Page 10 of The King of Hearts

When Dad first informed me he was putting a man on me at all times, my initial instinct was to balk at the idea. But considering what happened all of those years ago and what was currently happening at the time, I didn’t argue. I get his and my brothers’ need to be extra protective—they’re the same with Mom—and I appreciated the extra sense of security.

I’ve long since come to appreciate Marcelo’s presence and oftentimes find comfort in it.

From out of nowhere, a prickle of awareness hits the back of my neck. It’s so strong that the hairs on my arms stand up straight. It feels like someone is boring their eyes into my soul.

I look around the busy coffee shop. There has to be at least fifteen people in the place, and none of them are looking in our direction. I switch my gaze to the windows, seeing people passing by through the glass. But again, I can’t locate anyone who looks out of place.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt this intense feeling of being watched. I’ve actually grown used to the sensation because I’ve felt it for over four years now. But about two years ago, it changed. Before then, the eerie feeling was dark, sinister, filled with violence and malicious intent. And then suddenly, it stopped. For several weeks, that odd feeling was gone.

When it came back, it was different. I didn’t have the urge to run and hide myself away. It didn’t scare me to the point of never wanting to leave my house. The new sensation almost felt… comforting. No, that isn’t the right word. How could a personfind comfort knowing that someone is watching them from the shadows, unaware if they mean them harm or not? That would be stupid, right?

The first presence I felt, I knew who they were. Or rather, I didn’t knowwhothey were, but I knew the reasonwhythey were watching me. And that reason alone scared the shit out of me.

But the new presence, I could tell, wasn’t from the same person. I felt no violent waves or cruel intentions. Oddly, I felt safe enough to be curious. A part of me, the darker side that I’ve always kept hidden from the world, was intrigued.

What did this new person want, and why were they watching me?

There must be something wired wrong in my head because what sane person wouldn’t be frightened of a mysterious stranger watching them without knowing their intentions? I should have been scared out of my mind. I should have told Dad and my brothers, but I’ve kept silent, and I don’t know why.

“Earth to Savina.” Em calling my name and her hand waving in front of my face snatches me back to the moment, and my gaze refocuses on her. “Where ya at, girl?”

“What?” My brows pinch into a frown. I lift my coffee to my lips to give myself some time to clear my thoughts.

“You looked like you were far away.”

“Oh.” I set my coffee back on the table. “I was just thinking about what dresses Adele Bastien might offer.”

Em and I don’t keep secrets from each other. It’s been that way since we first became friends. She was there when the incident happened when I was thirteen years old, and she knows I had a stalker two years ago. A stalker who suddenly stopped stalking me not long after he started. But I haven’t told her, I haven’t told anyone about the new feeling of being watched. That’s been my secret for nearly two years.

It doesn’t feel right not confiding in her. I could definitely use her advice, but I keep this secret to myself. I’m fairly sure she would slap me upside the head and call me a lunatic if she knew I haven’t told even my dad and brothers.

“You know they’ll all be divine. I’m more curious about the masks she’ll have. I’m ridiculously excited about the Sheppard’s Ball this year.”

“Me too.”

TheSheppard’s Ball happens every year, but this will be the first time we’ll be in attendance. The previous years, Em and I have been away for some reason or another. It’s a masquerade ball, named after The Sheppard House. It’s a charity event that helps fund the education of children with abusive pasts. Some of The Raven Group’s funding comes from the elusive Apollo, a ghost investor. Some comes from the many investments my father and the co-founder of the company, Declan, have made over the years, and some comes from the private security side of the company.

“I already have my mask,” I tell Em, getting back to the topic at hand.

I bought it when Mom and I were out shopping a couple of weeks ago. We were walking down Baymont Street when we came across a street vendor who sold handmade novelty items carved from wood. The mask was sitting haphazardly in a wooden bowl. The moment I saw it, I knew it was the one I wanted for the ball. When I asked the vendor about the mask, she laughed and said it belonged to her daughter, and she must have dropped it when her father came to take her for ice cream. I was surprised that such a lovely accessory was being used as a toy. The mask was made of the finest silk and lace, and the tiny black pearls were real, not painted beads, as most would think. I hated to take away a child’s trinket by asking to purchase it, but the mask was just too exquisite to pass up. To make it up tothe child, I offered the mother double what it was worth, which was an exuberant amount, especially to the woman. She gladly accepted, stating she could buy her daughter a hundred more masks.

“You should bring it with you to make sure it matches the dress you pick out,” Em says, popping the last of her muffin into her mouth.

I nod as I shift in my seat, still feeling that eerie sensation of being watched. I glance over at Marcelo to see if he notices anything unusual, but he just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as blank as it usually is.

“How’re your guests?”

Em doesn’t have a full grasp on what The Raven Group actually does. She believes my family’s company provides security to select clientele. And while that’s true, there are many more aspects she’s unaware of. Dangerous ones that no one outside of the company can know about because it will implicate them.

“About as good as can be expected.”

She knows about the woman and child and believes the woman is a client. That she was assaulted by the person she needed protection from.

“Has she spoken yet?” she asks, her brows dipping in concern. She knows not to ask too many questions, given client privileges and all that.

“No. The only time she ever talks is to her child.”

It’s been two days since they were brought in. She hasn’t said one word to any of us. Not to ask where she is or why she’s there. I know she can speak because I’ve heard her talk to her little girl, but her lips are sealed when it comes to my family or anyone else who comes to see her. You’d think she’d be concerned about her whereabouts, but I think she’s just grateful to be away from wherever she was before. She’s briefly spoken to Dr. Bale, butonly a handful of stilted words. She’s completely withdrawn into herself.

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