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“Lie to yourself, girl, but not to me.”
My face is pure flame. The heat radiates. “What am I going to do? He works with Smith. He thinks I’m some rich, spoiled girl.”
She grabs my chin and moves my head and pokes a tender spot right at my jugular. “That love bite says he might really luuurve a certain so-called rich and spoiled girl.”
“Stop that.”
“Make me.” She grabs her phone and holds it up to me. “So, Spoiled Princess of YouTube, tell me what is his?—”
I smack the phone from her hand before I realize what I’m doing and I’m on my feet. I’m shaking and she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Sorry,” I start to say. “I?—”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t filming. I just wanted to cheer you up. I’m an idiot.” We both stare at the phone. “What the fuck did they do?”
“Orion saved me from being raped. He…” I swallow. I hug myself. “He stopped them doing worse than that.”
“They took photos of you, didn’t they?” She hugs me, resting her head on my shoulder. “That’s why you hit the phone. We end this today, now. The project. It’s not important.”
I slide my arms around her and breathe in her rose scent. It’s so familiar it soothes me. Harley wouldn’t ever judge something that happened. And I think part of me is downplaying it, not because I feel dirty when I talk about it, but I worry she’ll go off and try and get revenge for me and get herself killed, and I couldn’t live with that.
“No, we’ll see it through.” I squeeze her. “The Collectors are still out there, and I think if we take a small break, we can maybe use our platform to lure them out and destroy them.”
“Deal.” She pulls free. “Now go shower. You smell like hot man.”
THIRTY-THREE
orion
I don’t fucking like meetings, and the office—because that’s what it is, no matter how much it looks like a private speakeasy bar—is one I don’t spend much time in.
This is my second time here.
The first visit to the office was after my recruitment and acceptance into this secret and elite society. The fucking Obsidian Knights.
I lean on the wall in the rounded room, the gold and dark-red velvet wallpaper and muted cordovan leather armchairs around a table do nothing to soothe me.
I take a swallow of my rum as I run my gaze over who’s present.
Since this has to do with the job, Malone is here. And two higher-ups in the organization, Jones and Easton. Smith’s nowhere to be seen.
My mind keeps tripping back to Dakota. First… her fucking brass ovaries for both stepping in and using that nail gun, and for not falling the hell apart after what they did to her. Even coming up with that risky and dangerous plan to go back was astounding.
I’d say it’s obvious whose daughter she is except somehow that’d be an insult to her.
Dakota is Dakota. She’s got hidden underground rivers of strength. Just like Fina.
I rub my hand over my face and check my watch.
Anywhere else, anyone else, and I’d chalk this wait up to them making a power play. But while there’s a hierarchy, this isn’t a “pick up your paycheck each Tuesday” kind of job. We all got initiated because we’re the elite. The best of the best.
At killing. At destroying the real monsters.
Ones worse than us.
We pick and choose because we’ve made a shit ton of money. We charge whatever we want. And… we have a predilection for kink. I’m not sure it’s possible to be a Knight without a dominant streak. We drift to each other. Recognize each other.
Becoming a Knight and then being one isn’t easy, and I’ll guarantee every one of us, even the ones who aren’t killers, have that certain bend to them. It isn’t easy but the perks, the freedom, the finding your place, is worth it.
