by Dylan Steel
“Not for long. If they truly believe I’m dead, I might as well be.” His jaw worked back and forth. “They’ll seize my estate and everything in it. Everything that makes me who I am would cease to exist.” He looked at her pointedly. “That includes you, Sage.”
She dropped her eyes, unsure how he expected her to respond to that admission. He couldn’t really consider her important enough to make that much of an impact on his identity. It was impossible. He probably just couldn’t stand the thought of not being in control of her—just like all his other possessions.
“But if you’re the one they’re after, why am I in danger?”
“Besides just being collateral damage, you mean?” His blue eyes flicked to hers. “They don’t just want to kill me. They want to destroy me—to take away everything I care about.”
She shifted uncomfortably. It was still hard to believe he cared about her at all—and she still didn’t understand why he claimed to, but it was getting harder to deny that he really did seem to be protecting her. Or trying to, at least.
“How do you know?”
“It’s the smart thing to do. It’s what I would do if I were in their position and making a grab for a benefactor’s property.”
“Is that why we ran?” she whispered, suddenly afraid of the coldness in his gaze.
He nodded. “Right now, they’re sorting through wreckage, looking for my DNA. Until they find it or have some other form of proof, they can’t risk claiming that I’ve been killed. It would make the Quorum look inept—something none of them want. But the longer it takes to confirm things one way or another, the more it upsets their plans.”
“So you don’t want to tell them you’re alive,” Sage mumbled thoughtfully.
“It’s complicated. If I hold off too long, they’ll realize I have my suspicions, and I lose the advantage I have now. But if I tell them too soon, I’ll have missed a prime opportunity to disrupt their plans.”
She cleared her throat. “When are you planning to tell them?”
“Quite soon, in fact. I can only claim ignorance for so long before it becomes too incredible, and I believe that window is closing rapidly.”
Sage looked at him suspiciously. “How long has it been?”
“Just a few days.”
“A few days?” She sat up straighter, looking aimlessly around the room for some sort of assurance that he was telling the truth—or better, that he wasn’t. How had she slept for days?
The realization crashed into her hard. Her eyes narrowed. He’d drugged her more than once.
“Two, really. And I know what you’re thinking, but you really needed to rest, and you’ve already proven to be a very uncooperative patient.” He pointed to his chest. “Doctor’s decision.”
She pressed her lips together tightly, fighting to hold back all the things she really wanted to say. Just because he was showing his true colors—the lengths he was willing to go to under the illusion of protecting her—didn’t mean she could afford to alienate him. She still needed his trust if she was ever going to get rid of the tether.
Better to steer the subject in another direction altogether.
“Has anyone asked about me?”
Weston raised an eyebrow.
“I mean because—you know—where you go, I go, and…”
His lips twitched as he stared back at her silently.
“Right.” Sage rolled her eyes. “No one cares.”
“They care. But not for the reasons you’d hope,” he said quietly. “But they won’t ask—they can’t afford to have it look like they care.”
“Like you?” She swallowed hard, not even sure why she’d said that.
Weston paused, looking at her with an intensity that ignited something inside her. Warmth or a warning, she wasn’t sure.
“I care for you more than anyone in Eprah, Sage.”
She stared at him blankly, watching as he moved to her doorway. He paused, turning back to her.
“I will do whatever I need to do to keep you safe. That means keeping you close, among other things. Your proximity settings for your tether have been relaxed again while you’re at the estate, but they will been reinstated once you recover. But I don’t want you straying too far in the meantime.” He inclined his head toward her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to catch up on. Get some rest.”
Anger and frustration bubbled up inside her as he walked out the door.
He wanted to keep her safe?
He was being hunted by two of the most powerful men in Eprah, and he’d made her helpless, callously condemning her to suffer the same fate he did. Death, probably. Or maybe Grayson would decide to add one of her outfits to his collection when he assumed the estate.
She shuddered. It was more important than ever that she find a way out.
19. BAGGAGE
“I hear you’ve been asking after me.” Weston’s deep voice rumbled low, filling the room.
Grayson’s image flickered once but was otherwise perfect. Chills crawled along Sage’s spine. She knew he wasn’t really standing in Weston’s office with them, but it was unsettling to see him there in any form.
The cruel benefactor’s dark eyes widened for less than a second before his cool mask slipped back into place.
“Weston. What a relief. Everyone’s been so worried.”
“My apologies, Edward. As I’m sure you’ve deduced, I was at the hospitality suite when it was attacked. I’ve remained silent in the event it was an assassination attempt by dissatisfied citizens—I thought it was the most prudent move. You understand. As soon as I heard the Lawless had taken credit for the attack, naturally, I thought it best to come forward with reassurances of my well-being.”
“Of course,” he said stiffly. “I understand completely. But—forgive me—I don’t understand why you’ve chosen to inform me and not the Quorum.”
“Oh, I have every intention of doing so as soon as we’re done speaking.”
Grayson’s lips curved in a forced smile. “Then perhaps my query was misstated. Why inform me first?”
Weston tilted his head. “Mmm. Honestly, I can’t say I gave it much thought. You came to mind first. Call it a shared understanding or perhaps a base recognition of our mutual interests. You and I have more in common than most benefactors—our long, shared family histories, our critical estate offerings…” He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose either of us could analyze that decision and come up with some deeper reason, but that one seems appropriate enough to me.”
“Ah.” Grayson’s smile widened, a flicker of satisfaction seeping into his expression. “Now, that is hard to argue with. I feel obligated to remind you though that it is a breach of protocol not to go straight to the Quorum.”
“Must’ve slipped my mind in all the chaos.”
“Understandably traumatic,” Grayson crooned. His eyes drifted to Sage. “Is this your pair with you then, Weston?”
“It is. But you may speak freely as far as she’s concerned.”
Grayson’s nose twitched in disdain. “How I hear it, you have not enabled the veritmel setting on her tether. I think that means I may not, in fact, speak freely around her.”
“We have no secrets between us.”
“Is that so?” Grayson turned his attention to Sage. She fought to keep her expression even. “He tells you everything? And you do the same?”
She looked at Weston, not sure if he wanted her to respond. He nodded, and she turned back to Grayson’s image.
“It’s hard to imagine that either of us has managed to recount every detail of our lives to the other, but I would certainly not call him a liar,” she answered cautiously.
Grayson’s smile grew once more, enough to send a shiver across her skin. “I see the appeal,” he said appreciatively, turning his attention back to Weston.
“She too survived the attack on the hospitality suite, though not without injury. Minor enough, considering.”
“How unfortunate and a
t the same time fortunate for you both.”
“Indeed.”
“My condolences on the injury.”
Sage stared blankly at Grayson’s image until she realized Weston was raising an eyebrow at her. “Oh—thank you,” she said hurriedly.
“It’s important that our pairs stay in the best possible shape they can—for Eprah. Wouldn’t you agree, Weston?”
Weston’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How could I not?”
“Well, I hate to draw this to a close prematurely, but I think it’s best you get straight in touch with the Quorum.” Grayson gave a curt nod.
“And I’m sure you have business to attend to. Thank you for taking the time.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
As soon as Edward Grayson’s face disappeared from view, Weston’s hand slammed on the desk. Sage jumped in her chair, wincing at how the motion jarred her leg.
His voice came out in a low growl. “He knows.”
“Knows?”
“He knows that I know he was behind the attack.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve studied the man for the last ten years. I know when he’s hiding something. I know when he’s overjoyed, when he’s livid—and when he’s surprised. He was surprised to see me alive, and he slipped up. Even you saw it. I know that. He knows that. But none of us mentioned it, so what do you think he’ll infer from that?”
“Maybe nothing?” Sage suggested hopefully.
Weston rubbed his temples. “Don’t be naive.”
Her jaw ached from the retort she held back. She reminded herself that it was his trust she was after—she needed to make herself an invaluable counselor.
“But he can’t know everything, right? He can’t realize you know he’s working with Mr. Gaztok.”
“He probably suspects that I know about that too.”
Sage didn’t respond at first. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
Weston sighed. “I apologize for my rudeness. My nerves are more on edge than usual. I’m not accustomed to having myself and those I care about so openly threatened.”
She looked at him in surprise. With as many times as he’d suggested he cared for her, he had yet to act in any predictable way about it. He was either saving her or threatening her—as if there was no possible middle ground for their relationship—whatever strange type of relationship it was.
His gaze raked over her slowly, taking in the way her lips curved down and the wrinkle between her brows. He tilted his neck side to side, reaching under his desk and putting his hand on a palm scanner. A soft click echoed between them. “Perhaps something for both our nerves, then.”
As he pulled open the drawer, a bottle of pale blue liquid chinked against two glasses, but Sage’s gaze fell on the familiar bag inside it. Her heart skipped a beat. It was the same one she’d packed when she’d tried to leave the city. The one Weston had found when he’d rescued her—the first time.
Pouring two fingers in each glass, Weston nudged one of the glasses toward her. She took it reluctantly, eyeing it warily.
“Why did you want me here?” Sage finally dared to ask since he wasn’t looking her in the eye. “You didn’t need me to be in the room when you told him you weren’t dead.”
“But you were hurt, and he knows that now. He didn’t before.” He tipped his glass in her direction. “It sent him a message—especially since we all know who was behind the attack.”
“What message?” She tapped the edge of her untouched drink, unsure she wanted to hear his answer.
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He took a sip before answering and gritted his teeth against the taste, then poured himself a little more.
“It’s the second time he’s threatened what’s mine. He’s all but declared open war on me, Sage.”
“War?” she whispered in disbelief. “But you said—”
“It will be subtle. And brutal.” He ran his thumb over the side of his glass and took another drink. “One of us will die,” he said calmly.
Sage stared at him in shock. The callousness with which he discussed a man’s demise—maybe even his own—was unreal. More than ever, she was convinced her benefactor was an elaborate pretender. A man who—despite all his reassurances to the contrary that he cared for her—couldn’t really be bothered with feelings.
He was colder than ice.
Weston capped the bottle and put it away, sliding the drawer closed. His blue eyes locked on her green ones, capturing her again in his endless stare.
“Is that why your officer friend was unhappy to see you?”
“What?” She frowned, confused by the abrupt change in subject.
“Boulder, I believe it was,” he said nonchalantly. “Did you take the tech from him? You never did tell me where you got it.”
Her hand shook as she tightened her grip on the glass. “I don’t kno—”
“The tech in your bag,” he explained patiently.
The blood drained from Sage’s face. She hadn’t thought he was paying any attention to her, but he had been. He’d seen her notice the bag in the drawer.
“I never said that was my bag,” she said hotly, her eyes shooting quickly from the drawer to his face.
His eyebrow tugged up. “Yet you knew precisely which bag I was referring to.”
“I just figured—”
“—oh, yes, of course,” he said placatingly. “An easy assumption given that you just saw a bag in there.”
Sage’s chest rose and fell quickly as butterflies took flight inside her stomach. They both knew he didn’t believe her.
“Are you going to return it?” She asked. She held her breath.
“And how would I be expected to explain that? After holding onto it for all this time?” Weston shook his head slowly. “I have no desire to account for either of our actions to the Peace or the Quorum. They would have a good number of questions for both of us, and I don’t see any need to justify myself to them. I just want you to know that I meant what I said earlier to Mr. Grayson—or at least a version of it. There should be no secrets between us, Sage.” He tilted his head, looking her in the eye. “Can I assume you understand my meaning?”
She swallowed hard, trembling. “Yes.”
“Good.” He leaned back, nodding to the glass she still hadn’t touched. “Drink up.”
20. SPECTATORS
Sage’s eyes were wide as she stepped through the curtain. She’d never been on this side of the stage for the tournament before—and certainly had never found herself sitting in one of the prestigious balconies reserved for the elite.
The room below buzzed with nervous energy. Weston’s hand warmed the small of her back as they finished making their way to their seats. She was glad her leg had healed enough that she no longer needed to lean heavily on him to manage walking.
They hadn’t been back inside the city since the explosion the night of her birthday. And apparently, the rest of the citizens were still on edge from the attack.
It had been the Lawless. Again. No one questioned it.
Except Weston.
He was convinced that Mr. Gaztok and Grayson were working together. He hadn’t shared all his reasons with Sage, but she’d heard enough to believe his paranoia wasn’t misguided.
As the benefactor over the largest estate, Weston controlled a great deal of food production as well as managing natural resources—and he was the only benefactor with access to the sea and its offerings. With all the riches a Bennick brought to Eprah, his opinion was always heard—and almost always heeded. Among the benefactors, he was the only real threat to either man’s power, and they all knew it.
It only made sense that they’d want to eliminate the competition, but unless they wanted to start an uprising, they couldn’t be obvious about it. The Lawless made an easy scapegoat, one nobody questioned.
“How does it feel to be a spectator this year?”
“Strange,” she admitted, scanning the room as
she took a seat beside him. “Although I can’t say I’m sad not to be competing.”
“I’m sure it’s a relief to know your title is secure.”
She snorted. “My title was forgotten before graduation.” It still stung—the slight of Carnabel receiving her rightful award.
“Mmm.” Weston regarded the stage thoughtfully. “And I never had the opportunity to earn it. I’ve sometimes wondered how I would have fared.”
She slid him an unconvinced look out of the corner of her eye. “Given the skill I saw during our sparring session, I have no doubt you would’ve held your own.”
“Perhaps.”
He let it drop, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, watching as the seats filled around them in the Grand Hall.
“Were you aware that citizens often place bets on the outcome of the tournament?”
Her shoulders tensed as she tugged lightly at the hem of her dress. She doubted he was talking about the same kind of bets they’d made as children at the Institution. “I was not.”
“Benefactors too,” he murmured, his breath sliding along the side of her neck, raising her hairs.
“Do you have a bet riding on today’s tournament, Weston?” Sage asked, arching an eyebrow.
He leaned back. “Not today.”
“But you have before.” It was more a statement than question. The look on his face had already given away the answer.
“Just once.”
“Did it pay off?”
“It did. I predicted the winner.”
She nodded politely. “That’s good.”
“It is,” he agreed, brushing his jacket smooth over his arm. “Thank you for not disappointing me.”
Her head whipped toward him. “You bet on me?”
The side of his lips lifted in a mischievous grin. He winked. “Who else?”
“You should’ve bet on Carnabel,” she said disapprovingly.
“I wanted to bet on you.”
“She was the better choice.”
“But you won, Sage. Betting on anyone else would’ve meant losing. If you’re advising me to try to lose, I’m not sure if you realize what the point of betting is,” he said teasingly. Deep oceans searched her eyes before he added quietly, “Have you already forgotten what you’re capable of?”