she probably had not cared one way or another. The past year had been more about retreating further into her heartache than anything. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if a camera fell out of the sky and landed on her head.
“I’m not staying,” she muttered, shifting her eyes away from Vander’s face, but even as she heard the words, she didn’t believe herself. If there were more dragons out there, they were just as dangerous as the one they had gotten in France. If they were responsible for what was happening in New York—for the fires—it showed that they were growing bolder, and they needed to be stopped before anyone else got hurt or killed.
“As I said, Sawyer, tonight is for entertainment and fine company only. Tomorrow you can decide what you want to do.”
But Sawyer didn’t believe a word he said. She didn’t have a choice, and Vander knew it.
She had made her bed from the minute she had learned about The Order and sealed her fate the second they went poking around in that cave. And when she had mounted the enraged beast, the garrote wire cutting
into her hands, decapitating the monster who had killed her lover, she had written her destiny.
I hope J.J. gets along with the other dogs, she thought miserably as the limo stopped. I’m not going to be home for a while.
8
Somehow, Anders managed to fall asleep on the trip home from Amsterdam, exhausted by the events that had plagued him for the past two days. When he woke, his plane was descending into Teterboro airport. He blinked and gazed at David, who sat white-knuckled against the seat.
“What’s wrong?” Anders asked, his brow knit in confusion. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
“Nothing. I’m just a little frazzled after our last flight,” he muttered, avoiding Anders’ gaze.
“David, if flying is going to be too much for you going forward, I can see to finding another assistant.” He watched as David’s face turned opaque, but his assistant did not meet his stare.
“That’s not necessary,” he mumbled. Anders felt a small prick of shame, knowing that the man had every right to be afraid of what he had seen.
Imagine what it would be like to be a mortal and see a dragon for the first time, Anders thought, trying to recall how sickly full of awe he and the rest of the castle had been when the transformation had occurred. It was so long ago, so much had happened and changed since then; it seemed impossible that he had ever been afraid of anything in his life.
Of course you were, he growled to himself. You were afraid once that they would find a way to kill us all, but you learned that we can’t be killed… no matter what Opal said. Even still, some nights, Anders could see the wretched hag’s face if he closed his eyes, warning them with her snaggle teeth and glittering eyes that they could be killed. She just took too much glee in holding horseshit over our heads. There is no way to kill us, or it would have been done by now. Bullets, arrows, fire, freezing—we can’t be stopped, and we won’t be. Not even by one of our own.
Anders could not stop wondering where they had come from. He could only figure that he had to be from Misty Woods, one of the women or children from the turret. He was sure it was not a female, and the dragon had been far too large to be a child. Last Anders had heard, they had retreated to the alps to live their days in peace and quiet, anyway. Could it be a large boy from the turret that night? If so, why? They had always protected them. He would have Max check on it; he was closest to the area.
Finally, the plane stopped moving, the runway stairs locking at the door, and Anders rose from his heated leather chair, unfastening his seatbelt as he did.
“What time do you have, David?” he asked as they made their ascent toward the tarmac.
“Ten to seven, Mr. Williams.”
Anders stifled a sigh. “If we hurry, we’ll get to the penthouse before the leeches show up, and we can collect Connor and be gone before we have to compliment anyone’s hideous hipster bowtie.”
To his relief, his assistant half-grinned at the image.
He’ll come around, he thought. I just have to stay on him for a bit and make him forget. It’s what you do, after all. You’re a magician. Smoke and mirrors.
“Anders Williams!” a voice boomed as his soft Italian shoes touched the ground. Anders turned, his go-to smile on his face. He didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew the tone well enough to sense a pompous ass at midnight. When he spun, he noted smugly that he was right.
At his back stood Vander Kinrade, a bemused expression on his face as he extended his hand from his walking stick like he expected Anders to kiss the weathered skin. For a fleeting second, the attorney could envision him in a technicolor overcoat, but he shoved the image aside before he burst into full laughter.
His eyes shifted to the woman at his side, and suddenly Anders forgot to breathe, his stare falling squarely on the seemingly uncomfortable woman who accompanied him.
Her shoulder-length hair was a rich, dark chestnut, like strands of a silken waterfall cascading along the olive skin of her bare shoulders. Sloe-eyed and long-lashed, her full lips had lost the pale pink lipstick, but even without the gloss, they shone almost hypnotically. The girl looked anywhere but directly at him or Vander, as if seeking a place to run and hide as she shifted uncomfortably from one discount store shoe to another.
Outlet shopper, not perfectly coiffed, and extremely ill-at-ease, Anders thought. I’d guess she was a lower end call girl, but she doesn’t look the part. What would Vander Kinrade want with a female hooker, anyway?
Nothing about the scene fit his highly skilled eyes, and the mismatched facts intrigued him as much as the woman’s beauty captivated him.
“Hello, Vander,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since the Met gala last September. I thought you had retired to Florida by now.”
Vander chortled, smacking him on the back with too much enthusiasm, but Anders found it impossible to take his eyes off his companion. “Ah, you joke about my age, dear boy, but you forget I have more money than God.”
“And I see it has been working out for you,” Anders replied teasingly, gesturing toward the girl subtly. “Although someone should have warned the poor girl about her taste in company.” He extended a hand to the girl, and she took it, appearing surprised that he would introduce himself. “Anders Williams.”
“Sawyer Sylvester.” She didn’t add anything else, quickly releasing his hand as if it burned her and shuffled back on her heels.
“And this is my noble assistant, David,” Anders continued, nodding toward the younger man. David seemed just as enraptured with Sawyer as he had been. He felt a foreign pang of jealousy when Sawyer looked at him. Woah. Keep it friendly, you freak. For all you know, she really is a call girl.
But he didn’t believe it. It was clear that she was much, much more than that.
“What brings you to New York, Vander? Dubai isn’t doing it for you anymore?”
“Oh, you know me, Anders. I like to keep things fresh,” Vander chuckled, maintaining his friendly clasp on the lawyer’s shoulder. Anders swallowed a grin, casting Sawyer a look to see if she noticed what her date was doing. The girl did not look at him, and he was beginning to take it personally.
Who is she?
Anders prided himself on understanding interpersonal relationships. It was part of his job, after all: learning the quirks of others, reading their mannerisms, and figuring out their weaknesses. But this dynamic woman had him stumped, and his desire to know was growing like a cramp in his side.
“But I thought you would suspect I came here to see your wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Anders said automatically, heat rising up his neck as he inadvertently looked at Sawyer again. This time, she did look up, a mildly surprised expression on her beautiful face.
“Right. I always forget,” Vander purred, but Anders knew he had done it on purpose.
“Well, don’t tell Henry that. He has a hard enough time with Amelia as it is. I fear that her being in a bigamous relationship might put the poor bastard over the edge.”
Vander chuckled and glanced behind him, where David and Sawyer seemed to have lagged behind. Anders wished the man would stop pushing him forward. He wanted to revel in the beauty of his friend.
“And even though you’re divorced, you still allow her to use your penthouse. Isn’t that so gentlemanly of you,” Vander continued.
“I am nothing if not a gentleman, Vander. You know that.” This time, Vander’s laugh was genuine, and he finally released Anders’ arm to wait for Sawyer to catch up.
“Anders is an attorney, Sawyer. I daresay, he’s the best one in the world.”
“That’s saying something,” she replied, a slight smirk forming on her lips, as if she didn’t believe a word coming from Vander’s mouth.
Could she be his illegitimate daughter? Vander only came out of the closet in the late nineties. Before that, he was known to have some relationships with women.
Anders hoped his theory was wrong, shuddering slightly at the thought of being so smitten with the product of Vander
Kinrade’s loins. Yet Sawyer seemed to have a disdain for his words, the same way a rebellious teen might disregard her father’s advice.
Anders was absolutely fascinated, not only by her remarkable attractiveness but by the stunning aloofness she carried with her, as if she did not care that she was among the wealthiest men at that moment.
I think I love her, Anders thought with bemusement as they entered the airport through a private gate.
“Should we travel together?” Vander asked. “I have a car waiting if your driver is not already en route.”
“Connor should be here,” David offered, speaking for the first time since stepping from the jet.
“I’ll ride with you,” Anders replied, hardly noticing the look of shock on his assistant’s face.
“But Connor—” he choked.
“You can ride back to the penthouse with Connor. I am going to join Mr. Kinrade and Ms. Sylvester in their car. Is that a problem, David?”
The young attorney shook his head, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Anders was sure that he couldn’t remember a time that he’d been on duty and not glued to the legendary attorney’s side.
“That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Sawyer piped up. “Why would you bother having your driver come all the way down here to get you if you aren’t going to ride with him?”
“David is going to ride with him,” Anders replied, his appreciation for the girl growing with each passing second. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s comfortable being an outsider and doesn’t thrive on attention. Where did she come from?
It was almost more than Anders could bear.
“Oh, David!” Anders called as they stepped into the early evening air. “Change of plans. You and Connor are not coming with me to the house in Connecticut.”
“Wh-why?” David stuttered. “Did I do something wrong?”
David, on the other hand, demands constant approval. “I have company coming, and I would rather you didn’t join. I’ll put you up at the Mercer if you don’t want to stay on your floor. I doubt Amelia’s people will venture onto the main floor once the balcony doors open and the champagne starts flowing.”