I sit beside him in the backseat of the SUV, my legs casually crossed at the ankles, pretending not to notice the way the air around Thane is practically vibrating with repressed violence. His jaw ticks as his eyes are laser–focused out the window like he’s trying to incinerate the skyline by sheer will.
He hasn’t said a word in three minutes. Which, by his standards, is a monologue.
“You going to kill anyone before or after the champagne toast?” I ask, my tone light. Always light with him. It’s the only thing that doesn’t ricochet straight into a wall.
He doesn’t answer me, but his eye twitches. Progress.
Today has been…interesting.
Harley let me drag her to a spa, which was a small miracle in and of itself, considering she looked like she’d rather chew glass than accept help. She rolled her eyes through half the treatments and complained during the other half, but she needed it. Desperately. And she ended up looking like a goddess when they finished with her.
Not that Thane knows that. Yet.
The suit he’s wearing is basically a warning label. It has sharp lines and is as black as wrath. His crimson cufflinks could be used to take a man out with. He’s not dressed to impress. He’s dressed to control, to dominate, and to remind everyone who he is.
And it’s going to make w
what happens next all the more fun.
1 glance at him again, letting the silence stretch a beat longer, then say, “You know, I have a really good feeling about tonight.”
He finally turns to look at me, his one eyebrow arched like I’m a science experiment he forgot to blow up.
“You’re enjoying this
way too much,” he matters.
“I live for this,” I say, grinning with excitement. “Besides, I didn’t bring a date, so I have to find my entertainment somewhere.”
He looks back out the side window, but his posture is stiffer now, like he’s starting to suspect something.
Good.
I think about the look on Harley’s face when I left her outside her apartment earlier. It carried a mix of nerves and fire, sarcasm and fear. She’s not just walking into a gala tonight. She’s stepping into his world.
And she has no idea what that means yet. But she will,
And Thane? He won’t know what hit him.
I’m not saying I enjoy poking sleeping dragons, but there’s something satisfying about sitting next to one and pretending everything’s fine while the air simmers with unspoken tension.
Thane sits rigid beside me in the back of the car, looking like the dictionary definition of misery in a designer suit. His jaw is clenched so tightly it might crack any second now. His fingers twitch against his thigh, no doubt resisting the urge to tear the gala invitation into confetti. I can’t quite tell if he wants to set the entire event on fire, or himself.
Probably both
“Relax,” I say, stretching out like we’re cruising to a beach resort instead of a battlefield. “It’s thirty minutes of fake smiles and champagne. You’ve survived worse.”
He grunts, low and dismissive, before he mutters, “I survived worse because I didn’t have to make small talk with ancient investors and pretend I’m not mentally compiling a kill list,”
Fair point. But tonight isn’t just about schmoozing immortals with egus the size of entire continents. It’s about timing. And maybe, just maybe,
1/3
shaking something loose in the bottomless black hole he calls a heart.
Mike’s backup is driving—a good kid who’s quiet and doesn’t ask questions. I’d arranged that part myself. There was no way Mike was going to drive Thane tonight. Not when he had someone way more important to deliver to the gala. And not when Thane needed to stew just a little longer. Sometimes the pot sails over for a reaumit.
He had narrowed his eyes at me, but let it go. For now, at least.
The car hums beneath us, steady and smooth, but Thane’s presence makes everything feel heavier, his silence isn’t the good kind. It’s the kind that pulses with old anger, restrained power, and a longing he refuses to name. Not out loud, and not even to himself.
Because someone has to be the voice of reason, even if I’m usually the one greasing the wheels of chaos.
I glance at him out of the comer of my eye for the umpteenth time. He looks like a man who’s been carved from thunder–sharp lines, marble- cold, with eyes like a gathering storm. And underneath all of it? That relentless ache he can’t get rid of
fade.
And deep down, some part of him already knows it.
I lean back against the leather seal, tipping my head toward the window but keeping my focus on him. He doesn’t move and doesn’t speak. But 1 can feel the burn rolling off him like smoke from a fire that’s not quite out.
Today was a long one. Not for him–for me. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Because the truth is, I like her. A lot more than I expected to.
She’s sharp, sarcastic, and undoubtedly allergic to bullshit. But she’s also real and grounded. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t take one look at Thane and sees his money, power, or title. She sees the man that he is.
He needs that more than he’ll ever admit.
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