Page 123 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Thorn moves forward and scoops up Violet, cradling her close…and well away from Angela. Who just smirks and taps the folder. “The Lyons know they’re losing control.”

I feel a blip of victory. All this work that everyone’s been doing, all this time they’ve been putting in finally means something.

“Why does it feel like there’s a but coming?” Thorn asks.

The words settle heavily on my chest.

Angela meets his gaze. “Because there is.” She slowly turns toward me. “Brace yourself,” she says, almost gently.

As though she’s trying to protect me from what’s inside that folder.

“They’re going public,” she says. “And they’re going to drag every dirty secret they can find into the light.” A pause. “Including the ones you most want to hide.” She flips open the folder.

Thorn jerks then goes completely still.

I slip my hand into his, hold tight, but I don’t look. Not yet.

Angela’s eyes flick to our interlaced fingers, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she’s back to placid, calm, unfeeling as she sets a hard drive beside the folder. “If you don’t do what they want, they’ll release it all.”

The warning hangs heavily between us as Angela moves to the elevator, as she disappears from our lives again.

I take a breath, brace, and…look down.

The pictures?—

God, they’re horrible.

Thorn stares off into the distance, his jaw clenched, the memories riding him hard as I retrieve my phone, as I call Pascal, as everyone assembles here at the apartment to review the latest bomb Angela’s dropped.

But the video of him and Claudette is even worse.

He’s not the only target—Brooks and Briar, Chrissy and Jean-Michel, Tiff and Jace and Marie, even Rory, King, and Rome aren’t unscathed. Though, aside from the files chronicling Brooks’s father’s illegal activities and those awful pictures and videos, none of the other material is true.

It’s the perfect con.

A mix of truth and lies so that any denial will ring false.

And apparently, we’re running out of time until it all comes out.

Until the world learns secrets that should have stayed buried.

Until Thorn’s worst fear is exposed.

“What are we going to do?” Chrissy asks, tears streaming down her cheeks. “The rescue. The charities. All of your guys’ businesses. Even the Eagles. And Thorn—” A sob hitches through her chest and she drops her face into her hands. “God, I’m so sorry my mother is part of this.”

Thorn finally moves from where he’s spent the last hour staring out the window.

But he doesn’t come to me.

He moves to Chrissy, takes her hands in his. “None of this is your fault. None,” he repeats when she starts to protest. “This is my childhood, my father, the fucked-up situation I grew up in. This is bad people doing bad things and not giving a damn who they hurt along the way. And this…” He takes a breath and makes me so damned proud by saying, “And this is us standing in defiance of their violence and cruelty by living long, beautiful lives.”

“That all sounds well and good, but it doesn’t answer the question.” She sighs heavily, wipes away her tears. “What are we going to do?”

He finally looks over at me, his eyes locking onto mine.

Then—somehow—he smiles and says, his words for the room, but mostly for me,

“We’re going to fight, little hen.”