Page 40 of King of Envy

Find me before they do.

It’d been a week since I chased down Blue Cap. His background check turned out to be as dull as his wits; he really was just an unfortunate soul the mystery Brother had picked out to do his dirty work.

If the Brother wanted me to find him, he would’ve left a clue. A search of the abandoned auto repair shops in and around the city had yielded nothing. If he was moonlighting as an actual mechanic, that broadened our search radius by miles.

I turned over the details of the situation in my head.

The facts: The man from the photo was a member of the Brotherhood, he was still in New York, and instead of hiding, he wanted to get my attention. He should know I wouldn’t let the Vault’s fire slide, so his motive for doing so had to outweigh his desire to live.

The unknowns: The reason for the Brotherhood’s sudden interest in me again, whether the mystery Brother was acting on his own or with the leadership’s approval, why he didn’t seek me out himself, and who “they” were. It could be the Brotherhood; it could be someone else.

There were far too many unknowns for my comfort.

As if shit wasn’t complicated enough, I also had to deal with work, the wedding, and my hunch about Beaumont while Sean investigated Blue Cap’s motor oil clue.

I blinked away the mental image of the note and refocused on my computer screen. It was playing a video of Stella Alonso’s latest runway show. I’d already watched it, but I liked having it on while I worked.

New York Fashion Week had just ended, and while I would never attend the shows in person, I kept up with select ones online.

Stella, Delamonte, Prada, Saint Laurent, Dior. They all had one thing in common.

The music’s bass dropped, and my pulse tripped in anticipation.

A second later, Ayana appeared on the runway in an ethereal lavender dress. Her skin glowed effortlessly beneath the lights, and loose curls peeked out from an ornate headpiece. The headpiece shadowed half her face, but I’d watched her walk enough times to recognize her distinctive strut.

The Ayana Kidane on the catwalk was a different person from the one who’d invited me for coffee and teased me about bingo. Her persona morphed with every show, oscillating from playful and flirty to haughty and regal. A goddess to suit every mood.

But no matter what role she slipped into, onstage or offstage, she maintained a spark that was entirely her own. It was that spark that kept me coming back over and over again.

Waiting. Watching.Obsessing.

The video ended. I contemplated replaying it for a third time, but a new text interrupted me first.

Jordan

Checking in on the bachelor party prep

Jordan

We good to go? Let me know if I need to do anything

Reality ground my momentary pleasure into dust. The bachelor party was this weekend, a fact I’d tried to forget even as I confirmed the plan with other attendees.

No. Everything’s set

Jordan

Are you sure? Because you’ve never planned a party before

Jordan

Minus the Great Halloween Incident our junior year

I scowled. Jordan was the only person who could’ve convinced me to throw that disastrous party in college. He was always encouraging me to “loosen up and have fun.” I’d finally caved to his incessant pleas, and look what that’d gotten us—a formal disciplinary hearing with the school, a permanent ban from the local supermarket, and two hundred rolls of toilet paper that we couldn’t give away fast enough.

Had it been fun? Sort of, while it lasted.

Had I loosened up? No.

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