by Leia Thorne
I’ve never seen the ballroom in the tower to compare to what it looked like before—but it’s a vision right now. Gothic elegance in every square foot. Velvet drapes, candles, crystal chandeliers. The whole scene takes my breath away, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I step out of the elevator.
There’s an older man waiting right beside a podium in an old-fashioned tux, and he extends a white-gloved hand. “Your invitation, miss?”
“Oh.” I search through my small bag and pull out the folded cardstock.
He accepts it with a smile and nod, then ushers me inside the extravagant ballroom with a sweep of his hand.
The lighting of the room is a work of art itself. The way accent lights showcase paintings along the wall, and the array of candles illuminate the whole space…it should feel dark and haunting, and it does to some extent, but there’s light everywhere you look.
Even though I’m dressed to blend in with the crowd, I feel out of place. I curse to myself as I search for Palmer. “Where are you…?”
“Right here.” Gage slips his hand into mine and lifts it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to my hand, right near my silver Broken Saints ring. My chest loosens a bit, until I take him in.
God. Does he have to look so damn good? The tuxedo extenuates his strong physique, those tightly defined muscles that I love to run my hands over. And he must be wearing contact lenses tonight, as he’s wearing a black mask that covers the top half of his face, which only serves to bring out the blue in his eyes even more. It’s a simple mask with little horns on the top edges.
“A devil,” I say. Fitting.
His smile reveals the dimples in his cheeks, and I cave under his assessing gaze.
“You look stunning,” he says. “I have half a mind to take you up to the penthouse right now and find out what dirty little secret you’ve got beneath that gown.”
I keep breathing. This is the boy who stole my heart, and then broke it. The boy who I plotted against, who I wanted to hurt…and I’m still torn in two. One half wanting him to do exactly as he claims. The other desperate to show him he can never hurt me again.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, moving the conversation along.
Gaze sweeps his gaze around the ballroom. “It will look suspicious if we all suddenly come together after we’ve been distanced,” he says. “Let’s just enjoy the party.”
Right. Mrs. de Pont is aware that our little secret society is estranged; we’ve been divided ever since Sawyer chose Roland.
“This feels wrong…” I whisper. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve missed something important.
He moves in close to whisper: “You have every right to be here. More than most of these useless leaches.”
I swallow hard. He may be right, but how can he be so calm?
“Just relax.” He links my arm through his and leads me toward a banquet table. He selects a flute of champagne and offers it to me.
I take a small sip, and I swear it’s the most decadent thing I’ve ever tasted. I adjust my mask, thankful that my face is hidden, as people smile my way.
“I have a confession to make,” Gage says, as we stop near a cascading rock statue and he turns to face me. “At the start of this year, my only focus was to ensure I had six members of the Broken Saints by graduation.” He reaches for a flute as a waiter passes by. He sips the champagne.
“That’s why you agreed to initiate me,” I say. He’s already told me this part. When Tabatha de Pont took interest in me and steered Gage my way, he saw me as an easy mark.
His blue eyes assess me closely. “That was just one aspect,” he says. “I brought Sawyer into the game to ensure you’d fail senior year. That was the plan, Remi. To get your head so twisted that you’d agree to whatever I offered you.”
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. I down another gulp of alcohol. “I don’t understand.”
“I knew Tabatha would carry out her crazy plan to bestow you with her legacy—” he inhales a deep breath “—and I was determined not to let that happen. That was my rightful position, I felt. So, I’d offer you the Broken Saints, to carry on traditions to the next chapter, and you’d in turn give up your legacy as chairperson when the time came.”
I laugh. “That is so insane, Gage. I never wanted any of this. I honestly don’t even know how I’m here now…”
He frowns. “It’s been a chess game since day one. You’ve been maneuvered to where you are now.”
I set my flute down on a table. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“You need to have the whole truth,” he says.
I clutch the small purse under my arm. “Are you trying to maneuver me now, here? Is this another tactic?”
He lifts his chin, the mask concealing his features just enough to keep me from reading him, but his eyes are hard on me, unwavering. “No.”
No. That’s all he offers me in way of explanation. We’re here, right in the heart of the devil’s den, and he’s making the final decision mine and mine alone. Believe him, trust him…or allow Mrs. de Pont to destroy him.
That may have been Gage’s overall plan, but there was another part—another selfish motive as to why he agreed to take me into his corrupt society. He wanted Sawyer. I was a means to an end with his obsession.
He’s won that one victory… Do I allow him to win another?
I reach for the champagne and down the rest of the bubbly in the flute.
“I promise, Remi,” he says, his voice barely audible over the music, “it’s the truth. I hurt you. I was vicious in my pursuit to conquer. But I am not the devil who tore your life apart.”
My eyebrows draw together as I stare up at him. “What are you talking about?”
His hand rests along my back, his fingers tracing the tattoo that covers the scars. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Before I can force the subject, the music lowers. The crowd turns its attention to the platform at the edge of the ballroom. Mrs. de Pont stands in the center wearing a tiny clear mask so everyone knows who she is; she has nothing to hide from.
“I wanted to take this moment to thank our guests for their generosity in this year’s charity function,” she begins. Her speech continues as she praises the work her charity has done for the community there and across the globe.
I spot Sawyer out of the corner of my eye. I recognize her lithe form, her willowy blond hair. Sawyer and Roland came together. He stands beside her in a dashing tux that makes him look like he belongs more so than me; he looks like he belongs with her.
“Now,” Mrs. de Pont says, “my esteemed patrons, it’s time for the waltz. Please enjoy the fantastic festivities.”
Applause rises up as the orchestra begins to play again, and the ballroom morphs into a scene from a Jane Austin book. Men bow to women and escort them onto the dance floor.
Gage offers me his hand. “Shall we?”
Just pretend, Remi. Pretend that nothing has changed, that everything is the same between you and Gage, and he’ll never suspect a thing.
Tabatha’s last words to me ring in my ears, mingling with the crescendo of violins.
I go to accept his hand when a hand touches my arm. I turn to see a smiling Tabatha de Pont. “Mr. Astor,” she greets Gage, then looks at me. “Ms. St. James. I’m so glad that you both could join the party.”
Gage nods his head in acknowledgment. This whole scene is so archaic, like I’ve completely morphed into another century.
I find my voice. “Thank you for the invitation,” I say. “And for also inviting our friends. It was very generous.”
Her gaze roams the ballroom to alight on Sawyer and Roland, then finds Palmer, Emry, and Rush not far from them. “Oh, it’s my pleasure, dear. I’m honored to have Crescent Valley’s most elite children in attendance.” Her smile is forced. “Please, enjoy the dance. I need to make my rounds to thank everyone, but I hope you and your friends have a wonderful time, Lesley.”
I keep my composure a
nd smile at her. It’s not the first time she’s referred to me as her daughter, and I’m sure seeing me in the very dress she had planned for Lesley to wear is confusing. “Thank you, Tabatha.”
As she leaves us, Gage guides me onto the dance floor. “Does that happen often?” he asks.
I inhale a steadying breath. “Sometimes.” I glance around at all the expertly dancing bodies. “I don’t know how to waltz,” I admit.
He pulls me closer and takes my right hand in his, holding it out to the side in mimic of the others around us. “There’s nothing to it,” he says. “Just let me lead.”
I make a few missteps, my feet landing on his toes a number of times, but soon I find our rhythm, and he’s right; it’s basically moving in a box formation. I’m smiling when I finally feel comfortable enough to look up into his face.
As the music fills the ballroom, Gage swirls me around and dips me to the side, incorporating his own moves into the classic dance. I feel beautiful in this darkly haunting and evocative atmosphere. I get lost in the moment, allowing myself to wish the song could go on—that the night didn’t have to end… At least, not in the way it will.
As we flow and thread our way around the other dancing bodies on the floor, we pass Palmer and Emry. She’s stunning in a flowing light-pink dress, her body built to dance, her moves effortless, as she allows Emry to lead.
Emry steers closer to us. “Have you told her yet?” he says to Gage.
I glance between them while not trying to miss a step.
Gage just smiles. “Not now,” he says.
“We’re running out of time,” Emry insists.
“Please stop,” Palmer whispers harshly. “We’ve already gone over this.”
And we have. We’ve said everything there was to say at the enclosed pool at the academy. We know what may happen here tonight. We’re all at risk. Every step—just like this dance—has to be made in succession with whatever Tabatha does next.
“Remi has a right to know…” Emry says, but the music suddenly switches tempo, forcing a slower dance.
Gage draws my body close to his and leads me away from the couple. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, letting my cheek rest against his chest.
“You lied,” I whisper. “You haven’t told me everything.”
I feel his chest expand with his deep breath. “It’s not what you think,” he says, his voice so whisper soft my heart aches. “You have to trust me, Remi. It’s not my place to reveal this to you.”
I stop dancing and pull away. I look up into his eyes. “Then tell me whose place it is.”
He straightens his tux lapels. “You’ll find out soon enough—”
His words cut off as the orchestra abruptly stops playing. The sounds of cascading water and clinking glasses are too loud in the sudden silence. The hushed voices grow curious as people glance around the darkened room.
Oh, my god. She’s really going through with it. I mean, I knew Tabatha was distraught enough to do something to shame Gage. Her desire for revenge is that strong—but somehow I thought she’d come to her senses before she took it too far.
A screen against the fall wall blinks on, and fear ices my blood. It’s like homecoming all over again. The moment I let my guard down, the second I feel everything falling into place, the bottom falls out.
Tabatha de Pont isn’t distraught. She’s disturbed.
The proof of that appears on the giant panoramic screen. The surveillance footage captured at the penthouse the night of Lesley’s death begins to play. It’s the same scene as before, with Gage and Sawyer standing before Lesley.
I feel Gage’s hand in mine, and I squeeze tightly. It’s already too late.
Every single person in attendance is watching the scene play out. There’s a murmur of confusion, remarks that this “stunt” was used before, then stark silence when the footage doesn’t cut off.
It keeps playing.
Lesley stands with her arms crossed over her chest. “What do you want?”
Someone else enters the frame. His back is to the camera, but we can clearly make out that it’s Gage coming from the elevator.
Lesley shakes her head and marches toward the balcony. The sounds of their voices are too muffled to make out the words. I hold my breath. My grip on Gage’s hand tightens.
Through the glass doors and windows, we can see Lesley and Gage facing one another. Then Lesley turns her back to him and braces her hands against the railing. Another suspended moment where time seems to freeze, then Lesley shouts: “Go to hell—” and whips around…just as Gage rushes forward.
I don’t blink—but I don’t look away like my head is screaming to do, either.
It happens so fast. The struggle. Then Lesley goes over the balcony. Her scream pierces the speakers. And the whole room gasps in horror.
I dare to look around. There are tears streaming from beneath one woman’s mask. Slowly, heads turn in our direction, accusatory gazes aimed on Gage. I’m still clinging to him, I realize. Even though I know the truth, the video was so real, so candid and cruel…
I release Gage’s hand and back away from him.
Mrs. de Pont’s plan to frame Gage has worked. It’s more than persuasive; it’s believable.
I search the crowd for Tabatha. I’m not the only one looking for her, as the crowd starts to part, revealing the woman with a stunned expression. Another woman moves beside her and offers her a hand, but Tabatha bats it away.
“Arrest him!” she shouts. “Arrest Gage Astor for the murder of my daughter!”
People begin to move all at once, a flurry of bodies rushing to assist Tabatha, and others hurrying toward Gage to apprehend him. In the chaos, I’m jostled and shoved, but I fight my way toward Tabatha.
“No one move!”
I whirl around at the sound of Rush’s voice.
He’s holding a gun—a fucking gun—pointed at Gage. Holy shit. This is really happening.
“I loved her!” Rush roars. “I loved Lesley so much…everyone knew it. And you fucking killed her?” He storms toward Gage. Panicked, people move out of his way.
Gage stands his ground. He removes the mask from his face and drops it to the floor.
Visibly trembling, Rush holds the gun outstretched just feet away from Gage. “A whole year,” he says, his voice drained. “You lied to me all this time. You fucked with her head, then took her away from me. I can’t let you get away with that.”
While everyone is focused on the scene in the middle of the ballroom, I maneuver my way to Tabatha. As I near her, I brace myself.
Gage lifts his chin, unaffected. “This is all a deception, Rush,” he says. “I would never hurt Lesley. I cared about her, too.” He attempts to move toward him, and Rush raises the weapon. “Why do you even have a gun, Rush? This isn’t like you; it doesn’t make sense.”
Rush’s laugh is lifeless. “You’re such a fucking liar.” He presses even closer, all eyes trained on the weapon. Gage holds up his hands. “I didn’t bring it here for you…” His eyes seal closed for a moment. “I have one bullet, and it was meant for me. To just be done with everything and everyone…but now I know where this bullet really belongs. I cared about her. You just used her, then let us all believe it was our fault that she killed herself.” His finger hooks around the trigger. “I just can’t let you get away with that.”
The gun goes off.
The bang mutes all other sounds. My ears can’t take in the chaos that my eyes are trying to process. I see the panic, and my mind tries to connect the screams and tears and fleeing people rushing for the main door—but I’m frozen.
Finally, I react. I’m on autopilot; my body responds to the situation, knowing what to do, even though mentally I’m checked out. I’m not in shock, I tell myself. The ringing in my ears grows louder, but I latch on to Tabatha’s arm and pull her toward me.
“We have to get out!” I shout. “It’s not safe for you.”
Her face is pale, her eyes wide and searching.
I’m not sure she heard me.
“We have to leave—” I try again, and she clutches my hand.
Close enough. As I weave a path through the scrambling gowns and tuxedos, I see Gage…lying in the middle of the ballroom. Red stains the white dress shirt and darkens his tux. I’m catatonic for just a flash of a second—my heart stops beating—then I spring into action.
I have to get her away from here.
Gradually, sounds start to trickle into my ears. I push through a clustered group of bodies all trying to reach the exit, and guide Tabatha to the elevator.
When we reach the silver doors, she tries to pull away from me. “Where are you taking me?”
I slam my hand on the button. “To your penthouse,” I say, my voice breathless. “You’ll be safe there…until the police get here.”
She wipes a gloved hand across her forehead. “They’re already here,” she says, trying to see over the crowd. “They were invited, of course. Oh god…it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
I ignore her as the elevator doors open. Linking my arm through hers, I pull us inside the car and push the button for the penthouse.
“Tabatha, your keycard,” I demand.
With a trembling hand, she searches her clutch and produces the card. I grab it and insert it into the panel, giving us access to the top floor of the building. The elevator starts to crawl upward, and relief settles in my bones, loosening some of the tension.
But it’s only a momentary reprieve.
This has only just begun.
Chapter 18
Remi
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Tabatha says as we enter the penthouse.
I toss my clutch on the island and drive shaking fingers into my hair. I tear out the stupid hairpins, letting my hair fall free. “Yeah, how was it supposed to happen?” I demand.
“Oh, Remi dear…” She picks up the front of her gown and hurries my way. Her hands cup my face, her wide eyes searching mine. “Are you all right?”
I remove her hands. “No, Tabatha. I am not all right. Gage was just shot! He could be…” I turn my head away, unable to say the word. He’s not dead.