“Thanks. For everything.”
I shoot him a genuine smile, then turn and hurry toward the front door before I do something even more awkward, like try to hug him goodbye or something. Duke’s a good guy, and those seem to be in dangerously short supply sometimes.
When I step outside, both Ryland and Theo are watching me from the car. I slide back into the front passenger seat, and Theo tilts his head a little, examining my expression. “How’d it go?”
“Fine.” I make a face. “Or as well as it could. He was understanding, considering he doesn’t really get any of this.”
“Well, the good news is, I don’t have to ask if you’re free on Saturday night,” he says.
My brows furrow. “Why? What’s happening Saturday night?”
“Luca D’Addario is throwing a party.”
Chapter 12
Crying.
Someone is crying.
I’m in a big, empty room. Shadowy figures move around me, but none of the shapes have enough form to be recognizable. I’m alone, but not alone.
Invisible, maybe.
My fingers tighten around the stuffed elephant in my hands, gripping its large ears. The stuffed animal’s fur is dingy and it’s missing an eye, but I cling to it like it’s valuable anyway.
It is.
To me.
To him.
He’ll want it back.
The crying gets louder, so loud that it makes my skin prickle and my heart race. I look around at the shadowed, formless figures around me, wondering why none of them are doing anything. They’re the ones who can. They’re the ones who have the power to fix this.
But they make no move, and the crying continues. It goes on and on—until suddenly, it stops. And I realize with a flash of dread that that’s worse.
Because that means he’s gone.
I clutch the little elephant, holding it tight to my chest.
It’s all I have left.
* * *
I jolt awake, my heart racing as half-remembered images flit through my mind.
Fuck.
With a low groan, I roll over onto my side, curling up into a ball. Despite the fact that things are changing between all of us, I haven’t had the guts to beg Theo to sleep in the guest room with me again—or to crawl into bed with him in his room. And right now, I really fucking wish I had.
I pull the blankets higher, tugging them up until they’re all the way over my head. Darkness envelops me, and I blink into it, trying to calm my racing pulse.
For the past several nights, I’ve had new, strange dreams instead of the usual fragmented memories of the night I was shot.
I don’t like it. The new dreams don’t make any sense. There’s nothing outwardly all that upsetting about them, but I always wake up in a cold sweat or on the verge of tears without knowing why.
And I also don’t like that Marcus has stopped appearing in my dreams. I don’t believe in signs from the universe, and I remind myself of that frequently, but his disappearance from my dreams worries me in a weird way. As if his energy has ceased to exist.
That’s bullshit, Ayla. I clench my teeth, mentally chastising myself. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just your mind dealing with trauma.
I lie in bed for a while longer, distracting myself from the lingering terror of the dream by going over my mental roster of players in the game. I’ll be meeting most of them for the first time tonight, at Luca D’Addario’s party, and I want to be ready.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this. According to the guys, he throws a party about once or twice a year, often falling within a month or less of the most recent bloodshed. It’s a chance for people to realign themselves as the fallout from the period of violence settles, and a chance for Luca to evaluate his chosen competitors.
Everyone involved in the game will be there, as well as other wealthy or connected members of the Halston elite.
I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it, to be honest.
On the one hand, it could give the guys and me a chance to start maneuvering for power—we’ve decided to go after Adrian first since he seems the least connected to other players, which makes him the most vulnerable.
But on the other hand, despite Theo’s insistence that I’ve got a knack for this kind of thing, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at playing the political games.
I’m used to saying what I mean, if I say anything at all, and the idea of having to cover ugly truths with pretty lies like these people all do sets my teeth on edge.
Will Marcus’s parents be there? If I meet them, will I be able to keep my mouth shut? There’s a lot I want to say to both of them, and none of it is good.
My mind starts to wander as my head clears, the dream dissipating into nothingness. I doze in bed for a while longer before getting up. In the early afternoon, Ryland takes me to get a dress. Unlike the clothes that just showed up in the guest room closet for me, they want me to pick this one out myself.
He takes me to an expensive as fuck boutique in downtown Halston, and intimidates the fuck out of the saleswoman as he waits for me with folded arms, his expression impassive. Or at least, it’s impassive until I step out of the dressing room. Then hunger infuses his features, the heat between us flaring so strongly that the saleswoman flushes and stammers some excuse before making herself scarce.
Ryland strides forward to meet me, reaching out to run his knuckles along my bare arm and leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. The dress is a backless design, made of a deep royal blue fabric. It hugs my breasts and waist before trailing softly down to the floor, just hinting at the shape of my legs beneath. It’s sexy but understated, and its thin
