12
Rath
If it weren’t for all the tension, I’d probably fall asleep in the elevator leading to Daniel’s office. I was up all night writing a new piece, parts of which the music director heard yesterday morning. She told me to go home and flesh it out, because it’s worth more than half a shit, so that’s what I did. Until four in the morning. I’d planned on sleeping it off until Killian pounded on my door, telling me Daniel wanted to see us; now.
It’s not just the lack of energy that I’m fighting. It’s dread. The weight of the debt I owe Daniel presses hard on my shoulders. I don’t regret going in the pit for Story—hell no—but I’d made a deal with the devil. Avoidance has worked for me so far, but I feel like my time is running out. I can only lie low for so long.
Luckily, these two have enough energy radiating off them to fuel a fucking passenger jet. Killian’s easy to understand. This is the first time he’s seen his dad since that clusterfuck of a Thanksgiving. But who even knows what’s got Tristian strung so tight.
I don’t have to wonder for long.
Halfway up, he reaches out and pounds the elevators stop button, turning to us with a sour look on his face. “I have to go to my family’s Christmas party.”
Killian and I both stare at him blankly, but it’s me who drawls, “Yeah…”
“And water’s wet.” Killian gives him a deadpan look. “When we were twelve, you had scarlet fever, and you still had to go to that Christmas party.”
I add, “When we were fourteen, you got into that accident with your cousin, what’s-his-name.”
“Carson,” Tristian offers.
“Yeah, and you broke your collarbone, and your parents didn’t care. You still had to go to that fucking party.” I roll my eyes. “Point being, this isn’t exactly news.”
“It’s a bad time,” Tristian says, head shaking. “I tried to tell him, but he just…” His hand balls into a fist, jaw clenching. “I want to take Story. As my date.”
Killian looks him up and down, scoffing. “You’re not taking my sister to your glorified rich-people mating dance.”
“Yes, I am,” he coolly argues, looking unfazed. “Because Rath took her to his performance, and you’ve got that dinner on your birthday coming up—yes, that one.”
Killian scowls. “I’m not going to that.”
“Sure you are. It’s for the team, which you’re still a part of.” Shrugging casually, he reasons, “And you’ll want her to be your date. So that means I get one.”
My eyes ping back and forth, watching the standoff.
It’s saying a lot about how shitty this meeting with Daniel is going to be that Killian caves, teeth clenched. “Fine. But you’re responsible if anything happens.”
Tristian presses the button on the elevator, jolting it back to life. “I’ll take care of it.”
When the elevator doors open, we all step out in tandem, but then we just…pause.
Vivienne’s desk is empty.
The lobby is silent, completely void of her clacking nails and soft voice, and I think the same thing is probably going through all our thoughts. It’s no wonder Daniel hasn’t filled the vacancy yet. It didn’t matter that she was sucking his cock on the reg. Viv was genuinely good people. She always did right by us, made sure we were looked after, treated us with a respect I’m not entirely sure we deserved. She was a professional, through and through, but she was also thoughtful about it. That’s not something you see much of in this world—in South Side’s world—in Daniel’s world.
And she died with our initials carved into her chest.
It’s some sick fucking game going on here, and I’m over it. I want to find this fucker and bury a blade into his throat. Slowly.
Killian takes a hard breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
I enter Daniel’s office behind Killian and Tristian, the box hanging loosely from my hand. The man in question is standing behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest, and he doesn’t look happy to see us. Oh, definitely not. This is not a civil Thanksgiving dinner within earshot of his pretty little trophy wife.
This is business.
“Show me.”
I shoulder past the other two to toss the box. It lands on the desk with a loud clatter, still half-frozen. Despite that, when he snatches it up, it opens easily for him. He stares at the contents for a long time—long enough for me to get bored and start scanning the room. Things are messier than usual, the desk covered in papers. There’s a gun lying to his right, which might seem sloppy to anyone else, but all of us know better. Daniel’s always been good at posturing, making sure people see what he wants them to, and nothing more. His monitors are all dark, and from the wrinkles in his shirt, he’s been here a while. Possibly all night.