Page 156 of Without a Trace
“Oh, honey,” she purred. “I don’t need to. The entire fucking island felt it.”
Alden pulled out my chair before I could respond. I sat slow, spine straight, head high.
Trace hadn’t looked at me once. Which meant he was either furious—or unraveling.
“Glad to see you’re still as subtle as ever,” I said to Brielle, pouring myself another drink.
“Just keeping score,” she said lightly, swirling her wine. “Though I have to admit… you’re turning out to be more interesting than I expected.”
I took a sip, eyes narrowing. “Careful. You’re starting to sound obsessed.”
That got a quiet cough from Rhett—possibly a laugh he disguised as choking.
“I’m still waiting,” I said, turning toward him. “Unless that was the full story. Secret prophecies. Glowing tattoos. Sex bonds. Did I miss anything?”
Zeke leaned forward, arms on the table. “The Order isn’t happy.”
“Shocking.”
“They didn’t know you’d bond. No one did.”
I looked around the table. “Then maybe they should’ve stopped watching and started talking.”
Brielle raised her glass. “To secrets.”
I clinked mine back harder than necessary. “To power.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
And neither did mine.
Trace
Scarlett angled toward Brielle, her knee brushing Alden’s beneath the table. Her posture was relaxed—too relaxed. One arm draped over the back of Alden’s chair, the other wrapped around her wine glass. Regal. Reckless. Glowing with the kind of confidence that made everyone forget she’d shattered just hours ago.
“So,” she said smoothly, “you still haven’t answered my question.”
Brielle tilted her head, red-painted mouth curled in amusement. “Which one, sweetheart? You ask a lot.”
She always had. Even back then. Bold questions. No filter. No fear. The kind of girl who didn’t just walk into a room—she cracked it open.
Scarlett’s smirk sharpened. “How you found us. Or maybe how long you’ve been slithering around the Order, pretending you don’t have your own agenda.”
Alden shifted, just slightly—elbow brushing hers in silent warning.
Zeke stayed quiet, but his eyes flicked toward Brielle with a shadow that said he already had theories. Brielle wasn’t fazed. If anything, she looked like she’d been waiting for this.
“Oh, Scar,” Brielle said sweetly. “They really haven’t told you everything, have they?”
A chill crept up my spine.
Scarlett’s voice was honey-laced venom. “Maybe you should enlighten me.”
Brielle’s gaze swept the table, then landed on me—sharp, knowing. “Funny. They always thought they could keep you out of it. Keep you safe.”
“And yet,” Scarlett drawled. “Here I am. Bonded. Trained. Eating dinner with the enemy.”
I watched her mouth move, her fingers still playing with the stem of her glass, her tone unfazed. But I knew better. I knew that performance. I’d seen it the night her world broke open and she refused to show the crack.
