Page 35 of Ambition

My pulse quickens more, and I take another step toward him, many feet between us. The strap of my duffle bag slips down to the crook of my elbow, weighting my left arm. I let it slide off my wrist, past my hand, where it hits the floor with a light thud.

Von looks up then, as if he didn’t notice me come in before, despite the silence of the room. He slowly stands, as if he needs to be on his feet to meet me. Long legs uncurl gracefully in his black cargo pants, fitted above his navy blue high-tops. Despite his grace, he seems to move… slower than usual. As if he is…

I lift my chin, blinking in the dim lighting of the room.

Something is wrong with his face.

His gray eyes meet mine, his upturned nose is in the air as it usually is, but he looks even paler than normal, or maybe that’s not quite right either. His complexion is just…off.

And maybe it’s because of the angry red slash on his face, starting at the curve of his cheekbone, extending out diagonally to his jawline.

I take an involuntary step forward. I forget for a moment about the scraps he left outside of my door.

It’s stitched up, that wound in his skin

Tiny black lines of sutures, a few inches across his left cheek.

“Von.” I barely hear myself speaking. There’s vivid bruising around his left eye, too. His lip is split. Swollen.

He just looks at me.

And all I fucking feel is rage because I know what he did.What he took from me.

VON

LAST NIGHT

I arrive without a cover. Not physically, at least. No mask tonight because it would make everything so much more…complicated.

But I won’t mention Writhe. It would be too obvious, and I’m already worried it’s written all over my face:I am here to protect Isadora Croft because I am a dumbass.

If the connection between us to the 6 came out like this, she wouldn’t forgive me. As it is, I know Theo Sancte and his circle may recognize exactly who I am. If they did any digging at all, into Isadora, into Writhe, they would see our bond written all fucking over her.

As it is, I still plan to lie.

I pull up to the guardhouse outside of the iron gate, then put the Bentley in park but leave the car idling.

Glancing through the windshield, I notice there are so many trees, shrubs, and sandy bricks in the fence surrounding the property, I cannot see the compound.

But turning my head, I note the guard’s mask in black, pulled up to just beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a black hat too, and dark gloves. Only a sliver of white skin around his light eyes is visible as he cocks his head, waiting for me to speak.

The glass partition is slid open, and I can see the guard’s hand resting on the butt of the firearm at his side.

“I’m here from Cruor,” I lie, mentioning the name of a more notorious gang, both hands on the wheel of my Bentley so the guard can easily spot them.

The man studies me without speaking. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest over a long sleeve black tech shirt.

I refuse to look away as the engine of my car purrs between us, the only sound in the unusually cool and clear spring night. It’s nearly midnight—I know from Dad that Theo keeps odd hours, probably thanks to the blow in his veins—and the stars are bright overhead. Another night, another time, I might be sitting in Isadora’s passenger seat as she cruises backroads with her windows down and some bad emo mix playlist pounding through her speakers while I watch her hair whip around and feel himself fall harder for her.

But that was beforetheHalloween. Before everyone treated her differently and she became so wrapped up in proving herself. In ensuring she didn’t get discarded like her mom. It didn’t happen tomymom, but she never took time off either. She was never reallytherefor me. It was a nanny or a sitter or later, just me, alone. I envied Shella and Isadora’s connection some days, growing up. But Isadora never seemed to see that Shellawantedto be with her daughter.

It’s what I would want for Isa, if we ever…did anything like that; had anormallife.

But that’s why we won’t. Because Isadora wants the danger.

“Why?” the guard finally asks, breaking apart my thoughts, the guard’s hand still on his gun.

I narrow my eyes and lift my chin, as if this is all a great inconvenience to me. “I have information. I can leave with it if you’d like.” My pulse ticks up marginally. I didn’t plan this through. I didn’t have time. It was tonight or never. I don’t like to take hasty risks. Rarely ever do, in fact. I spent three months preparing for my first kill alone; it still didn’t prep me for the emotional blow or the fuckingchildrenwho watched me kill their parents because they were becoming too loud for Writhe, too noticeable for the 6.

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