Page 135 of Iris
“I found you at a certain bar,” he says in a harsh whisper.
“With Penrith,” I hiss back, “who took me there.”
He ignores that, pulls out his phone, and turns it to show me the screen. “The message will be coming through to your mini, but Errol’s asked you on a chaperoned date.”
“What!”
He holds up his hand. “Don’t even try to refuse. You’ll be saying yes. Actually, you have said yes already, but you’ll say yes formally through the mini. The date’s tomorrow. Mom will take you shopping for a dinner dress and one for the ball.”
I want to tell him to fuck off, I don’t need any more dates because I’ve already been marked, but that will only bring more problems. And if I want to get close enough to the Monarch at this ball to talk to her, I’m going to have to play along. At least for a little while.
“Fine,” I push out.
Then, he reaches into his suit jacket’s inner pocket and pulls out two wrinkled pieces of paper. They are the lists of possible suitors I’d crumpled up and chucked at his head. “And this list? Memorize it tonight. Your afternoons are all book for the week, so that you’ll have your dance slots full for the ball. Understand?”
Heat burns in my cheeks as I snatch the papers from him.
I hate my brother.
“Understood.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
Killian
“This girl? You trust her?” the older man known as Danvers says in the darkness of the Black Briar.
I sip my drink as I observe the small crowd. A typical Wednesday night. “You missed the last meeting.”
“Things came up,” he says, leaning on the edge of the bar, right near the wall.
The man’s shadowy, which doesn’t bother me—so many in the Lower Side are.
Still…
Trust is a multi-layered thing, and I trust him as much as I trust anyone. He’s someone who’s brought the kind of players needed for our movement, but the fact I can’t even find out where he lives bugs me.
Not enough to have Xav help me get the information, but it’s a bone to gnaw on. A mystery to perhaps be solved.
The girl.
He means Iris, of course.
Brat runs hot and fast in her veins, and I’d prefer to have her on her knees before me, or perhaps bent over mine than have her tangle with the Monarch.
“She’s young,” I say.
“And rich and eager to make changes,” Danvers says. “Not every sheltered flower needs a hothouse to thrive.”
I shoot him a dark look.
The man’s rings are plain, his clothes well-made, but worn. The lines around his eyes, etched deep, are a tell of a life in the sun.
I think maybe I know what bugs me about him. He’s a man like me. One who can fit anywhere, which makes me wonder…
“Maybe we bypass the flower and hit harder.” I push him. “Start a war that just might come anyway.”
