Page 88 of The Hate We Breathe
“Come on, Jules,” Gio murmurs, nudging me forward to the open door. “It’s too cold out here for you.”
I crawl into the back of the limo, sliding along the leather seat until there’s more than enough room for the guys to join me. Gio is the first one inside, but Viks, Lex, and Nolan remain outside for a few more minutes, stepping away from the open doorway to talk. Their voices drift close, but I can’t quite hear what they’re saying. Then, Nolan and Lex break away and come towards the back and Viks heads for the driver’s seat.
As soon as everyone is inside the vehicle and we’re on our way, I scoot towards a small shelf unit where a bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket. It almost makes me feel bad that Lex is so unwelcoming when Viks seems so earnest.
“Here, let me take that.” Gio deftly switches the bottle I pick up for a glass that had been sitting next to it. He pops it, the loud, sharp noise making me jump before he’s tipping the mouth of the bottle to my glass and filling it halfway. I grab more and he fills them as well, passing them to the others.
I cut through the awkward tension still lingering with a question. “Did you ask Viks if Rylie has any news about my mother?”
Nolan leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes dark. “I did,” he says. “They’ve got a lead on where she could’ve been staying. Nothing solid yet.”
“They think she’s still alive, right?” I don’t know why I care to know if my mother is alive when she was the one who abandoned me with Morpheus Calloway of all people. Maybe it’s some deeply buried seed of loyalty to the woman who gave birth to me or maybe it’s wishful thinking.
“She was alive a few weeks ago,” Lex murmurs. “If she’s still alive now, then it doesn’t matter where she’s been hiding…” He lifts his head, his jaw flexing as he leans against the seat and stretches one arm along the top of the leather back. His eyes meet mine. “We’ll find her, baby.”
I nod once and lift my glass, draining the flute of champagne in one go. The limo hums quietly as we head toward the city where Silverwood Public’s winter formal awaits.
It’s an ironic twist of fate, too, considering that every other year Silverwood Public has held their formals and proms in their gymnasium. Not this year. This year, it’s being held at one of the city’s premier hotels and it’s all because of Morpheus.
The monster that ruled my nightmares, now a man rotting in the ground, had handed over a small fortune to the public school before he died. I can’t help but wonder if it was meant for me. Logic says that it must have been—a twisted gift wrapped in false charity.
Now, it’s little more than a piece of my old world stitched into this new one. I take in the three men sitting around the limo alongside me. Though their suits aren’t expensive or designer, each of them fills out the fabric with their wide shoulders and air of lethal beauty.
They look dark and elegant, like a trio of mafia bosses on their way to a meeting. The image makes my lips twitch. I could see them like that—three crime lords overseeing a massiveterritory, laying claim to cities like their own personal kingdoms. Why not? That’s basically what the rich do anyway.
The thought drifts after a moment and my mind turns back to the mission of tonight. In Silverwood, Morpheus is rapidly being turned into something like a Roman hero. My upper lip curls back in disgust as I recall the town’s newspaper that had gone out earlier in the week, praising a dead man for his philanthropic compassion. Before this is all over, I plan to make sure everyone in Silverwood knows the truth. I couldn’t ruin him in life, but I’ll make damn sure I ruin him in death.
If it makes me a little insane to play games with a dead man, then I suppose that’s what I am. The fact is, whoever is behind his murder and behind my life’s disaster, is nothing more than a pawn masquerading as a player.
Nothing Morpheus ever did was without a reason, and I can’t help but feel like this, too, was a move in a game I never agreed to play.
Not that it matters now.
He’s dead and I’m not.
I’m the one that survived. I’m already the winner.
Now, I’ll find out who killed him and who wants to kill me.
33
JULIET
Nolan’s hand is a warm weight on the small of my back as we enter the lobby of the winter formal’s hotel venue. Under his breath, Gio whistles long and low. I can see why. The place is dripping in luxury from the crystal chandelier to the mirrors lining the walls and the polished glint of the pillars wrapped in fake ivy and bronze flowers.
It all feels like a rather pretty trap.
My silver dress catches in the light shining down on us and throws rainbow spots across the white tiled floor as we make our way towards the back hallway. There’s a large sign stationed in front of one of the many mirrors withSilverwood Public: Winter Formalin big bold letters and an arrow pointing to the side.
We can hear the dance before we even get close to the open doors into the ballroom. The music is loud, thumping and thudding in regular intervals.
“This place must have really good sound proofing,” Gio comments.
I suspect he’s right, because the moment we step inside the ballroom, the noise grows increasingly louder. The bass is violent, shaking the floor, rattling my ribs. I scan the occupants of the room, wondering if we’ll see Mads while we’re here. At themoment, there’s no sign of her white-blonde hair in the crowd taking up the dance floor.
Nolan urges us to move around the edges of the room where tables are set up for people to sit and enjoy a few treats from a table full of appetizers. There’s a bar against the back wall with a bored-looking bartender and a moment later, I realize why. No one is in line and there’s a big sign pointed out to the room declaring it a “dry bar” with only juices and sodas.
I’m honestly surprised a public school would even provide that—Morpheus must have dropped more than a couple of grand for his altruistic facade.
