Page 37 of Underground Prince

Dead silence passed between us. I refused to be the one to enliven it.

He loosed a breath, lowering his head. In defeat, I could only hope. But his brows shadowed his eyes when he said, “You’re either perfect for this life, or terribly wrong for it.”

Just try to resist me. His dare tickled my mind, the lightest whisper playing against my thoughts. I closed it off by righting my posture and moving forward.

Theo allowed me to pass. I would be stupid to believe otherwise.

I stalked out of the apartment, noticing Verily at the poker table as I went by, dressed in a red-and-lace something. I could only nod at her. Theo followed behind, his footfalls light despite his contained fury, and took a seat next to Kai. At Verily’s curious, concerned glance between Theo and me, I smiled to let her know everything was fine.

I made it to the elevator with strong, held-together strides. My hand didn’t tremble when I pressed the down button. My stance was calm as I waited. As soon as the doors slid open, I entered, and when they shut behind me, I fell.

Hunched over, I held back sobs, my face hidden in my hands and my chest concaving with heaves.

Control, Scarlet.

I allowed myself one more gasping lurch before I rose, brushing back my hair and wiping my cheeks. After one last swallow, I’d choked back the flood.

Theo had given me many warnings. I’d been manhandled, threatened, and seen this underground for what it was: vice. If there was any time where there was an opportunity for avoidance, now was that moment.

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and I left both it and the lobby, tying my trench coat tighter as I exited.

Theo’s gun flashed in my mind, the coolness of it encased in the warmth of his hand.

My heart pounded, trapped in its prison of bones and blood.

I couldn’t turn back.

12

OVER THE RAINBOW

The best thing to do when faced with uncertainty was to turn it into smoke and hide it behind mirrors, like one’s very own deceptive circus.

My convenient Fun House presented itself the next morning, in the form of Verily’s hair.

I was waiting on the couch when she stepped out of the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel, tendrils of steam evaporating behind her.

“You’re up,” Verily said. “And creepy. How long have you been sitting there?”

I squinted at our kitchen clock, a little pale blue vintage thing propped on our counter that couldn’t be read without vision.

“It’s seven,” Verily supplied. “Plenty of time to be ready for nine.”

She pushed my shoulder affectionately as she passed. “Can you move your tush to my room before you get ready for your shift? I want to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” I asked, distracted as I noticed the accoutrements strewn all over the vanity counter of the bathroom. I decided to investigate. “Did you redo your hair?”

“Yeah!” she called from her bedroom. “Wait’ll you see it!”

I picked up an empty box with a model displayed on the front with electric blue hair. A second one, also empty, showed goth black. The third had the vibrant, vampire red that she’d been sporting.

“What’d you do with all this?” I asked, but her blow dryer drowned out my question. I scrunched my nose at the scent of bleach.

I stared at myself in the mirror, then held a piece of my hair in front of my face for closer inspection. It was limp, dry straw. I’d bleached it blonde for a transformation, and back then I thought the pale, almost colorless hue would be a dramatic, all-encompassing conversion from who I used to be.

Standing here in the bathroom, my hair so long it clung to my chest, it wasn’t.

“Vare?” I called as I threw the empty dye boxes in the trash. “Vare?” I tried again.

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