by Elise Noble
A “waiter” offered me a canapé from a silver tray, and I took a mini smoked salmon roll even though I wasn’t hungry. I’d opted for non-alcoholic wine too, just to be on the safe side. Everything was ready. Killian Marshall would be receiving an Unsung Hero honour from the Blackwood Foundation at their inaugural awards dinner, along with Georgia, who volunteered at a nearby animal rescue centre and happened to be dating one of Emmy’s exes, and Verity, an investigator from the LA branch who ran a literacy program for children on the weekends. The cash prizes would be real, and Bradley was already muttering about making it an annual event. Seemed he’d use any excuse for a party.
Rafael’s hand on the small of my back made me jump, and he smirked again.
“It’s not fucking funny, you asshole. In case you failed to notice, posh dinners aren’t my usual scene.”
“Shh. Your role in life is defined by your attitude. Believe you belong here, and you will.”
I appreciated the sentiment, but I wasn’t so sure I did belong. Yes, I’d bested Emmy once, but I seriously doubted I’d ever manage it again.
Back in London, I’d liked to think of myself as streetwise. Resourceful. But fuck, just look at this place. These people had laid on a black-tie dinner for two hundred people, and every detail was perfect. They even had a whole bunch of expensive cars parked outside and fake chauffeurs hanging out in a staff lounge attached to the old stables.
I was way, way out of my depth. Hell, I was just glad I’d put my shoes on the right feet. And did I mention that every muscle in me ached?
“What are you? My therapist?”
“No, Sunshine, I’m the cabrón who’s gonna jump out of an airplane with you tomorrow morning.”
“Wait. What?”
His smirk turned into a genuine grin, but it was cunning rather than joyful.
“Our guest of honour just drove through the gates.”
“What do you mean, jump out of a plane?”
“It’s time for dinner, Sky.” He shepherded me towards a table near the stage. “Don’t forget to smile.”
CHAPTER 2 - SKY
DON’T FORGET TO smile? I might not have picked up much Spanish, but cabrón was definitely an accurate description of Rafael.
“What plane?”
“I thought you’d be happy. You keep complaining about having to run in the mornings.”
“How is hurtling towards the ground at a hundred miles an hour better?”
“Terminal velocity is more like a hundred and twenty miles an hour if you keep your body flat, a hundred and eighty if you go head first.”
“You’re really not selling this.”
“Relax, Sunshine. We’ll do a tandem jump to start with.”
Oh, perfect. So he’d be close enough to smell my fear.
“Is it too late to quit?”
“Yes.” He leaned in close enough for his lips to brush my ear. My skin burned. “Marshall’s here.”
Luckily, I’d listened during the briefing, so I knew not to turn and gawp. Unluckily, Rafael chose that moment to slide his hand from the small of my back all the way up to the nape of my neck. He was playing a part, logically I knew that, and the gesture should have meant nothing. It was just Rafael’s way of showing everyone that I was his, for tonight at least. I tried my best not to shudder. Tried not to think about his touch. But then my chest went tight, and a tingling started in my fingers before working its way up my arms and through the rest of my body. No. No. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine, and that only made things worse. What if I ruined Emmy’s dress?
“Sky? Are you okay?” Rafael asked.
“I… I…” I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
His hand moved again, this time to my hip as he half-carried me out of the room. Everything was blurry. Were people watching me? Staring at the crazy girl who’d lost her mind in the middle of a crowded ballroom?
We made it out into the hallway, and the side door swung closed behind us.
“Hey, is everything…?”
A woman’s voice trailed into the distance as Rafael kept going, along blurry hallways and up the stairs to the next floor. And I found myself in a position I’d been in before. Same room, same couch, same concerned look on the handsome if slightly fuzzy face staring down at me. He set me onto the cushions and sat alongside, his body angled towards mine.
“Sky, can you hear me?”
I managed to nod.
“You’re safe, okay? Just know that you’re safe and focus on my voice. I want you to list five things you can see.”
“Huh?”
“You need to ground yourself. Tell me five things you can see.”
“Uh…”
Why was I shaking so much? And for so long? When I’d had panic attacks in the past, my foster brother used to hug me until the jitters subsided, but Lenny was in rehab back in London, and instead, I was stuck with an assassin who could have moonlighted as a cover model if he was ever strapped for cash.
“Just do it, Sunshine. Tell me.”
I blinked away the fog as best I could. “A window. A painting. A door. A vase of flowers.” A scary-but-hot guy I was totally embarrassing myself in front of. “A rug.”
“Good. Now tell me four things you can feel.”
“Velvet cushions.” More sweat seeped out, from my neck to the base of my spine. “My silk dress.” I bunched the fabric up in my hands, then quickly let it go so it didn’t crease. “Shoes squashing my toes.” Rafael’s well-muscled thigh pressed against my knee. “The floor beneath my feet.”
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice. The music from downstairs. My heart beating.”
“Two things you can smell.”
Okay, this was getting easier.
“Your aftershave. Lemons? Some sort of cleaning product.”
“One thing you can taste.”
“Nasty fake wine.”
For a long moment, Rafael just stared at me, and I feared the anxiety might drag me under again, but that overwhelming feeling of helplessness didn’t come. No, I was merely mortified. If the window hadn’t been securely locked, I’d probably have jumped right out of it. Welcomed the oblivion that came with death.
“We need to talk, Sunshine. And no bullshit this time.”
“I…” What could I even say? “I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t know what happened in there.”
“You had another panic attack.”
Last time, I’d denied it, but this time, I just nodded. Was this the end? Would Rafael report my episodes to Emmy? If she found out, she’d send me home for sure. How could she trust me to pull my weight in her special ops team if I was liable to crack at any moment?
When I first arrived in Virginia, eight long weeks ago, I’d wanted to turn around and fly straight home again. Only the thought of the cash bonus Emmy had promised plus the fact that she was paying for Lenny’s stay at the Abbey Clinic had kept me from hitching a ride to the airport.
But those two months had changed me. In London, it had been me against the world, but in Virginia, I was part of a team. Yes, the training was hard and I was exhausted twenty-four seven, but when I made it through one of Rafael’s nasty little challenges or learned a new skill or survived until sunset without dying, I felt like punching the air. Or sometimes Rafael himself, although I knew damn well he’d duck. I didn’t want to go home anymore. I was home. London was a part of my past, and if I wound up living there again, I’d be forever reminded of my failure.
“Should I pack my bags?” I asked Rafael.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then you need to talk. Sky, nobody wants you to leave, but we can’t send you out into the field knowing you might freeze up at a critical time.”
“I get that.”
“What happened to you? Before the first episode, Alex was sitting on you, and this time, you tensed up when I touched your neck. I could take a guess, but…”<
br />
I knew what he was thinking. The horror and pity swirling in his charcoal eyes gave it away. All I could do was nod.
“Fuck.”
Fuck indeed. But I knew if I wanted to keep my job, if I wanted to keep this life that made me feel like a part of something rather than a nuisance, a poor little street girl who’d never amount to much, then I had to spill my secrets. Only Lenny knew a version of the truth, but I’d left out the worst parts. When I cried, he’d given me a handful of loo roll and a hug, then offered to beat up whoever hurt me. I’d accepted the first two and declined the third. Even if Lenny managed to get near Brock Keaton without being flattened by his bodyguards, I couldn’t afford bail money.
“It happened two and a half years ago.” I couldn’t look at Rafael as I spoke. I studied the painting on the wall opposite instead. An orchard with a horse hoovering up apples as birds perched on its back. “The ninth of January—I’ll never forget that date. I was working at a nightclub near Brick Lane. The Academy, although the only thing I learned there was to stay the hell away from anyone with a dick.” I glanced at Rafael’s crotch without thinking, then immediately regretted it when he caught me looking. Sky, you dumbass. Maybe I could jump through the glass? “Sorry.”
“Should I be wearing body armour?”
I choked out a laugh. “You’re different.”
Now he looked at his package. His rather substantial package. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed by that comment.”
Oh, hell, we were not having that conversation. “I’m sure you’ve got a perfectly adequate dick, but unlike some, it isn’t possessed by the devil.” I swallowed hard. “Do we have to do this? What about the party?”
“Keep talking.”
We’d only been for a fancy dinner together once before, when Emmy told me she needed Rafael off the estate so she could do some crackpot experiment with her sister that involved a stunt plane, a skydive, and a bunch of bruises. Rafael had picked the restaurant—a Spanish place in downtown Richmond that boasted great food and great service. They hadn’t been kidding. The tapas might have been my new favourite thing, but the dishes came quickly, far too quickly. When Emmy hadn’t answered my texts requesting a status update, I feared I hadn’t given her enough time, so I’d waited until we were almost back at Riverley, then pretended I’d left my wallet in the ladies’ loo. Idiot Sky, so forgetful. Rafael had huffed and driven me all the way back again. At the time, I thought it was the most awkward evening ever, but clearly I’d been wrong.
“I was serving tables in the VIP section that night. Yes, I lied about my age to get the job, and I don’t need a lecture for that, okay? If I didn’t earn money, I’d have starved and so would Lenny.” Or worse, I’d have been slung back into foster care, and guess where I’d first been sexually assaulted? “Anyhow, the place always attracted celebs. Not A-list, more like footballers’ wives and twats from reality TV.” And up-and-coming pop stars. “One of them started paying attention to me, and it was…well, flattering, I guess. I was a nobody, and he was a somebody.”
“No one who’s met you could ever mistake you for a nobody, Sunshine.”
That was the nicest thing Rafael had ever said to me. That any guy had ever said. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I swore under my breath. Hadn’t I embarrassed myself enough already?
“Here.” Rafael passed me the hanky out of his top pocket. I always thought those things were just for decoration. You live and learn, eh?
“In that place, I was a piece of meat, a plaything, there to be groped at will. But this guy didn’t. Grope me, I mean. He talked to me and bought me drinks, and at the end of the night, he offered me a ride home because he said he was worried about me walking alone. He put his hand on the back of my neck the way you did earlier, leaned his forehead against mine, and said, ‘Babe, you don’t know who’s out there.’ Then…then… I woke up in the back of his limo, and he was on top of me, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”
Even now, the memory of Brock’s aftershave made me want to vomit. Every so often, I’d walk past a man wearing it on the street, and that usually triggered another panic attack. His rasped words would forever echo in my head: you know you want this, slut. The part I didn’t tell Rafael? Until that night, I’d been a virgin. And when Brock had realised, he’d looked surprised for a second, and then he’d laughed. He’d fucking laughed.
“Who was he, Sky?”
“What does it matter? He’s famous now. He’s got money and lawyers, and I’ve got nothing but memories, and even those are jumbled. It’d be my word against his.”
“You didn’t go…?” Rafael trailed off.
“To the police? Of course not. I was a street kid, and besides, he used a condom.” Brock was cruel, but not stupid. “I just want to forget it ever happened and get on with my life. And if it wasn’t for these stupid panic attacks, I could do that. But they creep up on me out of nowhere and catch me by surprise.”
“There are triggers, Sunshine.”
“Yes, but I never know when I’ll come across one.”
“Then we’ll add them to your training. Eventually, they won’t affect you.”
“Eventually? I’ve only got four months.”
“Then we’d better get started.” Rafael stood. “We both have work to do tonight.”
That was it? He wasn’t going to ask questions or demand more details or pick my story apart? He believed me? One of my biggest fears had always been that if I did tell somebody what happened, they’d call me a liar. An attention seeker. That Rafael accepted my story and wanted to help meant something. I scrambled to my feet, then swayed a bit because my legs were still trembling. Pull yourself together, Sky. If he was giving me a second chance, then I had to grab it with both hands.
“Will you tell Emmy?”
“I don’t think she needs to know at the moment. She’s got enough problems of her own right now,” he added under his breath.
“You’ve noticed?”
“When she’s not there, my uncle’s moping around like a lost fucking puppy. And he’s sharing his bed with a dog.”
By process of elimination, that must be Barkley, the mutt Emmy and Dan had rescued on their recent escapade to Kentucky. Lucy, Emmy’s other dog, was residing at Little Riverley with—I shit you not—her pet fucking jaguar. The damn cat thought it was a dog. Kitty rolled over for belly rubs and everything.
“Hope Barkley doesn’t drool.”
“I think that’s the least of Black’s problems. Do you happen to know why he and Emmy are sleeping in different houses?”
Oh, I was gonna go to hell for this. “Emmy hasn’t said anything.”
Rafael nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Careful wording. I’m impressed. You can keep your secrets, Sunshine. For now. If I decide I need to know, then you’ll tell me.”
Shit.
“Fix your make-up.” Rafael pointed at a mirror behind the couch and checked his no-doubt-pricey watch. “Two minutes.”
My mascara was smeared, and when I tried to wipe it away with Rafael’s hanky, the concealer under my eyes went with it, revealing a lifetime’s worth of dark circles. I smudged everything back into place as best I could and tidied my blonde hair, but I still ended up looking like an undercover goth. Great. I’d better keep out of Bradley’s way or he’d ask questions for sure.
Rafael held out a hand, but when I moved to take it, he shook his head.
“Not like that. Put my hand on the back of your neck, where it was before.”
“What if—”
“It won’t. You’re in charge now. You call the shots. I give you my word that outside of work, I won’t touch you. Some people call me a monster, and maybe I am, but I’m not that kind of monster.”
No, he wasn’t.
I sucked in a breath, smoothed down my dress, and put Rafael’s hand back where it needed to go. This time, I didn’t bother to suppress my shudder, and Rafael gave me a moment to compose myself.
/> “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Ready to go?”
I nodded, and together we made our way back to the party.
CHAPTER 3 - SKY
PEOPLE WERE STARTING to take their seats when we walked into the ballroom, and Rafael must have known I wasn’t in the mood for small talk because he steered me straight to our allocated table. We’d be sharing with Mack and her husband Luke, plus six others from various Blackwood branches. Black had offered plane tickets, two nights in a hotel, and an extra day of vacation to anyone volunteering to make the trip.
Who wasn’t present? Emmy and Alaric. They were the only two people who’d come face to face with Marshall, and even though that had been eight years ago and Bradley offered to do full theatrical make-up, nobody wanted to take a chance on them being recognised. Sofia, my tutor in all things poisonous, had stepped in as Emmy’s replacement, and Emmy had even lent Sofia her wedding rings. Black’s face had clouded when he noticed her wearing them earlier, but he didn’t say anything. Sofia’s boyfriend was standing in as Hallie’s other half at a different table.
Sort of like a swingers’ party, Blackwood-style. All we needed was a pot to drop our car keys into.
Except for me, obviously. After the Brock incident, I’d embraced celibacy, and the only man at Riverley I’d even consider having a sleepover with was Bradley and that was solely because he was gay.
Ten minutes later, everybody was seated, and waiters began setting starters in front of us. Black hadn’t skimped on the catering, that was for sure. We had goat’s cheese soufflés with apple and walnut salad, complete with still-warm bread rolls and more non-alcoholic wine. Apparently, Killian Marshall would be getting the real deal.
Rafael chatted easily with the other guests, more talkative during tonight’s charade than he ever was on a normal day. Apart from Luke, who really did own a software company, everyone was bullshitting. Mack claimed to be a housewife, and one of the other “wives” pretended she was a real estate agent. Cue an in-depth discussion on the benefits of Pottery Barn versus Crate and Barrel. Yawn. I actually preferred it when Mack talked about computers.