Page 14 of Carry Your Debt

How he can always manage to completely switch off without so much as a sleep aid, I’ll never know.

Knox, however, is as far from sleep as you can get. He abruptly launches to his feet before sitting straight back down again, large hands clenching atop his thighs in distress. Thedark, shaggy mop that normally crowns his head has been carefully tamed into a short tail at his nape, and—like the other two men—both he and Foster are wearing tuxedos designed to compliment the deep, inky blues of my dress.

All part of Sebastian’s game of control, I’m sure.

My gaze flicks from our unsettled Second Enforcer and over to our introverted Security Officer. Foster’s auburn locks are neatly parted to one side, and his sharp cheekbones look remarkably pale. Even after hours together, I’m still a little taken aback to see the pair of black frames perched on his narrow face. Typically, he hates needing glasses, opting only to wear them when he has to spend hours staring at his monitors.

“You alright?” I mouth as soon as his red-rimmed gaze flicks to mine. He doesn’t answer, but he does grant me a small nod. For just a split second, I swear his eyes slide over my chest before darting back up to the small window at his left.

That’s fucking weird, even for Foster.

But further introspection of my Crew mate’s oddball behavior is interrupted by the stern figure of Zeus striding his way back down the narrow aisle.

His shoulders are straight, ticking jawline now set in place.

“Wheels up in five.”

Oh shit.

He’s in battle mode.

Looks like it’s finally time to get this shitshow on the road.

The momentthe town car pulls up to the mysterious final location—sent via a second encrypted message after entering Themis—is the moment the rest of my Crew collectively begins to lose their shit. My poker face, on the other hand, hashundreds of practice hours logged, and it slips into place as soon as my heeled toe hits the roped-lined entranceway.

Of course, I don’t manage so much as a step forward before both Enforcers are up and out of the vehicle and crowding my back.I don’t know why they bother; no paparazzi will be greeting our arrival on this red carpet.

Zeus places a firm hand on my hip, and as they begin escorting me up the guided walkway, I swear I can almosthearthe internal crises he and Knox are sharing as they unfold in real time.

Foster’s glasses fog as he takes in the building before us and his breathing speeds up.

Dionysus, undeterred by this latest curveball, is instead in his fucking element. “Lady and gents, get ready becauseshit.Is.About. To. Go.Dooown,” he trumpets, head tipped back and palms cupped around his mouth like some kind of deranged sportscaster.

Luckily for me, the single saving grace of this accursed gown is that the bodice’s design doesn’t impede the movement of my arms at all. “Babe,” D manages to wheeze out when I land a nice jab to the idiot’s ribs. He should know better than to stand so close behind me when my elbows are almost sharp enough to qualify for concealed carry permits.

“Keep it down,jackass,” I mutter back, though my focus remains locked on the imposing colonial brick monolith now rising before us.

Unfortunately, he’s not wrong. Shitisabout to go down.

Because as it turns out, tonight’s event is not only being hostedbythe Red Court—it’s being hostedatthe Red Court.

“Masks on,” Zeus instructs in a perilous tone, and the stark reminder that we’re all about to step into a building teeming with hundreds of Underworld VIPs is more than enough to sober up the entire group, including our resident lord of misrule.

I comply, ready to head toward the main doors, when long fingers reach out to snag my wrist. Crystal blue eyes flash darkly from behind the feathered disguise now covering the upper portion of Zeus’s handsome face. He leans in, warm lips brushing the shell of my ear before delivering a heated, “Be good.”

The murmured warning sends a lick of arousal down my spine, each hair on the nape of my neck flaring in response.

God. Damn.

I have to tilt my chin away from him, battling against the pleased smirk that’s threatening to take over my mouth.

Was I completely off in my assessment earlier? Was last nightnota one-and-done for him, after all?

Wait, no.Fuck.

Thisis precisely why I don’t do the whole dating thing. I never have to worry about this sort of confusing song and dance when I’m the one who's calling all the shots.

Sadly, the bratty scowl I shoot back at him is wasted, hidden by my own matching half-mask. Regardless, the rebellious intent must still be perfectly evident because he nudges me firmly up the front steps.

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