I glance around at the few other people sitting at the table. In the past, I’ve known most everyone at these events. But this is Massachusetts, not Florida, so all of these people are strangers. None of them are paying any attention to me, anyway. It’s him they all have their eyes on, and I don’t blame them. Even knowing what he’s capable of—knowing what he’s done to me—there’s a certain type of feeling that comes along with being on the arm of the most powerful man in the room. I wish I could ignore it, but it’s there whether I want it to be or not. The same way that I can’t shake off the conversation between him and the commissioner. I’ve never seen Hook rattled before, and this. This rattled him. I try to push the thought from my mind, knowing I shouldn’t give a damn.
But I do.
Before he showed his true colors, I was falling for him. Or for the version he presented, anyway. And feelings don’t just go away, they merely shift and change as your soul breaks, molding themselves into the cracks. My feelings for Hook may be mangled and unrecognizable, but that doesn’t mean they’ve disappeared.
“I met Ru, didn’t I?” I ask, unable to stop the words from leaping off my tongue.
His fingers pause from where they’re drumming on the table. “You did.”
“It’s nice he got to retire.”
Hook’s face snaps to mine. His hand shoots out, gripping underneath my seat and pulling, my chair dragging loudly across the wood floor. I gasp, the air cold as it flows down my throat, clashing with the heatwave of embarrassment rising through my chest.
His nose brushes mine, the intensity of his glare freezing me into place. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” he whispers. “But it stops now. I suggest you don’t test me.”
My heart stutters. “I’m no—not playing any games.”
He breathes in deep, his gaze flickering from my eyes to my mouth, then back, energy crackling in the space between us. And then he looks past me, and his entire demeanor changes.
I jump when his palm lands on my thigh underneath the table, squeezing in a bruising grip. “Remember what’s at stake.”
I scoff, anger brewing in my gut. “As if I’d forget, I—”
“Wendy?”
31
James
Wendy twists in her seat, coming face-to-face with Peter.
“Dad?” she gasps. She starts to rise from her chair and my grip on her thigh tightens, holding her in place. She turns to me, her brows drawing in, and I cock my head, meeting her gaze and holding it.
It’s obvious when realization hits; her eyes dim and her lips turn. She looks from me to her father, and then over to Tina, who’s standing there gawking in a sparkly green dress with gold trim.
Peter’s face is a mask of confusion, his forehead wrinkling as he gazes between us. I move my hand from Wendy’s thigh, draping my arm along the back of her chair. This is the moment he’ll realize that their little plan didn’t work.
That even though they took Ru from me, I still have her. She didn’t get away.
“Peter,” I greet. “What a pleasure.”
His lip curls. “Hook.”
“I’d make introductions, but I’m quite sure you’re already well acquainted.”
He stands still, his features frozen, until waiters bringing out salad force him to move. He clears his throat, pressing his hand against Tina’s back and moving her toward their seats.
Wendy’s body deflates. I look at her with a wide grin. That’s right, pet. Game over. Nobody plays against me and comes out with the upper hand.
The servers drop off the salad dishes, and I pick up my fork, excitement thrumming through my veins as I spear a cherry tomato, reveling in the way Wendy fidgets and Peter glares.
Leaning in, my arm still on the back of her chair, I place the fork in front of Wendy’s mouth. “Hungry?”
She presses her lips together, shaking her head.
I place it in my own mouth, the juices and seeds exploding on my tongue.
“Mmm,” I hum. “I do love popping a good cherry.” I grin at Peter, my arm dropping from the chair onto Wendy’s shoulders, my fingers tracing her bare skin. Wendy goes stiff as a board underneath me, her gaze trained on her plate. She’s suspiciously quiet, the brazen girl that’s been in my basement suddenly disappearing in her father’s presence.
I find that it irritates me more than it should.
“Wendy,” Peter sighs. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the mansion?” His eyes peer around the table. We have everyone’s attention, and it’s delicious, knowing he wants to make a scene, but can’t act out. But that’s the difference between Peter and me. He has to operate within the constraints of civil society, while I make sure to pad their pockets and dance outside of their edges.
Wendy’s head snaps up at his question, her knuckles whitening as they grip her fork. “What do you mean at the mansion?”
Tina’s hand reaches out to rest on Peter’s forearm, Wendy’s jaw setting at the movement.
Interesting.
“I think what your father is trying to say,” Tina starts. “Is that this is the last place we’d expect you to be.” Her eyes glance over to mine. “And with the last… person.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Wendy beats me to it, my hand falling from her shoulder as she leans forward, her eyes spitting lasers. “And why would it be so surprising to see me here? Because I wasn’t given express permission?”
Peter clears his throat. “Little Shadow—”
Wendy’s glare cuts to him, and arousal rolls through me at her ire.
“Maybe you don’t remember, Dad, but I used to come to these frequently with you.”
Peter glances around, all eyes on the outburst of his daughter.
“And for the record,” Wendy continues, her cheeks growing rosy. “I’ve never needed nor cared about Tina’s opinion on anything, especially concerning where she expects me to be.”
Tina’s mouth gapes open.
I smirk at Wendy’s outburst, heat swarming my body from how attractive she is when she’s swirling in rage.
“Didn’t you care to know where I was when your new security didn’t find me?”
My hand moves to rest on the back of her choker, my fingers slipping underneath the clasp and tugging as a reminder to watch her mouth.
Peter’s eyebrows raise. “Is that what this is? You running away because you didn’t like that I was trying to provide you protection?”
Wendy scoffs, stabbing the lettuce with her fork.
“Control your date,” Tina hisses at me.
I grin, leaning back against my chair. “Now, why would I want to do that?”
This is a delightful turn of events. I hadn’t expected her to be so upset with him.
“Wendy, this isn’t the time or the place.” Peter’s voice is sharp; commanding, as if he’s chastising a child. “Do we need to go somewhere and speak in private?”
Her eyes flick to me. I don’t move, wanting to see what she’ll do if given the opportunity.
She lifts her chin, inhaling deeply, and shaking her head. “No. We have nothing left to say.”