Lucius (Acquisition Series #4) - Celia Aaron Page 0,37

minute. I suppose she had the right idea.

Sin moves the phone closer to his face. “Shit. That’s tonight.”

“Indeed it is. I’m going to swing by my place and pick up a tux, then head back to the city. I need to look dapper for this new foray into the Acquisition.”

He stays silent for a while, rereading the invitation. “It’s real.” He tosses my phone down and leans back, letting his head loll on his shoulders. “They’re really back. Fuck. We burned it to the ground, but here it is again. Like a goddamn weed.”

I can hear the fatigue in him, the worry. After all, he almost lost Stella to this fucked up cabal.

“I should’ve rooted them out when they came for Teddy. But I guess …” He sighs heavily. “I guess I was hoping that Leonard was acting alone. I should’ve known. I think I did know, but I couldn’t face it, not after what Stella went through. I’ll never let them touch her again.” His voice hardens. “They’ll never touch a hair on her head or the kids’. Not while I draw breath.”

“We have to stop this now. If we don’t, it could snowball. And if that happens—”

“They’ll annihilate us all on principle. Turnabout is fair play, I suppose.” He turns toward the sound of Renee and Rebecca giggling in the back den. “But I’ve never played fair, and I won’t start now. I have too much to lose.”

“Neither will I. I have a plan.”

He meets my gaze again, and I swear he’s aged a few years since I first walked in. “Tell me, and do you have any cigarettes on you?”

“You know I quit.”

He stares.

I get up. “Come on. I stashed a pack at the top of the pantry. Sort of an ‘in case of emergency’ thing.”

“In that case, now’s the time.”

We get the cigs and walk out to the back porch. I pull off the wrapper and flick the lighter open. Just like riding a bike.

The first drag fills my lungs, and I remember why I loved smoking so much. The perfect burn. I pass it to Sin.

He takes a puff, then turns to me. “Tell me the plan. I’ll tell you if it’s shit.”

“My plans are never shit.”

A rifle cracks in the distance, and we settle in to hash it out. The two of us planning blood, murder, and sweet revenge—just like old times.

20

Evie

Keeping a steady hand is difficult when I feel I want to vomit or simply collapse to the floor and fold into the fetal position. But I draw my eyeliner on straight, making a wing on the corner and filling it in.

Simple strokes.

Step by step.

That’s the way I’m going to make it through tonight.

I don’t know what comes after, but I have no illusions about these people. I’m walking into a den of vipers. I could die there. That thought doesn’t hit me as hard as it should. Maybe because I’m more afraid of the alternative—joining them. I won’t do it, but I already know there are no choices for me in any of this. The Acquisition doesn’t bargain. It demands. Either you give in to those demands, or you’re crushed under the weight of hundreds of years of violence and malice.

Once my eyes are done, I finish the foundation and add little touches of sheen to my cheeks. Satisfied, I walk to my closet and pluck out the dress. It’s beautiful. Lace that clings and flows in all the right places. Looking the part they want me to play.

If I can fake it, then maybe I’ll survive and stay out of the Acquisition. That’s what I hope for, despite knowing they’ll never let me go.

For the millionth time, I regret coming back here. Taking Lucius down should’ve been simple—well, as simple as corporate sabotage can be. It’s been anything but.

I check myself in the mirror and add earrings and a simple sapphire necklace.

My foot aches, but I slide it into a red-bottomed heel. I still have Lucius’s tie. My blood is on it. I should’ve tossed it into the trash when I took it off the wound, but I didn’t. Instead, I’d stared at it for far too long, as if I could read my future there in the swirling fleur-de-lis stained crimson.

I take a deep breath and put on my mask. Not the one in the gilded box by the door, the one I’ll have to wear for the rest of the night, no matter what. Haughty and condescending—it’s the language