Page 7 of Reign

I tilt my head enough to the side without tearing my attention from my laptop. “Dr. Luke got back to you that fast?”

“He’s willing to give us his copy of the Briarcliff email list.”

I make a sound of approval, then ask offhand, “He’s a Noble, isn’t he?”

“He was, before the scandal.”

When I don’t fill the silence, he continues. “We Nobles are fine with affairs, crimes, acts of idiocy, so long as they’re done discreetly. Dr. Luke’s blowback carried too far for the Nobles to protect him any longer.”

It’s comforting that Chase doesn’t bother to hide the obvious from me anymore. “Send it to me.”

If Chase is concerned over the flatness of my tone, he doesn’t say anything. My email dings with his message, and I toggle to my inbox and copy it. “Thanks.”

Chase comes up behind me, laying his hands on my shoulders and bringing his mouth to my ear. After a light kiss, he says, “I’m only going to ask this because I feel it’s warranted. Are you sure you want to do this?”

I spin to capture his lips with mine. When I pull away from him, I stare dead-on into his eyes.

And in answer, I click send.

Chase blows air out of his mouth. “Fuck. Lady Luck be with us.”

“We don’t need luck,” I say when I stand. “All we need is desire. And I have the crushing need to fuck that woman over in spades.”

3

Chase

I leave Callie drifting between her sheets, but not before smoothing the lines of grief on her forehead until she at last fell asleep.

Dawn drifted away with her, the glaring blue of the sky taking its place as I sneak out of Thorne House and prowl into mine, taking the side stairs where security thoughtfully (and with enough bribery) turns their back until I reach my door and stalk in.

I prod a sleeping Rio with my boot, right in the ass. “Up.”

Rio twists in his bed, mumbling something close to “no, motherfucker,” before throwing his arm over his face.

As a Plan B, I rub the gray sludge of former snow from my soles onto his exposed abdomen.

He screeches, bolting upright. “The fuck, man?”

“I said up.”

“Fine. I’m up. What do you want?”

“Out.”

“Multiple syllables not your forte today, huh?”

“Last warning.”

“It’s my room!”

“And mine. Which I’m commandeering. As your prince.”

Rio stares at me a moment, the brown of his eyes resembling murky, hazy sludge, likely remnants from smoking up last night. “Pulling the Noble card on me at the ass-crack of dawn. Thanks a bunch, prince.”

I eye him as he slides out of bed, his footsteps as heavy as the headache I’m sure he’s nursing. When he scratches the top of his head, his dark hair tangled and unkempt between his fingers, I wonder if he knows.

If he participated.

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