Page 74 of Not All Himbos Wear Capes
“Hey, hey,” I soothed, gathering him close and petting his soft blond hair. “You could never mess this up. I told you. You’ll always be mine, no matter what.”
A sigh escaped Butch as his enormous muscular body collapsed against mine, bathing me in that calming scent of his—although it barely calmed me now. “Say it again,” he whispered, desperately.
“You’re mine,” I growled, feeling a ripple of power vibrate in the enclosed space, causing Biggs’ driver to turn and eye us warily. “Always.”
The elevator dinged at the top floor and we separated, even though no longer touching Butch made my fingers twitch. This time, our third wheel gave us a wide berth as he led the way. The unnecessarily long hallway was lit by widely spaced wall sconces—for maximum dramatic effect—and led to enormous mahogany doors at the far end. The driver opened the doors and ushered us inside, before hurriedly backing out of the room and sealing us in.
Guess we creeped the creep out.
Good.
“Ah, Butch, thank you for coming!” Solomon Biggs rose from behind his massive steel desk, beaming as if we’d willingly arrived instead of being forcibly summoned. He looked exactly as he always did on TV—with cold gray eyes and perfectly styled white hair in a monochromatic contest to his patriotic blue suit and red tie.
His fake smile disappeared as he spotted me. “Is this the individual who threatened Tobias Johnson?”
Normies aged worse than supes, so although he was only a decade older than my parents, the deep frown lines on his face displayed the wear and tear that came along with being a complete and utter douchebag.
Before I could cut in, Butch straightened. “It wasn’t unprovoked, boss. You know how Tobias speaks to me.”
Biggs cocked his head, confused. “How elseshouldhe speak to you, Butch? You work for him.”
This clown.
“I work for Biggs Enterprises. For the city,” Butch calmly recited, his eyes cautiously flickering to a seating area to our left. I followed his gaze and was startled to see an older man seated on a leather Eames chair, impassively observing the scene.
How did I not notice him sitting there?
Icy-blue eyes took in every detail, his expression blank, but the slight tick to his jaw betrayed his displeasure. This may not have been his office, but his presence commanded the room—sucking the air out of my lungs until I found it hard to breathe.
“That’s correct, Butch.” The mystery man gracefully stood and glided over, as if carried by the wind itself. “Your every move should be in service to this city, and your every decision reflects on all of us. Do you believe your reckless actions today were an accurate representation of the city you supposedly love? That the…companyyou’ve been keeping lately,”—his gaze raked over me and found me lacking—“is in line with the way you were raised?”
What the fuck kind of cult is this?
“He has a name,” Butch’s voice faltered, even as he defended me. “This is—”
“XanderMarin.Yes, I know.” That judgmental stare found me again, although this time, it was more assessing. Calculating.
My eyes narrowed on him in return, no longer able to hold my tongue. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
He tightly smiled, although nothing about the expression was friendly. “Oh, we have, but you were just a baby.” When I tensed, he chuckled. “My name is Harold Holt, and I know your parents well.”
Holt…
Butch sharply hissed, distracting me from trying to place the vaguely familiar name. When I glanced at him, he looked horrified, his gaze frantically darting between me and Harold Holt. Biggs was eyeing our exchange with a detached curiosity, but my attention was already back on the actual threat in the room.
He’d used my civilian name because of the other normies present, but he still wanted me to know that my true identity was no secret to him. This implied he was high-level, perhaps even above Solomon Biggs. If it was true that he’d been aware of my existence since I was born, then this random normie knew more about me than most did—more than anyone should.
Who the fuck is Harold Holt?
That tingling sensation raced down my fingers, only this time, it felt like it was reaching outward, like antennae testing the air.
Haroldblanched, a shocked expression passing over his face before he buried it beneath a genuine grin so wide, a dimple actually appeared on his disarmingly handsome face.
“Oh, nowthisis an interesting development,” he chortled, as if my rising anger was delightful. His gaze drifted to the others. “Butch, I’m going to borrow yourfriendso you can discuss business with Solomon.”
Butch paled, looking dangerously close to passing out. “No… please—”
Harold scoffed. “There are more important issues at hand than your misplaced attachments, but you can calm down.” He sighed heavily, annoyance and resignation lacing his tone. “I’ll do my best to return him to you in one piece.”
