Page 98 of No Mistakes
I take a step towards her, my hand lifts, brushing her hair behind her ear. My thumb lingers at her jaw, tracing the line of her cheek. She tilts into the touch, and that movement alone undoes me.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers.
“Not from fear,” I say softly, leaning my forehead to hers. My hands move, framing her face, holding her as if she’s something fragile in a world that only knows how to break. “From you.”
Her breath hitches, and then she smiles-small, sweet, and so damn beautiful it feels like she’s branded me with it.
We stand there for a long moment, forehead to forehead, the shadows of the night ahead waiting outside that door. But in here, with her, it’s quiet. Safe.
I tilt her head back, looking into her eyes before closing the space between us. My lips press against hers in a kiss that’s nothing like the roughness we’ve known before. No, this is slow. Soft. Like I’m telling her all the things I don’t have the guts to say.
When I pull back, her eyes stay closed for a second, like she’s holding onto this moment too.
Her eyes flutter open, her eyes piercing. “I’ll say it again, Ant. You don’t always have to be the strong one.”
I huff a quiet laugh, the sound rough in my chest. “With you standing in front of me like this? I don’t think I’ve got a choice.”
Her smile widens just enough to light me up from the inside, and she presses a hand against my chest, right over my heart. “Then just… Come back to me tonight. That’s all I want.”
I cover her hand with mine, holding it there like I can anchor both of us to this one moment. I can’t promise her safety, not in this world, but I can promise her this. “Always.” I rasp.
I grab my jacket and her hand, lacing our fingers together as I lead her out of the room and down the hallway. Every step we take leads us closer to the storm waiting for us.
When we reach the secured suite where my brothers wait, I stop just outside the door. My thumb strokes over her knuckles once more before letting her go. Her eyes search mine, wide, brave, and terrified all at once. I lean down, pressing my lips toher forehead in one last silent promise. Then I open the door, guiding her into the room where the rest of our family waits.
CHAPTER 41
MANDY
After countless discussions,arguments and terrible jokes. I finally find myself standing down the hallway from the entrance of the ballroom, watching as people walk through the doors, laughing as if they’re about to watch a movie with a group of friends.
I wait until I’m alone, pressing the earpiece that Ant provided me. “Testing, testing,” I say quietly, making sure no one else hears me.
“Loud and clear,” Flynn replies in my ear, his voice steady as always.
A breath leaves me, not quite relief, but enough at the thought of me not being entirely alone. I smooth my dress down my hips and glance at the mirrored panel across from me.
“Stay calm. You got this,” Axel’s voice cuts in, his tone full of command.
I scoff at the fact that it’s easy for him to say that. He’s not the one walking into a ballroom full of predators. I reach into my clutch, my fingers brushing the fake invitation that Carter handed me earlier, which is now displayed with my new identity.
The closer I get to the entrance, the louder the noise becomes. Laughter, muffled voices, and the clinks of glasses all blend into one.
I open the door, and a host in a pressed black suit smiles like this is the most ordinary thing in the world. “Name?”
I hand him the invitation, sweat beading at the bottom of my neck at the thought of them seeing it’s a fake while I try to keep my expression cool. He scans it, nodding, gesturing for one of the attendants to step forward. A paddle is pressed into my hand, the smooth wood, branded with the number 91. The number that marks me as a buyer.
“Enjoy the evening,” the host says, as if this is a gala, not a nightmare.
I walk further into the room, my breath catching as the chandelier light explodes across the room. Chairs line up in neat rows, men and women scattered in expensive suits and glittering gowns, paddles resting lazily in their laps. On the stage at the front, a podium gleams, ready for the show to begin.
My heart is beating too fast, but I force my chin high and move deeper into the room.
“Eyes up, shoulders back,” Axel says in my ear. “They smell weakness.”
I lift my chin a little higher, trying to pretend that I belong while following the flow of people. Every detail in this room screams wealth as tables line the room, draped in white linen, glasses filled with top-shelf liquor sat on top.
I slide into an empty chair halfway back, close enough to see the stage but far enough that no one should be looking too closely at me. The paddle rests across my lap, heavier than it should, like it knows exactly what it represents.
