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Maybe I left my uncle’s house too late to save my own soul.
Slowly, groaning with every shift of my body, I manage to get myself to my knees, then my feet. Every breath makes my insides feel like sandpaper. There are cuts and scrapes on every one of my limbs, but I ignore the welling blood and lurch toward the front of the house. Through the cotton in my head and ears I hear sirens. The cement drive slopes down to the street, and there-
My stomach swoops.
A matte black car is parked halfway up the lawn. Behind it, emergency vehicles are pulling up, flashing lights dazzling my already stinging eyes. Through the blur of my tears, I see two figures by the car. One is Raleigh, sitting on the hood of the car while the other, Thomas, examines her brusquely for injuries. Their voices are rising.
“-get here so fast?!” Raleigh demands, and my heart aches with relief. There’s a husk in her voice from the smoke, but otherwise she seems to be unharmed. Thomas must have gotten her out all right.
“Did you forget I own the house?” I hear Thomas say. “I’m notified every time a smoke alarm goes off. Now answer the question. Who is the woman staying with y-”
“Clara?!” Raleigh slips off the car’s hood and takes a step toward me.
“Raleigh! Are you all right?”
But Thomas is already coming toward me. His baseball bat is gone but his fists are still clenched. The red glow coming through the windows of the house behind me gilds his blond hair and turns his hazel eyes into twin fires. His square-jawed face is completely impassive, like I’m a piece of lint he found in his pocket. I hardly recognize him anymore, and there’s no familiarity in his face when he stares down at me.
“Don’t talk to her,” he warns. “Talk to me. What were you doing here tonight?”
He really doesn’t know who I am. If I’m an ignorant bystander, he needs to either pay me off or threaten me into silence. And if I’m not, he needs to know who I work for, so he can plan a counterattack.
More than ever before, I wish I knew nothing about the world we’re both part of. I’d take the hush money and use it to fund a better life. Unfortunately, who I am will immediately doom me, and I don’t know how to force the words out.
Despite the bright color in his eyes, I feel cold under his gaze. I take a breath, but it rubs my lungs too raw, and I start coughing. A hand closes around my arm, and I jerk, but Thomas holds me firmly. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body. Or maybe I’m feeling the fire eating through the house.
“The quicker you start answering my questions, the quicker you can go back to bed and forget any of this happened,” Thomas says quietly. “I can even make sure it’s in a house that’s not on fire.”
Around his broad shoulder, I finally get a clear look at Raleigh. She’s hovering by the car in rumpled red velour pants and a lacy camisole. Her dyed black curls are wild around her face and shoulders. She could be fresh out of bed or ready for a Victoria’s Secret photoshoot, as usual, except for the smudges of soot on her face and hands. She looks as dazed as I feel. When our eyes meet, she seems to come back to herself.
“Tommy, it’s Clara,” she says, her voice as ravaged as mine. “Remember? Clara…” She licks her full lips. “Speare.”
Thomas’s hand clenches on my arm, almost hard enough to hurt. It’s his only reaction; his expressionless mouth doesn’t even twitch.
“Clara,” he repeats, voice cool, “Speare.”
His hand uncurls from my arm, and he tucks it smoothly into the pocket of his suit pants. He doesn’t step away, but there’s suddenly a space between us, like he’s a snake coiling in preparation for a strike. His eyes scan the other people on the scene- the firefighters dousing the house with water, the paramedics hanging respectfully back- and apparently spies no threat. Aside from me.
“Get in the car,” he says. “Both of you.”
Raleigh’s mouth flies open. “But-”
“You’d rather practice your damsel in distress act at the hospital and get some paramedics to drive you back to the estate?” Thomas cuts in, and she snaps her mouth shut, flushing. I remember her propensity for flirting when we were younger and feel embarrassed for her. Some things haven’t changed much.
Other things, I think, as Thomas turns back to face me, have changed completely.
I swallow, trying to wet my throat enough to be able to speak. “Th-Thank you for pulling me out,” I say. “You saved my-”
“If I’d known who you were, I wouldn’t have bothered,” Thomas says without apology. “Now. Get. In. The-”
Another black car pulls up to the curb and jerks to a stop, the squeal of its wheels cutting Thomas off. An impossibly tall woman in a crisp button-up and black pencil skirt steps out. Her bleached white hair is pulled into a stylish bun, and her maroon lips purse at the scene. She looks like she belongs on some runway, or at a CEO’s desk, with her sleek fashion sense, dagger-sharp cheekbones, and perfect brown skin. But aside from Thomas, she’s the most dangerous person here.
Iris Agostinelli was the second in command of the Warwick family long before Thomas became the boss, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she outlives us by decades.
Her dark eyes take in the entire scene with a single shrewd flick. Unlike Thomas, she recognizes me instantly, and her eyebrows fly up her forehead.
“What are you doing here?” she asks sharply.
Thomas’s expression doesn’t change at the interruption. “That’s a question I keep asking and not getting an answer to,” he says pointedly. “Iris, take Raleigh to the estate and make sure she gets a proper check-up. I will follow with Miss Speare.”
