Page 18 of A Devious Arrangement
I swallow hard. No matter what, I’ll do this for him. This time, I’ll be the one taking care of us.
The key slots easily into the locked drawer, and it opens without a creak. The black robe is heavy in my hands as I rub the thick fabric. There’s a little thrill tingling through me as I drape it over my shoulders. Never in a million years did I expect to put it on. No matter how much my brother cared for me, I’d never been allowed to touch it. No one messes with Lord of Saints business. Well, until now.
There’s a velvet box on the bottom of the drawer. The gold latch lifts easily, revealing an angry-looking sterling silver wolf’s mask that indicates my brother as a Saint. My fingers shake as I lift it from the case and tie the coal-black ribbon securely behind my head, lifting the hood until it shadows my face and hides my hair.
It weighs more than I expect as I make my way back into the bedroom and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I look like a child drowning in my older brother’s clothes. There goes that idea.
I take a quick picture and send it to Nikolai, who replies within seconds.
Nikolai: You look ridiculous.
Me: What do you mean? I thought I looked masculine.
I add the sarcastic melting-face emoji to get my point across.
Nikolai: In the back of my closet there’s a bulletproof vest. Put it on underneath.
My mouth purses, and my brows pull together.
Me: Why do you have that?
Nikolai: It’s not important right now. Things have settled down lately, anyway.
Me: You’re not getting off that easy. We’re going to have a LONG chat about this when you get back.
I type as I make my way into the closet. Like he said, there’s a bulky tactical vest tucked in behind. I shimmy off the robe, hook it onto the shelf, and grab the vest. My arms drop with the weight of it, and my cheeks puff out at the realization that I’m going to be wearing this for a while. Thank God my years of ballet have trained me for this. I’m in good shape, and I’m used to being uncomfortable. If I can do pointe shoes, I can do this.
It’s hard to hold one-handed, so I’m quick to push my arm through one side, then the other. The material is rigid, creating a boxlike shape over me. I throw the robe on and head back to look in the mirror. My brows shoot up, nearly reaching the mask perched near my hairline before I pull the silver down into place. The vest has doubled the width of my shoulders, replacing my slimmer frame with a large masculine one. At five foot ten, I’m not as tall as Nikolai, so it puddles at my feet, but I still look great in this.
Hell, If I were a girl, I’d date me.
I relax my face and clench my jaw, forcing my cheeks to widen in my best attempt to mimic my brother before taking another picture and firing it off to him.
Nikolai: Decent.
I huff out a breath.
Me: Come on, this deserves more than decent.
Nikolai: I’m still not happy about this.
Me: Do you have a better plan?
Nikolai: Promise me you won’t get caught
Unease settles into my bones. We both know I can’t make that promise. There’s a genuine possibility of me being discovered, but I refuse to let the fear crawling up my spine stopme from doing this. I inhale deeply and remind myself. It’s just a bunch of stuck-up, rich men in capes. I can totally do this. I take it off, sliding it into a drawer in my room.
Me: I’m not planning on it. Now tell me how to get into the Vault.
My head feels like it’s going to explode by the time I hang up the phone. He’d made me run through my plan over and over again until it felt natural. He even drew me a crude map that’s so bad it’s nearly illegible.
There’s a drumming behind my eyes that’s rattling my brain. The only way I’m going to prevent this migraine is if I cut it off now. Even then, it’s a shot in the dark. I grab the painkillers from the kitchen cupboard. The water is cool on my tongue as I chase the pills down my throat.
I’m about to finish when the doorbell rings, and I freeze in place, my body stiffening. I’m not expecting anyone, and it’s not like I have friends who’d come to visit. Even the women I work with at the ballet studio don’t know where I live.
There’s a prickling sensation under my skin as I walk to the entrance. Dread slams into my stomach and swirls until the water I’d just drank threatens to resurface.
The two Salvatore men from the other day stare at me through the glass panel in the door.
