Page 26 of The Beast

Chapter Nine

The Obsidian looks different in the daylight. Still stately, but the magical beauty of the old building is less in sunlight. As if it needs stars and moonbeams to come into its own.

And not a single thing about it suggests underground fight clubs tucked in near the city’s bustling boardwalk.

Then again, it doesn’t have a Billionaire Back From The Dead vibe either.

“You’re sure that’s it?” Harper asks, eyeing the doorman in his crisp uniform from our vantage point across the street.

“Yeah, but yesterday we entered through a service door. Gabe used a key card.”

Harper nods. “Okay, so we go in through the front and chat up the desk clerk.”

“And hope they’ll give us directions to the secret underground lair of my presumed-dead ex-boyfriend, who thinks I tried to kill him. Perfect plan. Easy-peasy.”

Harper snorts. “When you put it that way…”

We glance at each other, then cross the street and walk through the front doors like we own the place. It’s a trick Harper taught me years ago—confidence gets you past more security than any keycard.

The lobby is all marble and crystal chandeliers, hushed and refined like the businesspeople dotting the leather chairs. A concierge looks up as we pass, but we’re dressed well enough that she just nods as we head to the front desk. “Hi there,” Harper says to the clerk. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for Gabriel Grimm.”

The woman’s expression flickers—just for a second, but I catch it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know that name.”

Harper leans on the desk, her I’m serious now expression pasted on her face. “You need to tell him that Harper Lang is here. He’ll be irritated if you don’t.”

A long pause, then the clerk picks up her phone, turns away, and murmurs something too quiet to hear.

I’ve counted to thirteen when she turns back to us with a carefully neutral expression.

“Someone will be with you shortly. If you’d like to wait in the lounge?”

Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long.

The woman who comes for us is about my age, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and the kind of effortless beauty that makes you want to hate her on principle. She wears a necklace with a stunning crystal pendant, and I notice her slip a pack of Tarot cards into her jacket pocket.

She moves through the lobby like she owns it—which, given the way the staff defers to her, she might.

“Harper Lang?” Her voice is warm but guarded. “I’m Anissa Graves. I manage the hotel.”

“And you know Gabriel,” Harper says. Not a question.

Something shifts in Anissa’s expression. “I’m terribly sorry to break sad news, but Gabriel Grimm died five years ago.”

Harper’s been running this show, but now she looks at me, as if she’s curious what I’m going to say.

I shoot a quick glance at Harper, then shrug. “They’re friends,” I say. “And we know Gabe’s alive.”

I watch Anissa’s face, but her expression reveals nothing.

“I want to see him,” Harper says. “I spent five years thinking he was dead. And because—” Harper’s voice wavers, just slightly. “Because he’s family. And I need to see him.”

Anissa studies her for a long moment. Then her gaze shifts to me.

“You’re Isabella Hart.”

It’s not a question. And from the cool assessment in her eyes, I can tell she knows exactly what Gabriel believes about me.