I climb into the bed, snuggle under the covers, and pretend I’m not crying.
When he climbs into bed beside me, I pretend I didn’t scoot over to make room. I pretend his arms around me mean absolutely nothing.
I slip into the mask even if a void is opening inside me underneath it.
23
MICHAIL
I leave her bed early. Neither of us can deal with waking up beside each other right now. And likely never will.
My bag sits on the perfectly made bed in one of her guest rooms. I pull out some underwear, shower quickly, and don one of the suits I stashed in the walk-in closet. She told me to leave, but I refuse to go until I know she’s safe. Back here, headfirst in the pit of snakes, is the opposite of safe.
She doesn’t understand that I can’t leave her to her fate, even if she’s made it clear she doesn’t want or need me.
I grab a protein bar from her pantry and sit on the couch to check progress emails from the team on my tablet. When she finally graces the world with her presence, she looks immaculate, as usual. But a little more dressed up than I’ve seen her recently.
“Where are you going?”
She doesn’t spare me a glance as she rifles through her refrigerator. “Lunch with a friend.”
“Which friend?”
This time she turns to look at me. “That is none of your business.”
I stand and drop my tablet onto the nearest pillow. She takes a few retreating steps when I stalk into the kitchen. The tether of my patience snapped the night she shoved me out of her bed. “While I’m guarding you, everything you do is my business. Right now, you can’t take a fucking shit without letting me know.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Do you have to be so crass?”
I lean over the counter, my hands flat on the granite. “I’m the hired help, remember? The human fuck-toy. I’m always crass.”
When it’s time for her to leave for lunch, she holds the door open for me to exit first. We ride to the restaurant in silence, and I survey the small crowd as we squeeze through the tables to her friend.
She’s dressed in a fussy female suit, her blonde hair sporting streaks of gray. I’d recognize the set of her shoulders anywhere. They inch higher, toward her ears, the closer she gets to orgasm. Margery Turner. Wife of oil tycoon Richard Turner, and one of my very first female clients when I turned sixteen. It seems like years ago now. The memories crowd in, but I keep my mask in place and let them pass by me.
When Selena sits, I take the other empty seat and study the newcomer’s face carefully. It’s been years since I’ve seen her. Years since I had to sell my body for protection. Years since Adrian plucked me from that life to give me a purpose.
A purpose and a promise that one day, I’ll feel their blood on my hands.
She barely spares me a glance, and Selena is content to ignore my presence too. Usually, I’d call her on it, but I don’t want to get into an argument in front of my old client. I don’t want to give her a reason to remember.
Margery grasps Selena’s hands over the menus. “I’ve missed you so, sweet child.”
Selena scoffs. “You aren’t even that much older than me. Don’t call me that.”
She puts on a pretty pout. “But I started with my council seat while your parents still ruled. I guess I will always see you as a child, somewhat.”
Selena’s eyes flash to me, but she keeps her features blank and surveys her menu, tucking her hands into her lap now that Margery is done playing the doting mother.
I’ve seen this act more times than I can count. Older woman, more experience, seducing someone younger to his or her ways. Margery wants something from Selena. Badly. Or else, why risk a meeting while death hangs over Selena’s head?
What is in this for her?
I decide to find out. Not for any sense of loyalty toward Selena, but because the information could be useful later to the Five, or hell, even to me when the time comes to slit this woman’s throat for all the atrocities she’s committed.
I fall back into a mask I know well and have perfected over the years. Pasting on a dumb, pretty smile, I wait for Margery to glance my way. In a heartbeat I snare her, and she doesn’t even know it yet.
“I’m Mich. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
She extends her hand almost shyly. With a gentle shake, I release her, careful not to wipe my hand on my pants to get rid of the feel of her.
“Margery, of course.” She says it like I should have recognized her the moment we sat down. Well, I did, but not for whatever reason she expects.