Page 49 of Lady of Darkness
There’s a beat of silence before she continues. I know this will be therealreason she called. Since she knows about my job and the Lords–she’s the only parent who does–she often calls because she’s worried. It’s sort of funny to hear how much she berates my dead father for leaving me with such an important legacy.
“I heard about Charles. I’m so sorry to hear about his untimely death.”
Before we killed him, we all agreed that the four of us–now five–would be the only ones to know the real cause of Charles Blackwell’s demise.
“Yeah. It was quite shocking. He was so young.”
“Yes. He was.” She pauses. “I worry about you, Gideon. The stress of that job can’t be good for you, and Charles was only ten years older than you–”
“Mum, I’m fine. I promise.”
She clucks her tongue on the other end. “And who will replace him, then?”
I swallow uncomfortably. It’s one thing to plan your psychotic schemes involving an eighteen-year-old woman with the other three Lords… it’s an entirely different thing to tell your mother about it.
“Charles had a daughter, so she will be taking his place.”
“Oh?” Her voice perks up. I know exactly what she’s going to say next. “Is she pretty?”
I laugh. “She’s fucking gorgeous, Mum.”
I swear, I can hear her smiling on the other end of the line. “Well, you must bring her to visit me soon.”
“Okay, I’ll try. I have to go, Mum. Love you.”
We hang up, and I’m still smiling as I pull up to Theo’s house.
My mother and I were very close growing up. She’d left my father and moved to northern Scotland when I was a lad, so it was my father who was the default parent. Still, she came to visit often, and I went up to hers every summer. I don’t blame her for leaving him. Maxwell St. Claire was a prick, and a part of me is glad Charles killed him. Even so, he was hardly ever home. My childhood was normal. Sheltered, even. I was a happy child… until Charles showed up that day in Cross Manor.
We all rebelled in our own ways. I was studying under a blacksmith when he conscripted me, so weapons were always an interest of mine. After I joined the Lords… that interest in weapons became a lot more dangerous. I took seminars with the Russian military, spent weeks with the U.S. Army, and learned all I could from the top weapons specialists in the world.
I pull my knife out of my pocket. It’s a butterfly knife–a type of folding pocketknife that originated in the Philippines. It has two handles that counter-rotate around the blade in a way that, when closed, the blade is concealed. A small latch holds the handles together, and mine is nearly worn down from overuse.
I made my very first kill with this knife, and I intend to make my last with it, too.
I carry it as a way out–a scapegoat if things should go wrong. I know my veins and arteries, and I know how to nick them just so for the least amount of pain.
Hopefully, it will never come to that.
I hop out of the car and grab my things, looking up at Wolf Manor for a few seconds before I pocket my knife and walk inside.
CHAPTERTWENTY
Harlow
“Seriously?My breasts are going to spill out of this thing,” I groan, looking at myself in the wardrobe mirror in Theo’s room. The guys are all dressed. They’re just waiting on me now. Our car will be arriving in ten minutes for dinner in London with Acadia.
“We had a deal,” Sterling says, standing behind me. His fingers graze my straps, and the reflection of his eyes bore into mine. The other three guys are sitting on Theo’s bed several feet away. “You could wear your boots, but you had to wear the dress I picked out. Weren’t those the terms you laid out for us that very first night?”
I frown. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the dress. But I’m going to flash someone if I move.”
It’s true–the dress is incredible, as are the professional stylists that Theo called in. They didn’t do as much as the first night. In fact, my hair is hanging down in loose waves, and my makeup is minimal–save for the dark red lipstick they applied. And the dress? It’s truly gorgeous. Long, black, and glittering, the sleeves are sheer and the bodice is fitted. It loosens around my hips and cascades over my body like a pool of black, inky water. But the cut? It’s so deep, the V is nearly to my belly button.
“I also think my hair should be up,” I murmur, angling my head to the right and then the left. “What do you think?” I ask Sterling.
“Mmm,” he says, his front brushing up against my back as he runs his hands through my hair. His fingers are warm, and I groan when he begins tugging it around.
“What are you doing?” I ask, nearly breathless with pleasure.
