Page 18 of Phantom
Confusion twists my face and pulls the skin tight. I take my eye off Scarlett to question him, but a throat clearing makes me face the man who’s approached us.
One of my skull-masked shadows dips his head before speaking. “Rand Chatelain to see you, sirs.”
I didn’t know which one of my men it was until he opened his mouth. Masks ensure that no one knows who works for the Bordeauxs. Not knowing who they can trust outside of me and Ben also prevents my men from betraying us to our enemies.
Ben relies on his vision too much, so he is at a disadvantage in the dark. But our shadows answer to me and as soon as they get close enough for my other senses to catch details, it’s easy to deduce their identities. Ben is the face of our operation, our mask, so to speak, and I am everything underneath.
I nod to the man and he steps aside to reveal a deliciously furious Rand with a garish red-and-yellow jester mask covering the top half of his face.
“You wish to speak to me?” I ask. “Bold, considering you’re trespassing.”
“I wasinvitedby Miss Day,” Rand insists with a smug sneer on his lips.
My jaw threatens to tic at the jab. Despite my wish to keep my feelings private, I fucked up in box five earlier tonight, showing my hand. Now Rand is testing me to find out just how valuable his taunts are. I can’t fucking stand it, but what’s done is done.
“Invitation trumps the truce,” he spits back when I don’t reply. “But it’s not like you respect it in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over how loud your ridiculous mask is,” I point out and smirk.
He tears off the jester mask, revealing his fury in full force. His emotions are so unchecked, so unlike his normal charming presence and the opposite of the cold calculation his brother had. Interesting.
Ben angles forward, making sure no one at the adjacent tables in our corner can hear us. When he speaks, the uncovered part of his face is neutral, but his words are laced with cold anger. “What do you mean we don’t respect the truce?”
“Jacques Baron,” Rand bites out. “You hung a Chatelain man, my former proxy. No doubt the police will rule it a suicide, as they normally do when you’re involved. But do you really expectmeto believe my second-in-command killed himself underneathyouropera house? I thought this was a fucking safe zone.”
“Chatelains are only as safe in the House as they are rule abiding. One wrong move means reprisals. You know that,” I answer.
“One wrong move? What did he do?” Rand leans in so closely I can see the vein in his temple throbbing. I haven’t missed his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He’s losing his composure.
Good. I’ve been waiting for him to crack.
“He was a spy for you.” I give the partial truth.
Baron wasn’t an actual threat since all my men knew he couldn’t be trusted, but I don’t want Rand Chatelain to know that I’ll kill for my muse, not yet.
“I demand evidence.” He stabs the table with his finger.
“Do you darequestionme, Chatelain?” I ask carefully. “In my own home?”
Just then, a vision in white catches my eye and stops the conversation cold as Scarlett’s slender fingers brush Rand’s forearm. My eye doesn’t leave the place where their skin touches until they’re apart again, the briefest of moments that feel like an eternity too long. She’s close enough that even with my poor eyesight, her white rose shines like a beacon in the dim light. But a red tinge makes me frown.
“What happened to your rose?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
The world quiets around us. Her eyes widen before darting down to the rose and she fingers the petals delicately.
“I pricked myself putting it on,” she answers. Her voice is low, but our interaction has created a cocoon of silence around us, so I hear it perfectly.
“Why didn’t you take it off?” I ask.
A small smile curves her lips and she covers the flower protectively before looking at me again. “This came from someone special. And I love white roses, so I couldn’t bear to part with it.”
“Not even after it hurt you?” My lips purse and her brow furrows as she tilts her head to the side with a tentative smile.
“No, I guess not. Not even after it hurt me.”
Her confession stirs something deep in my chest and all I want to do is whisk her away. She turns to Rand, breaking our gaze and bringing back all the noise in the room, the sensation akin to coming out of a tunnel.
“I’m, um… heading up to my dorm.” Her lyrical voice is soothing to my ears, despite the fact that it’s nearly drowned out by everyone’s hysterics over Jacques Baron’s demise. “The party is clearly over.”
