Page 73 of Speak

She gives a curt nod and kisses my cheek again before releasing me. “Always, darling.”

________

An hour into Chase’s repast, I find Tyler.

I keep him in my periphery, watching when he’s politely ignored by the brotherhood, he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat on a black accent chair in the corner of the large drawing room. Not that he isn’t a member of the Syndicate. He passed his initiation twice over and it would’ve been three if Raven had died. It’s just… legacies that can’t provide heirs,naturally, aren’t at the top of the list. My parents had a son, Johnathan, then Cadence, who they almost lost during childbirth. They lost Johnathan when he was ten to childhood leukemia. They adopted me as a way to still keep their place in the Syndicate, to carry on their last name since Cadence would one day marry and change her last name. That part didn’t matter.

There are no women in the Syndicate. Only wives.

Tyler has barely changed. The famous prominent blonde hair, ocean eyes, resilient scowl, high cheekbones, and chiseled jawlines of the Prescott men is definitely strongest in Tyler. If I ever thought Chase and Riordan looked like dirty-blonde Henry Cavill’s, Tyler looks like if a young Brad Pitt and a young Leonardo DiCaprio stepped into a DNA generator and shit him out. It’s no wonder his father almost had a heart attack finding out he was gay. The genes in this man are incredible.

I find myself pouring him a neat scotch and walking over to him. I feel my cheeks flushing as I hand the glass tumbler to him. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Thanks.” He takes it from me, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, takes a sip and I watch the muscles in his jaw clench as he breathes out slowly, letting the flavors of the old scotchsettle on his tongue. Christ, no wonder Axel could fuck this guy. He justoozessex appeal and that infuriating cocky confidence that all the Prescott men seem to inherit at birth.

I stand by the window to stare at the garden of the estate, watching as the wind blows the fallen leaves of the old Hemlock trees across the gardens. I watch them tumble, over and over again, lost in the natural way of the world. Gone to decay elsewhere.

“Are you not drinking?” he asks, his voice smoother than fucking butter.

I don’t turn to look at him but I do look down at his reflection in the window. I shake my head. “No, I’ll be driving back to Rayne-Moore in a bit.”

He nods, taking another sip, the gold of his cufflinks glitter in the last of the rays of the sun setting behind the trees. I watch him check me out in the reflection over the edge of the tumbler, eyes perusing from my knees and up until they catch my eye in our reflection. His eyes seem to darken and then he swallows. A tilt of his lips, a ghost of a smirk. He runs his tongue along the seam of his lips, flicking them over a drop of scotch.

Holy shit. Is Tyler Prescott… trying to seduceme? Have the turns tabled?

I almost fucking giggle. Instead, I hike up a brow and turn to face him ever so slowly and then look at him up and down. “I should actually… get going. I’m meeting a uh,friendat Inferno before I get back to campus.” I lie.

“What a coincidence. I’m staying a De Novo.”

I rise my eyebrows again. “Yeah? Small world.”

“I could use a ride.” He says, setting the tumbler atop a wooden coaster on the glass coffee table. He looks about the room, seemingly knowing his presence won’t be missed. Much like mine.

_________

I keep conversation light, asking about his firm in Boston and his stint in London to which I reply I won’t be following in my father’s footsteps into realty, that I have goals and aspirations to be a criminal defense lawyer in New York, hopefully. To which he says he admires, that he wishes he would’ve had the balls to do the same,but after already disappointing his father once… he couldn’t imagine doing it again.

“I respect you. You worked hard to get where you are now. It’s admirable. It’s hard for men like us -Legacies, I mean.” I reply when we pull in front of De Novo’s doors. He picks up on the insinuation but I don’t lead further. I let it sit in his mind.

“Yeah, right.Legacies.” He mimics.

I gift him a side-eyed glance before the valet opens the door and he gets out of the sleek Benz I rented, and flash him a smirk. “I’ll see you around,” I wink.

Give him enough. Put the possibility in his mind…

“Would you like to come up?”

I shake my head and jerk my chin to the Inferno only half a block away. “Nah, I’m going to see afriendat Inferno for a quick-“ I let my lying lips roll inward. “Maybe I’ll see you there later?”

He nods, blue eyes dilated. “Yeah, maybe.”

I open the glove compartment, grabbing my half-face mask and holding it up so he can see the designs on it. “Legacy-type shit, right?”

“Something like that.” He closes the door and steps away onto the curb.

______

I’m sitting on an oversized brown leather chair, the one arm I have draped over the armchair holds a lit cigar, the other on my knee holds a scotch on the rocks with three small drops of GHB. I took a sip to let myself loosen up. Not enough to not pull this off. I just needed a bit of liquid courage. I left my tie and jacket in the Benz; top three buttons of my Oxford button-down unfastened, my mask sits lazily on my face, waiting.

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