My smile thins, and I pull my hand back, slow and deliberate, as if wiping something invisible from my palm. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
I turn away.
He lingers, sensing the dismissal but not quite ready to accept it. When the moment extends past what’s appropriate, he inclines his head and slips away, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne.
Only once he takes his leave do I realize Ezra no longer hovers at my elbow. I scan the room, searching for him in the sea of patrons.
But he’s simply gone, vanished without a word or a goodbye.
Unease fills me. Ezra wouldn’t abandon his role without purpose. Whatever he’s doing, wherever he’s gone, it’s part of a plan I’m not privy to.
I scan the room once more, but find nothing. People continue to orbit Lorenzo Vescari, waiting for an opening to approach. Their calculation and hunger serve as the perfect cover. Of course these events always lead to discrete liaisons. And since Ezra has left my side, no one questions when I slip between bodies toward the eastern corridor, moving with purpose to discourage interruption.
The security guard at the base of the grand staircase gives me a cursory glance as I approach. I pull Viktor’s black card from my pocket, flashing it with the casual confidence of someone who belongs everywhere.
“Private viewing.” I infuse the words with the precise mixture of boredom and anticipation that suggests Lorenzo’s been invited.
The guard steps aside without question. The power of presumed wealth and Lorenzo’s reputation clears my path better than any lock pick or forged credentials.
Once past the checkpoint, I ascend the stairs with measured steps. Neither hurrying nor dawdling, I move like someone with legitimate business. The hired help are invisible, and the elite are expected. I am both and neither, existing in the space between roles where I’ve spent most of my life.
My shoes whisper over the thick carpet as I count my steps, checking off the turns from memory. Left at the second archway, right at the stern portrait, fifteen paces to the private salon.
At each corner, I pause, listening for footsteps, the crackle of security radios, any sign I’m not alone. The distant murmur of the party below filters up, muffled by distance and expensive insulation.
The private salon appears the same as it did the previous night, intimate in scale with cream-colored walls and deep mahogany accents. The walls are now bare, though, their empty spaces illuminated by discrete lighting.
I move to the center spot, fingers finding the small, irregular bump on the wall behind the frame. A soft click sounds from the bookcase to my left, and the hidden door shifts inward by half an inch.
My pulse remains steady as I slip through the gap into the darkness beyond. The motion sensors detect my presence, and recessed lighting flickers to life, revealing the hidden room in all its horror.
The crates from yesterday are gone, leaving only the cage where Jade kneels. His hair has been washed and styled, the dark roots now covered with fresh bleach.
Makeup covers the fading bruise on his face, blush giving his skin artificial health, while kohl emphasizes the blue of his eyes,and gloss accentuates the pout of his lips. Sheer, diaphanous fabric drapes his thin frame, revealing more than it conceals.
He’s not being held in waiting anymore. He’s being prepared for auction.
Jade’s head snaps up at my entrance, and suspicion tightens his features. “Who the fuck are you? The creep they’ve been preparing me for?”
I shake my head, hurrying to the cage. “No. I’m here to help you escape.”
He tracks my movements, confusion evident in the furrow of his brow. “Why would you help me?”
There’s no time to explain the complicated truth of how we know each other. “Questions later. We need to move quickly.”
The lock is industrial grade, but not sophisticated, designed to keep someone in rather than keep people out. Better prepared this time, I pull lock picks from my pocket and work with practiced speed, feeling for the tumblers.
I’ve been picking locks since I was nine years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor of my grandfather’s studio while he timed me with a stopwatch, promising ice cream if I beat my previous record.
The lock gives way with a satisfying click, and the cage door swings open. Jade scrambles forward, unfolding his long limbs with a wince of discomfort.
“Can you walk?” I ask, already moving toward the exit.
“Yeah.” He rises on shaky legs. “They didn’t hurt me much. Just kept me weak.” He clutches at the sheer fabric, attempting to cover himself. “They said I’d fetch a higher price if I wasn’t too damaged.”
The casual cruelty of the statement sends a chill through me. I shrug out of Lorenzo’s expensive jacket, draping it around Jade’s shoulders. The gesture costs me some of my disguise, but preserves his dignity.
“This way.” I lead him toward the entrance. “Stay close.”
