Page 6 of Phantom
The way Scarlett smiles at Rand leadens my stomach. No doubt he’s soaking in the way she’s looking at him and understands the way it affects me because he glances back at me with a satisfied smile. The opera house is meant to be a safe zone, free of violence. Today though, jealousy has me fantasizing about throwing the smug piece of shit over the railing.
“I think she recognizes me!” he calls triumphantly.
I’m silent, but Ben replies quietly as the crowd dies down and the stage lights go out. “Seems like it.”
“Yeah?” Rand nods with excitement. “I should go to her, right? Say hi?”
“No,” I growl. My right hand clenches into a fist and my tungsten skull ring warms as I imagine bloodying Rand’s pretty face.
“What IthinkSol is trying to say is that there is still the rest of the performance. Not to mention, we’re not finished here.” Ben points out, desperately trying to keep us on task.
“And the truce,” I add. “She’smine.”
I feel Ben stiffen beside me and I don’t blame him. Even I can hear the obsession in my voice. It’s dangerous.
“He’s right, she’s off-limits,” Ben cuts in with a lie. “She lives in the Quarter under our protection.”
Rand shakes his head and hushes his voice as the opera continues. “I may have been gone a while but I remember the parameters of the truce well. Living in the French Quarter alone doesn’t make heryoursexplicitly. I see no branding or amulets to signify her allegiance. The truce is only to make sure no crimes occur by one of ours on the wrong side of the line, or against someone you specifically protect. I’m not going to hurt her. I’ve always cared for Scarlett and I haven’t seen her in over a decade. I just want to say hi, maybe take her out for a drink. You can’t keep her from me, Bordeaux. I’m not one of yourshadows.” He spits out the word like a curse.
“At least my shadows know who leads them,” I counter.
“That’s a fucking low blow,” Rand steps forward as I slowly stand from my seat, my six-foot-four frame towering over him. To his credit, Rand tries his best to meet my eyes before Ben steps between us.
“You’re making a scene,” Ben hisses. “And there’s already one that people havepaidto see. Let’s not ruin the show.” He turns to the open doorway. “Sabine?”
Our second-in-command, a tall brunette with light-brown skin and a curvy athletic build, appears from the shadows. Her mask is one of my favorites, a horned demon’s face wreathed in flames covers the top half of her face, revealing only her charcoal eyes. Her hand is ready at the dagger that never leaves her side.
Sabine is good. Fucking great even. No one else in the box can see how ready she is to end Rand before his next breath. In a bright room, even I’d struggle with that knife-wielding vixen. But when the lights are out, no one is my equal.
“Need me to take out the Chatelain trash?” Sabine asks casually.
“Trash?” Rand hisses. “You didn’t think mybrotherwas trash.”
A barely perceptible sneer curves her lips as she carefully avoids my gaze. It’s the most emotion she ever shows. “That was before Laurent showed his true colors. As far as I’m concerned, Chatelains should get dumped in the Mississippi River with cement shoes, like the good ol’ days.”
Rand’s face pinches in disgust. “I don’t know what he ever saw in you.”
“An easy target. But now, I’m a threat. So what do you need?” she defers to Ben, the Bordeaux moral compass. If she asked me, we’d end up gleefully throwing Rand over the railing together.
“Escort him back to his seat in the audience. We’re done here.”
“With pleasure. Come with me, Randy Boy.”
“Shut up,” Rand grumbles, but follows her out as he straightens his lapels and cuts a haughty glance toward me. “I’ve got a soprano to see anyway. Oh, and, since she is technically unaffiliated, I’m declaring her. Consider her a Chatelain. Who knows, maybe she will be one day.”
I’m halfway out of my seat when Sabine closes the door behind her. Ben’s insistent grip on my forearm is the only thing that stops me from stalking after them. My body vibrates, anxious to strangle another Chatelain and remove his pompous ass from this world.
It’s not a new feeling by any means, but I haven’t been face to face with a Chatelain since I was fifteen, and this time there’s a different drive pulsing in my veins. Instead of the steady drumbeat of revenge, something else clashes like a cymbal with the percussive beat I’m used to.
Fear.
My skin crawls. A Chatelain getting inside my head is unacceptable.
“Not worth it, brother. You’ve already given him one message down in the cellars with that bastard Jacques.” I glance to my twin, a dim glow lights his face from his phone. “I’m texting Maggie. Chatelain might want to get backstage. I want her to be prepared.”
I nod once. Our operation thrives on hiding in plain sight, but we never involve innocents. Many of the stagehands are on our payroll since the New French Opera House and speakeasy below are neutral ground. We’ve made a vow to never start anything on the grounds, but we’ll sure as fuck finish it.
Every muscle in my body rebels as I calmly take my seat, deciding to listen to my brother. Ben settles in beside me, and I try to watch the rest of Scarlett’s performance, despite the anxiety welling inside me.
