Page 16 of They Will Burn

“Fuck.” Kaos shoves his own chair back and begins pacing the way the others were just moments ago. We’re all restless, but with each passing day that she’s not here with us, it gets worse.

“Do you think she’s going to admit that to him?” I ask, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

“I can’t see Camilla talking to him at all if she can help it, let alone admitting she fucked Bishop,” Kovu replies, and I force some of the tension from my shoulders.

“What if he has a doctor check, though?” Bishop asks. “It was easy enough for Rogers to find out she was untouched to begin with, and I wasn’t exactly gentle.” He rubs a hand over the back of his head like he’s embarrassed, which is weird because we’ve shared a lot of women, and I’ve never seen him give a fuck.

“The evidence would still be there,” Kaos confirms, and I lean back in my chair.

“Your timing was impeccable, Bish.” Kovu pats him on the back before resuming his restless pacing up and down the room. If he’s not careful, he’s going to wear a hole in my fucking carpet.

“Okay, let’s assume he’s not going to go to that length and that he doesn’t know she’s no longer a virgin. I can only assume he’s going to keep it until the wedding night, which we are not going to allow to come to pass.”

“What’s our plan then?” Kovu asks.

“We’re going to this bachelor party. He’s the only one that will know he didn’t invite us. Two of us will go to Sally’s, and the other two will stake out the penthouse, see if you can find a way in.”

“And if we can’t get her out tonight?” Bishop asks.

“Then we go in guns blazing. I don’t give a fuck if we have to burn the fucking building to the ground, Camilla is not marrying that asshole.”

What I leave out is that the only people she’ll be saying vows to are the four of us.

If she ever forgives us for the part we’ve played in all this.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CAMILLA

Istare at the midnight blue dress laid out in the middle of the bed.

Dress is probably a generous word for the scrap of fabric given the plunging neckline and the slits up both thighs that I’m pretty sure will make any underwear I wear visible.

Fantastic.

Just when things were already going so well for me, I got this extra gift from the universe.

I glance into the corner of the room where I found the camera the first night I was here, not that they did a very good job of concealing it. Except this one brings me none of the comfort the one at the complex did. I kind of liked knowing they were always keeping an eye on me, even if it was originally because they thought I was going to cause problems for them.

I sigh and start going through the motions of getting ready.

I find makeup on the bench in the bathroom and let out a steadying breath when I realize it’s all the stuff I used to use at home. But then I guess Charles was probably preparing for my arrival the day I ran. My father likely gave him a list of all the things I would need to settle into my new environment.

After six weeks of wearing nothing other than some lip balm each day, it’s weird going through my old routine, and when I’m finished and stare at the woman looking back at me in the mirror, I barely recognize her.

Staring back at me is the cold mafia princess I built myself up to be. No feelings. No emotions. No attachments. The dark cat eye I’ve sculpted is like the ones I used to wear almost daily, but now that I know what it’s like to care for others, I find it no longer feels natural, no longer feels like me, even if I need to be her tonight more than I ever have before.

I style my dark hair in big bouncy curls, and with one final look in the mirror, I move back toward the bed where the dress is mocking me.

Truthfully, I don’t hate it. Not half as much as I should. But the idea of wearing it for anyone other than the men of the Legion makes my fucking skin crawl.

Without allowing myself to dwell on it any longer, I change and slide a pair of shiny black pumps onto my feet just in time for the door to swing open.

I take a step back as if it will do anything to protect myself, but stop in my tracks when I see it isn’t Charles coming through the door, but someone I don’t recognize.

“Who are you?” I ask, forcing an edge of fear into my voice. It’s better they think I’m afraid of them because when it comes time for me to escape, they won’t see it coming.

“I’ve come to meet Charles’s bride.” The man’s deep brown eyes peruse my body shamelessly, and I fight the urge to cover myself. But if this is what my night is going to look like, I may as well get used to it now. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you.”

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