Page 22 of Lords of Misrule
“It’s obviously not.” His jaw tightens, annoyed that she’s sharing her problems with me and dismissing him outright.
“Her brother. The cop’s threatening again and hassling her about the money.” I play peacemaker.
“Desperate men make threats. If he wanted to hurt him, he would have done it.” Rowan says flatly, his eyes skimming over her and landing hard on the spot where our bodies meet.
“I don’t trust him not to hurt him. I just want him back.”
“We’re working on it. You just have to be patient.”
“Like you’d be patient if it was your brother they were torturing.”
I tense a little, waiting for Rowan’s reaction. His brother wasn’t tortured exactly, but he saw horrific things happen to him before he died. Too much of his life was spent trying to run the same kind of games Rowan does and getting caught by the wrong sorts of people. Things we shouldn’t have had to see when we were kids. Things his mother should have protected them from if she hadn’t left him behind with his ailing grandparents for, what I can only assume she thought was, a better life without them.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t be. But if we aren’t patient, and we make stupid mistakes because we’re in a hurry, we won’t be able to get the paintings or the money.”
“I know. I just… wish this could all move faster.” She swipes at the tears on her cheek.
“When the professor’s gone, we’ll take them. The cop gave you six more weeks when you gave him the last payment, right?” Rowan almost gives her a look of sympathy, and now I know there’s something more there than he wants to admit.
“Yes, but we have to sell them in that time too.”
“We’ll figure it out. Between the four of us, we’ve got this,” I say to reassure her.
“And if we don’t?” She looks to Rowan because, I think as much as she wants to believe me, she still isn’t sure if she should believe him.
“We’ll make it happen.” Rowan’s eyes darken and his jaw sets. She might have her misgivings, but I don’t. Because I know him, and at this point, I think he’d do anything to make it happen just to prove to her he could.
Twelve
Hudson
The Saturnalian party has been raging all night, and I’ve made a spot for myself up on the staircase where I can watch the festivities without getting lost in them. Charlotte comes up and settles next to me on the stairs, watching the madness of the party unfold below. I shove my mask back on my head. The thing is fucking making me sweat in a house that’s already overfilled and overheated, and I can’t stand having it on for more than a few minutes at a time. The more I drink, the shorter that time gets.
Her fingers brush over my cheek, and I look over at her. A drunken smile plays at her lips, accentuating the cupid’s bow that’s already tempting as fuck to kiss. Which I can’t. Because I’ve got a fucking girl—one who won’t answer my texts but is still technically mine, and Rowan and Finn are already about to come to blows over her. Even if I was single, adding myself into that mix is a recipe for fucking disaster.
“You have pretty cheekbones,” she muses, as her fingers—cold from the drink in her hand—drift their way down my jaw and over my chin. “And this cleft. Gives you character. It’s hot.”
I smirk at her, amused at her honesty, and touched that she feels comfortable talking to me like this. We’ve settled into an easy friendship—hanging out on the couch watching TV together, having me explain hockey to her, and her occasionally beating my score playing my latest video game. Whatever her attraction is to Rowan and Finn, she wouldn’t talk to them like this—be so honest and cavalier with her thoughts. And I’ll take it, happily.
“Now I’m gonna have to journal about that, Duchess.”
Her smile falters. “Duchess? Really? It’s bad enough that they call me that. I can take care of myself.”
“Rowan never quite grew out of the schoolyard teasing. He does it because he likes you.”
“I bet.” She rolls her eyes. “And what’s your excuse?” Her eyes narrow on me.
“I like the idea of you as a Duchess.” I lift my eyebrow and smirk at her.
“Yeah. I don’t think I could fill those shoes. Too damned to be proper like that.” She tilts her drink forward shaking her head before she takes a sip.
She might not be wrong, and I’m fairly certain she’s dragging us all down with her. I watch as her eyes float to Finn. He’s on the couch with two girls draped over him, but he’s distracted, looking at his phone before his eyes search the room like he’s looking for something—someone. I glance back at Charlotte, and she’s staring down at her cup like the patterns in the ice might have answers for her.
“I just want to go to bed, which I can’t do. Unless I go to Rowan’s, and we all know I’ll probably be woken up by whatever woman he’s fucking tonight.” She glances up to frown at the couch, her eyes stuttering over the spot where Finn’s fingers play with the strap of the brunette’s dress.
“You can sleep in my bed,” I offer without thinking about how it will sound.
Her eyes snap to mine and her brow knits in confusion.
