“She’s not moving,” I say, too loud. “Is she breathing?”
The sounds of security get closer, the static of their radios, the barking of orders. I jerk out of Saint’s hold and rush back to Esme, collapsing to my knees in the hay. I press a hand to the back of her head, and it comes away wet, the blood so dark in the moonlight, it looks black, like something out of a fairy tale. Saint is still pulling at my shoulder, trying to get me to my feet.
“I can’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t’ve,” I stutter in starts and finishes. And then I grab Saint by the face with two hands, smearing a bloody handprint on her cheek. “I have to stay. She needs help, I can’t leave her. You need…”
Saint shakes her head. “No, we’ve done this together—”
“Saint,” I interrupt. The men are getting louder. “Run.”
She looks terrified. But finally, finally, she turns and does as I command, running into the night, as fast as she can through the back of the stables, over the fence of the outdoor ring and gone.
“Okay… okay, Esme,” I whisper, voice gone feathery with panic. I reach for her and turn her over onto her back, looking down at her. I cringe. Blood is spilling down her forehead. I put my hand to her lips, to her chest, but there is no movement. “You’re okay, Esme. You’re okay.”
I punctuate my insistence as I press my hands to her chest, doing compressions. I’ve no idea if the rhythm is right or the form, all my knowledge gleaned from TV, but it’s all I have. It has to be enough, because if it isn’t—
“The stable!” a voice shouts.
I press harder, leaning down to press my lips to hers, feeling her lungs inflate. When I pull away, my mouth tastes like pennies. I press down harder, and I shiver, even though I’m not cold. This is Esme.
Esme, who is cruel and ambitious and forceful. Esme, who is here for her family, and yes, also herself.
Esme, who was my friend.
Esme, who was my enemy.
Esme, who might be dead.
Because of me.
The voices grow louder and louder, and security creeps closer.
“In here!” they call from just outside the door.
I slowly raise my hands in surrender, but then I’m jerked backward, a large hand flying over my mouth. I fight against the forearm wrapped around my stomach as I’m yanked back and then I try to slam my head back against the face of my captor.
“Stop,” Graham’s voice comes low and urgent. “Come with me or they’re going to shoot.”
I gasp and immediately fall limp in his arms as he tugs me back into the nearest empty stall. We collapse against the hay, then peer through the crack between the stall door and the wall, right where we can see Esme’s body, her blood glittering. She’d appreciate the aesthetic if she could see it. The heinous thought makes me want to laugh and vomit.
Security guards finally spill through the door, and I press my own fist into my mouth and bite down hard to keep from making a sound as I catalog their rifles and Kevlar.
“Jesus,” the man in front says, looking down at Esme’s form.
“Get out of my way—”
“Oh no,” I hiss into my fist. Security is shoved aside, revealing Leighton Remington, and at her side… Hawthorne.
Leighton’s mouth pinches and she sighs. “Oh my,”
Hawthorne doesn’t make a single sound. She stares down at Esme and then slowly sinks to her knees, head tilting like she can’t quite make sense of what she’s seeing. She crawls forward, dragging herself through the puddle of blood, until she’s kneeling right where I was, her fingers searching for the wound.
“Hawthorne, please,” Leighton begins.
And then Hawthorne wails, bloodcurdling and grievous and sad.
Leighton winces.
Amidst the screams someone’s radio crackles. And then: “The Asian girl—by the forest.”
Saint.
“Shut her up!” the man barks as Hawthorne still screams. One of the other guards tries to drag Hawthorne away, but she throws herself over Esme’s body.
Leighton steps up and there’s the glint of something silver in grip, and then she’s plunging a needle straight into Hawthorne’s neck. Hawthorne goes limp in seconds.
“She’s sedated,” Leighton says coldly. “Bring her back to her room and lock the door. She needs to be well rested for the Royale. And be sure to clean up your mess. I don’t want the girls disturbed with your presence in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a guard says. He hesitates. “The Asian?”
Leighton doesn’t blink. “She is here because of Mr. Remington’s pride. Her family is dangerous to our interests and do not know she’s here. She can’t get out.”
“So?” the guard asks uncertainly.
Leighton rolls her eyes and stops pretending. “Kill her, obviously.”
The guard lifts the radio to his mouth.
I shake my head, chanting no into my fist. Graham’s hands are shaking on my shoulders, like he’s trying to keep me back, like I might chase after them.
“Kill the girl,” the man relays.
We all fall silent. I close my eyes.
Boom.
CHAPTER 30
“WHY DIDN’T YOU LET THEM catch me? Why didn’t you let them see? They wanted me to kill. Well, now I have.” I don’t let him answer, turning instead to inspect the room that he’s dragged me into. “Where the fuck am I?”
“My room,” Graham says, raising his hands placatingly. He leans heavily against the door. He looks like he’s coming down from coke, his eyes bloodshot, his hands shaking. “Just… stay here—”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to keep you alive through the rest of the night. For that to happen, you need to stay in this house and make them think you never left, that you were with me, not her,” Graham snaps.
When I exhale, all the air leaves the room and I let out a keening sound. The exhaustion doesn’t creep this time; instead, it crashes straight through my chest and my knees buckle. Graham dives for me but doesn’t make it to my side in time. I land heavily on the carpet and bury my face in my hands.
“Don’t cry… don’t cry…，” Graham whispers.
That, out of everything else, enrages me.
“Fuck you,” I bite out. “I can cry if I want to.” I am always crying.
“Yes,” he says, placatingly. “Yes, you can.” Graham clears his throat and presses a hesitant hand to my shoulder. He means to be comforting, but it just feels like a weight, holding me down underwater. “Adina, you had to—”
“I didn’t have to do anything,” I say roughly, remembering that split-second terror. I roll away from his touch when it starts to sting. He doesn’t even have the decency to look wounded, just understanding. “Just… leave me alone. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You know why I can’t,” Graham says severely, like the way he’s looking at me should mean something, like I should feel it too.
“Do you know what I went through tonight while you left like a coward?” I demand. “While you were getting high or whatever, I lost a demonic game of Simon Says and was humiliated by Pierce and your father’s minions.”