Page 6 of A Devious Arrangement
I won’t let him be the only one to protect our family. It’s time for me to hold my own. If this is what it takes, then so be it.
“I’ll do it.”
Nikolai sucks in a sharp breath, but Grandmother ignores him.
“Perfect. Do be careful. I wouldn’t want you to die too.”
Her tone gives away her lie. Whether I live or die, she’ll get what she wants.
I pull my shoulders back and meet her gaze. “Of course. I’d hate to disappoint you.” Sarcasm drips from every word, and I don’t miss the tightening of the old woman’s lips.
Whatever happens, I’m going to make her pay for this. “I promise.”
Chapter 2
Bash
I fucking hate it here.I drain my glass of whiskey, savoring the smooth warmth as it travels down my throat and settles into my stomach, bringing a pleasant buzz with it. As I scan the room, my eyes take in the opulence and extravagance of the venue, adorned with pastel flowers that seem to cascade from every pillar and archway. What is this? It has to be at least the fifth Midsummer Night’s Dream–themed ball I have attended, each one more pretentious than the last. I lean against the only pillar not covered in blooms, taking in the sights and sounds of the costly event. But amidst all the glamour, I can’t help but feel a sense of monotony creeping in. Another year, another extravagant ball.
I’ve spent my entire life in the world created by the Order of Saints. The society that plays it like a puppet on a string. As a kid, I dreamed of the day I’d become a Lord and take over my family’s place.
Well, that turned out fucking sour.
We live in a world where even the meek are hungry for power. It’s been quiet for the last five years, but that just makes me more anxious. It’s this calm that’s settled over our lives that’s made me feel uneasy, like there’s an itch under my skin I can’tscratch. But it’s the tedium of the repeating day-to-day that has me about to snap.
“Lord Everette.” A finely dressed man steps in front of me and bows low enough I can see the white roots growing from beneath his dyed brown hair. The silver wolf pin on his lapel screams to the world that he’s a Saint.
Fuck, not this again. It takes me a second, but I recognize him as the head of the Whistborn family. God, the guy’s got to be nearly seventy.
“It’s a fine evening, isn’t it, sir?” he says. There’s a teenager to his right, dressed in a matching suit, head turned to the side instead of down.
I raise a brow at him, not saying a word, and Whistborn turns his eyes up at my silence. He finds me looking at his son and hisses.
“Charlie.” It sounds exactly like when Damon catches Olivia, my adorable five-year-old niece, stealing another cookie.
The boy’s an Unsainted. Basically, an apprentice to his father, trying to get his way into the Order of Saints. There’s a flash behind his eyes, but he lowers himself into a deep bow. His entire body’s stiff, not used to being the one without power. Every person in this room was raised with a silver spoon stuck up their ass, and it’s only when they show up here they have to learn their place.
It’s better he knows it now before Damon teaches him.
My eldest brother and the head of the Everette family is the leader of the Order of Saints. Had it been him this fuckwad was giving attitude to, he’d have been fucked.
Probably why his father is trying his luck with me. The irresponsible Everette brother.
I may be a Lord, but I’m the fun one.
“Mr. Whistborn,” I finally acknowledge, allowing them to rise.
“Lord Everette. Allow me to introduce my son, Charles Whistborn the Third. I think you’d get along.”
This guy even has a stuck-up name. My fingers tighten on the empty crystal tumbler. If prayers were truths, it would be full to the brim. I’m getting a headache just standing here.
“You think we’d get along? I’m not sure about that. He looks like an asshole to me.”
The man’s been around long enough not to respond, but I don’t miss the way his lips pinch at the corners. His son, on the other hand, steps toward me, his hand slashing up to grip my collar.
I chuckle as a thrill goes through me, slicing through the monotony. Finally, something interesting. It’s my right to beat the lights out of this guy, and his father knows it. For an Unsainted to attack a Lord of the Order Of Saints is a death sentence, but by the way his fist tightens on my clothes, this boy has no idea what he’s just started.
His father grows pale when a smirk curls my lips as I lean into the boy’s hold. “Go on…hit me,” I dare, eager to feel the pain. Something to break the mundane experience of living every day exactly like the last. No one’s had the audacity to punch me at a ball yet. This will be fun. I use my words to give him another push. “What are you waiting for? Coward.”
