Page 9 of Twilight Mask

“What about Julien?”

“Fuck that French dickhead.”

“Seriously, Ronan.”

“He’ll join, don’t worry.” He grins and kicks his bike to life. The engine roars and sputters. “But I say we’re better off without the cowardly cocksucker.”

“You’re not very helpful,” I call after him as he backs out. He gives me a laugh and a middle finger, and his bike barks a loud grunt as he pulls away and disappears into the night.

I wait next to the front door for a while. I should be thinking more about what Ronan said and about how I’m going to make this alliance thing a reality, except my mind is very much elsewhere. It’s on the mask in the back seat of my BMW, the lacquered black-and-gold Jackal face, and what I’m going to do tonight.

I spent that meal denouncing the Bianco family, and I meant every word of it. They killed Luciano, my mentor, a man who was like a second father to me, and made my best friend an orphan. They treated him like a dog, all because of mistakes he made long in the past. I hate them, the vindictive bastards.

And yet all I want to do is go spend the night with one of their core members.

Laura’s not really part of the organization. I mean, she’s the original Don Bianco’s youngest daughter, and now the youngest sister of their current leader, but I’ve never really heard much about her in all the years I’ve been watching their family. Luciano once said she’s the oddest of the bunch, and that she’s not much of a threat, and maybe I can see why. She’s barely a Bianco at all.

Or maybe I’m just rationalizing a fucked-up decision.

If anyone in that room knew I was going to meet with her, they’d kill me.

Even Ronan, a man I’d consider a friend, and he wouldn’t even hesitate.

It’s the ultimate betrayal. And yet I can’t stop myself.

I’m the Jackal and she’s my little demon girl, and I want to play another game, even if it costs me everything.

Chapter 5

Laura

Idon’t even know why I bother getting dressed.

This isn’t going to happen.

There’s no way Jackal is going to get past Angelo’s security. The second he’s in that building without authorization, they’ll nab him and toss him out on his ass.

And even if he does reach the interior without any problems, he can’t make it up to the roof. And if he does manage to get that far?—

There will be security footage of him.

Because there’s no way in hell they’d let a massive, muscular man wander around Cage wearing a mask.

Which means even if he does get that far, I’ll be able to figure out who he is.

I stand in front of a full-length mirror. It’s eleven at night, an hour before our meeting. I’m wearing a pink, scoop-neck crop top, no bra, and a high-waisted skirt. My breasts are relatively small, though my nipples are hard and show through the thin cotton material. The skirt is tight and hugs my hips and cups my ass, and I can’t decide if I want to wear hoops or studs in my ears. I keep going back and forth, even though I know it doesn’t really matter. I brush back my shoulder-length hair, debating whether I want it up or down, and realize this is all so stupid.

Jackal isn’t going to be there. It just isn’t possible.

Unless he’s a member of Cage already. Then all he has to do is bring his mask, sneak up to the roof, and put it on.

If that’s the case, the security camera footage will catch him.

But is that something I really want?

I shiver and close my eyes. Do I actually want to figure out who he is, or would I rather not know? I feel so vulnerable and naked with him knowing my identity, but that’s also part of the excitement.

It’s like that night when I hung out over the city. I put my life in his hands—and that trust was rewarded.

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