The Deception

by Nikki Sloane

  “How does it feel?” I asked softly. “All your planning is over.”

  He set a hand on the glass railing, looked out over the city, and hesitated. “It feels . . . different than I expected. I dunno. Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  I heard exactly what he wasn’t saying. As much as he disliked his father, he still cared about him and there wasn’t joy in destroying him. “You know your dad’s going to be okay,” I said. Macalister wasn’t the type to sit around and lick his wounds. “He can focus on the Federal Reserve now.”

  Royce turned toward me, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the railing. “True.”

  The door to the hallway swung open, and we tensed as the tall blonde strode toward us, her Jimmy Choos beating out a swift, urgent tempo. Her expression was stricken.

  “Is it true?” Alice asked. “Macalister’s out?”

  “Alice.” Royce straightened, and his shoulders lifted with a reluctant breath. He felt compelled to explain. “He knew how bad Ascension was, and he bought them anyway.”

  She didn’t care about the why, only the outcome, and her head snapped toward me, full of anger and disgust. “I heard Liam made you his proxy, and you used it as the deciding vote against Macalister."

  Was I supposed to feel guilty? Because I didn’t. I lifted my chin and looked defiant. “Yes.”

  When she’d drugged me before, she hadn’t looked at me with the kind of malice she did now. This was a whole new level. Pure, unfiltered hatred poured out of her. If she could have killed me with a glare, she would have, but even Hera didn’t have that power.

  Instead, Alice settled for a knife, and the morning sunlight gleamed off its sharp blade.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sound faded out as my gaze focused in on Alice. It wasn’t clear where the knife had come from. I assumed she’d grabbed it from the block in the executive kitchen, but had she been hiding it in the folds of her skirt? Neither Royce nor I had noticed it until she raised it and pointed the tip menacingly at me.

  Her eyes were wild with madness. “How could you?”

  I sucked in a breath, and my whole body went tight, making the bottle of water crinkle in my hand.

  When she took a step toward me, Royce tossed his bottle away with a loud thump against his father’s office door, and he moved between us, his hands out in front, trying to keep her calm. “Alice.” His tone was soft. “What are you doing?”

  His nonconfrontational attitude made no difference to her. She was too far gone and determined to get to me. I realized it as he did, and Ares activated. He lunged for the knife the same moment she jabbed forward.

  I gasped and backpedaled, slamming painfully into the railing. Fear had me immobile and my reaction slow, but not Royce. He grabbed Alice’s wrist and struggled with her. He was bigger and stronger, but her dark motivation made her match his strength. She tried to cut him, but his grasp prevented her from getting at him and made her slice awkwardly at the air.

  It was a frantic battle I was powerless to stop, and I had to watch with my breath halted horribly in my lungs. He gave a grunt of pain, followed by hers, and the blade flashed between their hands before he was able to shake the knife from her grip.

  It clattered loudly to the concrete, and Royce kicked it away as he clasped a hand over the sleeve covering his forearm. With the weapon gone, it left the two of them glaring at each other and breathing hard. She’d been disarmed, but danger continued to swirl on the balcony.

  Adding to it was the cold wind of Macalister, who stepped through the side door of his office and took in the scene. His gaze went from the knife near his feet, then to Alice, before moving on to his son.

  “Royce,” Macalister’s expression was . . . strange. Concern pulled his eyebrows together. After what had happened in the boardroom, worry was the last thing I would have expected.

  “I’m okay,” my husband said quickly.

  Too quickly.

  My heart thudded to a stop.

  He stood to the side, so I couldn’t understand what had put anxiety in Macalister’s eyes, but his expression was enough to give me genuine fear. It was then I noticed the red drips on the concrete. It was so much worse when Royce turned to face me. His black suit sleeve was wet, and crimson blood slipped through his fingers. It poured down his wounded arm, dripping from his listless hand.

  No. Oh, no.

  I dropped my water bottle with a thud. He was the one who was hurt, but as he took in my ashen face and saw how I had an arm braced against the railing to hold myself upright, he only seemed to be worried about me. “Marist, it looks worse than it is.”

  “Oh, my God,” I moaned.

  I wanted to be strong, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My knees became gelatinous, my stomach rolled, and my vision narrowed. I was going to pass out again, and I fought the sensation with every fleeting ounce of strength I possessed. There was just enough to turn away from the gruesome sight and grip the railing with both hands, hard enough my fingers ached.

  If I could catch my breath and get my legs back under me, I’d be all right, I told myself. It was fucking ridiculous I was so weak. Alice had cut him. What if she’d done worse? All while I stood there, paralyzed with—

  A pair of hands hit my shoulders and shoved. The shocking force of it, combined with my weakened state, made me pitch forward.

  “No!” The word was so horrified, I couldn’t tell which one of the Hale men had yelled it. This was the thought that ran through my mind as I tipped over the ledge, the ground no longer beneath my feet.

  The disorienting feeling of falling was the first to slam into me.

  Then—utter terror.

  I screamed as I tumbled over the side of the railing and clawed desperately for anything to hold on to. One hand found the thick, blunt edge of the smooth glass, and I jerked to a stop so hard, it wrenched my shoulder. If I’d had any left, the pain would have taken my breath away.

  My shoes came off my dangling feet and fell, one after the other, plunging the sixty stories down to the sidewalk below. I didn’t think about the building I was hanging off of, or the city surrounding me. Only the survival part of my brain was functioning, overruling everything else. It kept me clinging to the glass ledge, even as it felt like it was going to sever my fingers.

  “Marist!” Royce yelled, and then he was leaning over the side, both of his bloody hands clasped on my wrist. “I’ve got you.”

  I’d never seen him look more determined or focused, and if I wasn’t sure I was going to die, I might have thought his expression was beautiful. But the creepy-crawling sensation inched up my spine as his blood smeared brightly across my skin.

  No. You cannot pass out.

  Because if I did, I’d fall to my death. His hands were slippery and his arm weak from Alice’s knife. He wouldn’t be able to hold on to me if I let go.

  “Just hang on,” he pleaded. His grip on my forearm was ferocious, a vise of steel, but it didn’t matter. I was slipping, inch by bloody inch from his grasp.

  My whole body trembled, and I tried not to swing my legs, even though my feet were desperate to have something beneath them. I needed to get my other hand up, but I was terrified any movement would make me slip.

  “Don’t let me go!” I cried.

  “No.” His tone was absolute. “I’ve got you.”

  Macalister appeared at his son’s side, matching Royce’s determined expression. He latched a clean hand on my arm below Royce’s, while stretching out his other. “Give me your hand.”

  It had never been easier to follow Macalister’s urgent demand. I gulped in a shallow breath and reached up. He may have been crushing the bones in my hand as he grabbed me, but I was grateful.

  And as soon as he had a good grip, the Hale men began to lift and pull, dragging me awkwardly up over the side of the railing.

  “We’ve got you,” Royce said. His intense gaze had the strongest hold on me, and I stared
at his blue eyes as the men pulled me to safety.

  The second my feet hit the ground, Macalister let go, and I wrapped both arms around Royce’s shoulders. I couldn’t feel the bones in my body or hear anything over the roaring rush of the blood in my head, but as long as I was pressed to him, I knew I was alive.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe, I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

  It sounded like he was talking to himself as much as he was to me. I melted into him. I was trembling, and as I pressed to him, I could feel his heart pounding as frantically as mine. He was solid and warm and the love of my life.

  “You could have killed her.” Macalister’s voice was arctic. The scariest I’d ever heard him sound, and perhaps it was for Royce too, because he tucked me in at his side and turned so we could both see how his father stared at Alice.

  Macalister gazed at his wife as if she were vile. Like he could see all the ugliness hidden inside her.

  “There’s a security camera over the door,” he said. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I can’t save you this time.”

  Like me, she was trembling, but hers was with a different emotion. Her husband’s look of disgust cleaved her in two, and all her panic and desperation poured out. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But I did it for you.”

  He said it with pure disbelief. “For me?”

  Alice’s eyes flicked to me before returning to him. “Marist took everything from me. From us. She seduced you, Macalister. Can’t you see that?” When she shook her head, her tears fell, but they went unnoticed. “She tricked you and everyone else, all so she could take your power and give it to Royce.”

  Macalister’s posture was tense, and his hands curled into fists. When he moved toward her, she took a step backward and raised her hands, silently warning him to keep his distance.

  Her tone was cautious as she gauged his reaction. “Everything can go back to the way it was before you knew she existed.”

  “No, it can’t.” He stood tall, unashamed as he admitted it. “I don’t want it to.”

  Another round of tears sliced down Alice’s face as her expression soured. “I gave you anything you wanted, and still you don’t see me. She’s fucking blinded you.”

  “You know that’s not true. My issue with—”

  Rage made her shake violently. “It is true! If you weren’t so blinded by that stupid girl, you would have seen what I was doing with Liam Shaunessy right under your goddamn nose.”

  He stiffened, and his jaw set as the new information slapped him.

  It looked like he was carefully selecting the words of his response for maximum impact. It was hot outside, and there wasn’t a breeze, but Macalister’s voice was so chilling, it made me shiver. “You’re mistaken if you think I care at all what you do, or who you do it with. You lost that privilege the night I found Marist half-dead on the stairs.”

  Her chest heaved as she backed up against the railing, and her gaze frantically darted away. She hadn’t expected his indifferent reaction, and since it wounded her deeply, she scrambled for a new weapon to strike back with.

  “And Vance too,” she spat out. “Do you know how many times your son happily climbed into my bed when you wouldn’t?”

  Royce and I froze in place. Everything around us decelerated to a stop, and the world focused in on Macalister.

  The glaciers in his eyes flash boiled, but his voice was eerily calm and quiet. “What did you just say?”

  Alice peered up at him with love and hatred twisting together into one painful emotion. “He was just a substitute at first, but the truth is he was better than you.”

  Macalister had lost his seat and his company this morning, but it didn’t compare to what she’d just revealed. This was the perfect thing to destroy him altogether. He was a glass hovering at the edge of a table. One tiny push and there’d be no going back. Catastrophe felt imminent.

  He straightened his shoulders as he loomed over her, his shadow covering her face. “Perhaps you’re right, and I did not give you the attention you so pathetically desired.” He sneered as he seized her shoulders. “But my eyes are open now. You came after my son with a knife. You’ve nearly killed Marist twice now. You’ve hurt the people I love, and that is something I will never, ever forgive.”

  “Love?” Her laugh was incredulous. “You’re not capable of love. You said it yourself, you’re not even human anymore after Julia died.”

  He jerked her like he could shake sense into his wife. “Enough.”

  “No.” Her smile was hollow and cruel. “You taught me to never give up, to win no matter what. You fucking made me this way.” Her face was scary. “I’m just as tenacious as you, and I won’t stop until I have what I want, you understand?”

  She reached up and set a hand on his chin, squeezing her fingers on his cheeks.

  “As long as she exists, that girl is in our way,” Alice said. “You’re a monster,” each word carried its own gravity, “but you’re my monster.”

  I believed what she’d said. It was win at all costs, and Alice would never stop coming after me. It was obvious Macalister believed her too. When she tried to kiss him, his control burned away. The Minotaur broke free and reared back.

  “No,” he roared and shoved her away with all his might.

  Horrified surprise went through her face as she tipped backward. I knew the sensation all too well, how disorienting it was to go over the railing. Unlike me, Alice was too stunned to make a sound, and although her hands clawed at the air, she didn’t find anything to grab on to. There was nothing to save her.

  I stood paralyzed as her legs went up to the sky and her body spilled over the side, slipping toward the earth.

  And then she was gone, vanished over the edge of the building.

  I screamed beneath the hand I clasped to my mouth, which was wet with Royce’s coppery blood.

  Time suspended, dragging out each second until it was a century long.

  I blinked desperately, trying to clear the image from my mind. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t witnessed Macalister shove Alice off the sixtieth-story balcony, or that she had just plunged to her death.

  He had his hands on the railing and leaned over it, his tie dangling in the wind and his face utterly white. No one moved. No one said a word, not even as the distant, panicked screams carried upward from the sidewalk below.

  My heart wasn’t working, and neither were my lungs as Royce and I watched the realization of what he’d done crush Macalister to his knees. He turned, collapsing to sit on the ground with his back against the glass, and dropped his heavy head into his hands.

  He looked broken.

  Defeated.

  He’d killed her.

  And I’d probably wonder the rest of my life if it was purely by accident or if he’d lost control and subconsciously done it to save me.

  I wasn’t sure which one of us pulled the other along, but I found myself on my knees beside Royce, huddled next to Macalister. My husband’s voice was hushed and hurried. “She jumped. We’ll make the video go away.”

  When Macalister lifted his weary gaze to his son, we all aged ten years. He looked like he appreciated the idea, but sadness consumed him. “You can’t.”

  He gestured to the hallway door and the group of horrified faces that had gathered around it. There were at least a half dozen employees and far too many witnesses. Nothing could be taken back or undone.

  “It was an accident,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know what compelled me to do it, but I put my hand on Macalister’s. Was it how he’d helped Royce pull me to safety? How he’d included his son in the list of people he loved? Or how he’d removed the threat of the woman hellbent on destroying me? His hand was colder than ever, and I squeezed, trying to impart some warmth. It looked very much like Macalister was going into shock.

  His eyes struggled to focus on the shredded cut in Royce’s sleeve which was stil
l bleeding. The sight of blood no longer had a debilitating effect on me. All I could worry about now were the two Hale men.

  Macalister grabbed Royce’s arm with his free hand and squeezed down on the cut. “Keep pressure on it. You’ll need stitches.”

  He wasn’t Zeus or the Minotaur. For the first time ever, I saw him as he was supposed to be—a father concerned about his son. With all of us stained with Hale blood, my hand on Macalister, and his on Royce, we had to look like a tightknit family unit . . . which ten minutes ago couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Misfortune had brought me into the family, and now tragedy bound us together forever.

  Macalister blinked, and his eyes cleared. He looked at Royce as if he were handing over his life to him, and perhaps he was. “You distance yourself as much as you can from me now. We’re already vulnerable, and if the stock goes much lower, you’ll be fending off takeover attempts. Lean on Allen and the rest of the board.” He moved closer to his son, and his tone verged on a plea. “Don’t let our company go.”

  Royce’s eyes widened. “I won’t.”

  Macalister’s focus shifted to me, or more specifically, to my hand resting on top of his and the sapphire ring he’d given me. My heartbeat went erratic. My heart belonged to Royce, but I hurt for Macalister. He’d lost two wives, his company, his dream of sitting on the Federal Reserve . . . all he’d had or ever hoped to have, was gone. Not that he was blameless, but his fall into ruin was swift and harsh.

  “I know it’s irrelevant,” he said, “but she was wrong.” He lifted his eyes to mine, and they were haunting. “Even monsters are capable of love, Medusa.”

  It added to the turmoil swirling inside me, but he’d said it with such a finality, it sounded like a goodbye.

  The hallway door to the balcony swung open, and footsteps rang out. I glanced over my shoulder to see Macalister’s assistant Nigel, who wore a somber expression as he took in the sight of us. “Paramedics and police just entered the building, sir.”

  Macalister nodded and reluctantly pulled away from me. When he let go of Royce, my husband set his right hand back on the wound to slow the bleeding and rose to his feet, towering over us. He extended his available hand out, offering to help his father up.