by Alexis Hall
Then. New sounds, half-drowned in his breath. A door. Footsteps. And Ellery saying, “Hello, Uncle Lancaster.” And me, blank with fright, an animal hiding in my own flesh, still frantically trying to get free of him. “Get off me get the fuck off me.”
Steyne rose—apparently in no fucking rush—adjusting his disarranged suit, and smoothing his hair back into place. “Ellery, my dear. How lovely to see you.”
And the worst of it was, it sounded like he meant it. When she must have known what she’d interrupted. Wait. Surely she didn’t think I was up for this?
“He…he…” I gasped. But I was blood and breath and fear. Couldn’t get words out.
And Ellery cut over me anyway. “I know, right? Guess we should hug or something.”
At this point, I was just glad Steyne was moving away from me. I wanted to run—even if it was only to flee into the bathroom and lock the door—but I couldn’t move. I felt…shattered, literally shattered. Just pieces of myself I had no idea how to reassemble.
While Ellery, who was not a fan of hugging at the best of times, was stepping voluntarily into Lancaster Steyne’s outstretched arms. Whatever happened next, I couldn’t see. But I heard it: a grisly crunch of cartilage, followed by a low cry, and a curse, from Steyne.
He reared back, hands clasped over his nose, blood gushing from between his fingers and dripping onto the floor. “That,” he said, in a slightly burbly voice, “was uncalled for.”
“Yeah?” Ellery rubbed her brow, which was also slightly bloodstained—though, thankfully, none of it hers. “I think it was very fucking called for. And if you ever come near my family again, including Arden, I’ll kill you myself.”
“You’ll learn in time, my child, not to make threats you have no capacity to carry out.”
Very slowly, she grinned—this crooked, gleeful grin, somewhere between the Cheshire Cat and the Joker. “I’m a poor little rich girl with a history of drug abuse and mental illness, and I’ve got one of the best lawyers in London. Not even I know what I’m capable of. And you”—her eyes raked contemptuously over him—“you haven’t got a fucking clue.”
“Well, aren’t you something.” Steyne had liberated his pocket square and was now holding it against his face. Of course, it didn’t stop him talking. I’m not sure anything would. “You almost make me wish I had a better appreciation for the fairer sex.”
Ellery rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
That earned her a cold look—well, as cold as could be managed when your face had gone all Phantom of the Opera. And then he was stepping past her. Leaving.
I let out a choked breath. The relief so intense it felt like nausea. Which was when a thought crawled out of the wreckage. Lurched through my brain and out of my mouth. “Tell me where Caspian is.”
Probably I was begging. I didn’t care.
Steyne paused, glancing back at me, eyes the colour of dust and pewter. “I don’t think so, Arden.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Ellery sped across the room towards me. “Are you okay?”
“No. I mean. Yes. I mean. I don’t know.” My heart rate quintupled out of nowhere. “He tried to…I think he was really going to.”
Ellery kicked the sofa, which seemed unfair because none of this was its fault. “Fuck. Fuck. What was he even doing here?”
“He came to—” I dropped my head into my hands. Not wanting to repeat any of it. Even to Ellery. “Oh God.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.”
I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. I wanted a shower. And never to touch my own skin again. I could still feel him. Still smell him. Like he was sewn up inside me. Along with the awareness that, to a man like him, I was nothing.
“What should I do?” Ellery dropped into a crouch, peering up at me anxiously. “Do you need to go to hospital?”
“No, he didn’t…didn’t…really hurt me.” Just bruised me. Overpowered me. Scared the crap out of me.
“I could call Finesilver. The police. You could…we could…I saw what he was doing.”
Surely there was a case here. I had evidence on my wrists. A witness. But the idea of it—the noise of it—turned my stomach afresh. My business would become everyone’s business. To be pored over and picked at and spun into a whole new story. You like sex, don’t you, Mr. St. Ives. You like rough sex. You’ve had a lot of sexual partners, haven’t you, Mr. St. Ives. And you prefer rich, older men, is that not the case? God. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Even if I won, I’d have lost. It would be a black hole of scandal and exposure, not just for me, but for everyone I loved, and of everything that made them vulnerable.
I wouldn’t let that happen. Even if my only weapon was silence, and some would call it defeat.
“No,” I said. “I’m okay.”
Ellery scowled. “He assaulted you.”
“Yeah, he did. But I get to choose how I deal with that. And”—I uncurled and didn’t break—“I need to help Caspian.”
“What’s wrong with him? I mean, apart from the obvious.”
“Steyne said Nathaniel was going to make him understand the wrongness of his desires by experiencing them from the other side.”
Ellery’s face went through several permutations of what the fuck.
“I know,” I said. “Nathaniel’s probably convinced himself he’s helping and Caspian would have agreed to it as some kind of penance.”
“Penance for what?”
“Everything. For his father’s death. For Lancaster’s abuse. For letting you believe he doesn’t care about you. For not being the man Nathaniel wants him to be. For what he likes to do in bed. For loving me.”
There was a long silence.
Then Ellery pushed herself to her feet, her hands tangling in her hair. “No. No no no. This…isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He’s the perfect one. The one who never gets hurt. The one who does everything right and takes whatever he wants and never cares who he leaves behind. I’m the fuck-up.”
I watched her—helpless, hovering on the verge of this mad and terrible laughter. And then, suddenly, she was laughing, mascara-blackened tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Gah.” Spinning around, she threw herself down next to me on the sofa in a flurry of fishnets and lace. “This is so typical of him. He even had to be better than me at being fucked up.”
“It’s not a competition,” I pointed out.
“You’re an only child.” She tucked her legs up under her, growing serious again. “But you know, Lancaster could just be playing mind games. He’s probably figured out he won’t get Caspian back without you.”
“If it turns out they’re having a quiet night in with a crossword, worst thing that happens is I make a complete fool of myself. Again. As usual. I can live with that. I can’t live with…the alternative. Except”—I shuddered, abruptly remembering Steyne, the helplessness he had forced on me—“I don’t know how to stop it.”
Ellery’s hand against my arm brought me back to the warehouse, to my friend, to the home where I would, one day, be able to feel safe again. “What did he tell you?”
“Not enough—he knew exactly what he was doing.” Closing my eyes, I waded through the cascade of images, Steyne’s hands wrapped around my wrists, and the pull of his jacket across his shoulders, and the slick red sensuality of his mouth and the dirty silver of his eyes, and tried to remember. “A sex party. Tonight. That’s it. That’s all.”
“Well…” Ellery pursed her lips. “That’s not a ton to go on, but we can narrow it down a bit.”
“Can we?”
“Hell yeah. Nathaniel’s a total prude, so he’s not going to want to go to your basic sleazy kink club, is he? Which means it’ll be some Chelsea set, masks and rose gold cock rings, and invite-only bollocks.”
Thank God for Ellery. I should have been able to figure that out for myself, but my brain was half wee timorous beastie, convinced it was about to get attacked again, and half rampaging dragon,
which just wanted to roar at things and set them on fire until I could be sure Caspian was safe.
“Okay,” I said, “but how the hell do I get into something like that?”
She shrugged. Which, from anyone else, would have seemed dismissive. But from Ellery, at that moment, seemed genuinely regretful. “Sorry. So not my scene.”
Nor mine. But knowing people who could get me into scenes that weren’t my scene was literally my whole job.
Chapter 39
Of course, there was no guarantee George would answer her phone—not because she would screen me, but because if there was a fancy sex party happening somewhere, she was probably already at it. Which was all intensely nerve-wracking because I didn’t have a backup plan. Thankfully she picked up.
“Tell me,” came her familiar drawl, “this is a booty call.”
“Um. It’s a please for the love of God help me call?”
I couldn’t see her, but I felt her manner change. “What’s the matter?”
Somehow I babbled out the story—at least the parts of it that didn’t involve Lancaster Steyne trying to rape me.
“I’m not sure I understood a word of that,” said George, when I was done. “But I think you’re telling me you want to go a sex party? To save Caspian Hart? From some ill-advised impact play?”
“I guess?”
A pause. “You do live in interesting times, poppet.”
“Is there a thing, though? Tonight. Like Steyne said.”
“Give me a moment—I vaguely recall an invitation sliding into my in-box.”
I gave her a moment. Though every second of it was excruciating.
“There’s a kinky masquerade in Kensington. Arranged by the sort of people who think they’re terribly decadent but are, in practice, terribly boring.”
That sounded…promising? Better than nothing, at any rate. “Can you get us in? Are you on the guest list?”
“Of course I’m on the guest list. I can’t believe you’re even asking.” She gave a discontented growl. “Though under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dignify such a pissant little debauch with my presence.”
“But you’ll still”—my voice wavered—“still take me, won’t you?”
“Oh, Arden. Of course I will. It’s black tie, so get ready, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
She hung up. And I turned back to Ellery. “Okay, we’ve got another problem.”
She paused, halfway through unlacing her boots. “What now?”
“Do you know where I can get a tux at…whatever o’clock it is on a Friday night?”
“Sure. There’s the twenty-four/seven formalwear supermarket just down the road.”
I stared at her. “Ellery, I’m too freaked out to navigate sarcasm effectively right now. There’s a dress code for the party. And I’m scared they won’t let me in if I don’t look right.”
“Wear a suit or whatever. They probably won’t care.”
“Probably isn’t good enough.”
“For fuck’s sake, it might not even be the same party.”
I pressed my hands over my mouth to stop whatever screamy noises wanted to get out and flap around the room like frenzied bats.
“Shit. Fuck.” Ellery’s boots hit the floor with a clatter of buckles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Still. I had to be still. Inside and out. Because the twitch of a capillary could trigger some chain reaction that would end with me exploding in a burst of nuclear fire.
“Hey.” Ellery’s fingers brushed over mine—the touch as light as Ariadne’s thread, drawing Theseus through the labyrinth. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“N-nothing feels okay. What if he’s not there?”
Her gaze held mine, her eyes steady and almost hypnotic, full of greens that had no counterpart in Caspian’s. “He will be.”
“What if I’m too late? What if he won’t listen? What if Nathaniel—”
“Stop it, Arden.”
The sudden sharpness of her voice took me by surprise. And sliced right through my rapidly unspooling thoughts.
“I just mean,” she went on awkwardly “you’ve got this. My brother’s a dick. And also a wreck. But if anyone can help him get his shit together, it’s you.”
I leaned into her, rubbing the edge of my brow against her cheek—which was probably a fucking weird thing to do, but it felt comforting and I wasn’t totally ready for hugs. “Thank you. And for…coming back and forgiving me. And for saving me from Stey—”
“Don’t.” Ellery squirmed as if I was a great-aunt in a Victorian’s children’s story. “You’re being embarrassing.”
“I just want you to know that you’re the most amazing friend.”
“Yeah, okay. Can you shut up about it now?”
“And I love you.”
“Gross.”
I laughed, surprising myself, the edges of the world losing some of their jaggedness. Impossibilities that had loomed large seconds ago shrinking like shadows until I could breathe…think…hope. “But I’m afraid I need to ask you one last thing.”
Her brows creased warily. “What is it?”
“Do you have a frock I can borrow?”
This wasn’t, as it might have seemed, a desperation gambit. Though Ellery’s personal style tended towards an aggressive absence of fucks, the red dress she’d worn for her birthday was spectacular—and I couldn’t believe it had been chosen by anyone but her. In fact, I’d long suspected there was more to Ellery than met the eye when it came to fashion, a notion proven correct when she asked, “Cocktail or evening?”
“Whatever will get me through the door.”
“Leave it to me, Cinderella.” Ellery practically bounced off the sofa. “You shall go to the crappy sex party.”
And then she vanished into her room, leaving me to…fuck. Cope with the shock of being alone. Which I hadn’t expected to be a shock. But in the silence, Lancaster Steyne could have been anywhere. Stepping through every doorway. Out of every corner.
Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He was gone. And unlikely to come back. And when this was over, I was going to make sure I got all the therapy. Because he didn’t get to fuck me up. And I was a part of Caspian’s world that would never belong to him.
I showered, since I didn’t want to go to a party or, indeed, exist any longer smelling of sexual assault. With George due imminently, I didn’t have long. But I could have stayed in there forever, losing Lancaster Steyne in the steam, and the ceaseless rush of water down my skin. When I got out, and had towelled off and teased my hair into something resembling attractive, I found Ellery waiting for me, her arms full of silk.
She smirked at me. “Try this.”
The dress was a floor-length sheath, as achingly simple as Cruella de Vil’s famous mink coat, although, thankfully, much less cruel. If it had been white, it would have been virginal, but it was silver, as bright and supple as mercury, subtly gleaming with its own wicked lustre. It slithered down me like new skin, the cling of the fabric at once revealing and concealing, turning my body into a mystery, sleekly androgynous and draped in starlight.
“Hot,” said Ellery, settling a cape of dark grey ostrich feathers over my shoulders—which I was glad for because the gown was made of basically nothing and held up by the strappiest of strappy straps.
“Well”—a smile crept tentatively over my mouth—“whatever else happens tonight, at least I’m fabulous.”
“Glass slippers not included, I’m afraid. There’s no way you’ll fit my shoes.”
“Shit.”
Hoiking the frock out of my way, I scrambled up the ladder to my room in search of suitable footwear. Of which I owned…let me see…at my last count, taking into account the current rate of inflation…zero. Why the fuck wasn’t I a drag queen?
A horn honked outside. George.
Some rescue attempt this was going to be if I turned up too late because I didn’t have any shoes. Well, fuck it. I dragged on my rainbow glittery Doc
s, laced them up hastily, and managed to get down from the mezzanine without ripping my dress or breaking my neck.
“How do I look?” I asked, pausing self-consciously in front of Ellery.
She surveyed me from head to combat-booted toes. “Perfect.”
And that was all the encouragement I needed. Holding my cloak tightly around me, I plunged into the night, where George—looking very formidably gorgeous in a tuxedo and all the fixings, with a white scarf around her neck—was waiting for me in the Jag. She gave a low whistle as I tumbled into the front seat.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather save me, poppet?”
I yanked the seat belt into place. “What do you need saving from?”
“I’m sure I could think of something.”
I was spared from having to come up with a pithy reply because she put the car into gear and we roared into motion. Apart from an attempt to say thank you, which she dismissed, I was pretty quiet for the ride, my thoughts opaque even to myself. It was a relief that they pulled only intermittently to Steyne, though I could have done without them going there at all.
Probably I should have been putting together a kind of…I don’t know…action plan. But how could I prepare for something I could barely imagine? Or if I did imagine, made my heart want to curl up and die. What was Nathaniel thinking? And what had possessed him to go to Steyne? Of all people. Knowing what he had done to Caspian. Surely he must have recognised that it was a betrayal of the deepest order. An act of cruelty, pure and simple—like the one he intended to inflict tonight.
Yet Nathaniel wasn’t cruel. At least, not the way Steyne was. Not the way my father was. I wanted so much to hate him. To blame him. And part of me was definitely furious with him. But the problem was, I could see this too clearly for what it was—not an act of intentional destruction, but one of desperation. I’d been too wrapped up in my own hurt to notice before. Thought him possessive, insecure, self-righteous, and uptight, and hadn’t understood he was breaking too. The interview. The dinner. The art gallery. The car park. He’d been nothing but an obstacle to me. A mistake someone else was making. But all this time he’d been afraid.