Page 30 of Ambition

“And now?” she whispers, her voice hard. “Now you think because you worried about me once, I should sit at home and stay trapped in here while you do all the work for Writhe? They probably never told you, but it wasyouthey would’ve taken if they’d found you instead of me at the hotel party.”

Guilt swallows me whole, because I didn’t know, but I know why I wasn’t found and that’s what I hold onto, since it’s easier. “But they didn’t, because I was outside on the balcony sulking over you fucking a stranger, once again.”

“Sorry I got kidnapped for you, asshole.” She turns then, facing me with her chin tilted down and her eyes a glare. “But don’t you thinkyoushould be the one to sit shit out, since it’s your dad at the top of the food chain? Why me, huh?” She gestures toward me with one hand. “Why isn’t it you?” Her voice breaks a little and I rub the back of my hand over my sternum, hearing the sound.

Maybe she’s right.

The night of my first kill, I came home a whimpering ghost. This was after the warehouse, and she was there to hold me tight when I fell apart. Itshouldbe her out there doing the work, getting the jobs, taking charge of Writhe.

I know that, logically.

But imagining her going to Theo’s compound again tomorrow night… Thinking of his teeth and hands anddickall over her while she’s surrounded by people who couldn’t give less of a fuck about her…

Logic doesn’t fucking matter.

But I can’t explain that to her. She’ll say the same about me and we’ll both be at this stupid fucking standstill that neither of us asked for. We were born into this. What options do we have?

So I don’t say anything. There’s nothing that’ll make this better. Instead, I straighten from the door and start putting her things in her shopping bag; lace bras with only scraps of fabric, and inside my head, I’m imagining her in Theo Sancte’s lap like she was in mine today, on the couch.

Once everything is together, I walk past her, soft ribbons of the bag’s handles against my fingers.

She doesn’t stop me, and I catch that dark rain scent of hers when my arm brushes her shoulder.

And I continue past the living room, down the hallway and into my room where I have more than a few fucking knives.

ISADORA

There’s a chandelier above our heads, glittering silver and blue in the back lobby of the hotel. Hotel No. 7, it’s called. A Writhe member owns majority shares in all of No. 7’s hotels and thus, here we are.

Von and I left the row of suites our friends and I have taken residence in for the night. Just for a moment, to get air the night before Halloween. Although I know that’s not the real reason even though it’s the excuse Von gave me when he looked at me with those big gray eyes and asked if we could look around the place.

It’s beautiful, the entire Alexandrian building done in aqua and indigo and aureate and silver. Here, there are black and silver striped floors beneath our feet in marble and when I tilt my head down and study it, I feel like I’m looking at the mouth of a circus. It’s circular too, this exit lobby, the tinted glass doors leading out to the employee parking lot and high iron fences which try to stop the encroaching city from creeping into this oasis.

“There’s a pool on the roof, did you know?” Von asks quietly beside me as I stare at the flooring, the buzz of alcohol coursing through my veins. I’ve only had a couple of drinks and I saw Von with a beer in his hand earlier in the night, but neither of us are drunk.

I fold my arms over my body and lift my head, grinning up at him. He’s dressed so formally; crisp gray dress shirt, deep burgundy slacks, his red curls out of his eyes as he stares back at me.

I’m in my white pajama shirt with the pumpkin, and blue booty shorts. A little more trash than his class, but that seems accurate for us.

“Did you want to go swimming?” I counter, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I arch a brow. It might be October thirtieth, but this is North Carolina, and when Von wheeled our suitcases into the main entrance earlier, the cold surprised me, and so did the way I shivered in it.

Von tilts his head. “Maybe. Will it keep you away from London Hamilton?”

I roll my eyes but my smile tips higher despite myself. I like it sometimes, when he gets like this. Slightly jealous but still only teasing about it. Overprotective, but calm. Sometimes, the idea of falling into him is overwhelming. I want to reach out and strangle him, force him to breathe into me, if he gasps at all.

But it’s a castle in the sky, a delusion.

Our lives are meant to tear us apart. We’ve had a few haphazard threats as is; anonymous calls or emails or texts warning our parents they would come for us if Writhe didn’t pay up or sell out secrets. We have a team of people to dismantle those threats, but it doesn’t make it less eerie.

Von and I together would be an explosive target.

Then there’s the fact that sometimes women are used to fuck away secrets and he wouldn’t be able to stand something like that.

I would, though.

In much the same way I’m going to hook up with London Hamilton—some guy a friend invited who has been hardcore flirting with me all night—I don’t mind sex for a trade. I do it for free as is; why not plot my career with it?

“I take it that’s a no,” Von says softly, his lips curving downward as he tilts his head up, studying the ornate chandelier with a silver base above our heads.

---