All Hail - J. Bree Page 0,39

is staring into the camera and there’s no doubt that Lips is the one behind the camera. He doesn’t give anyone those soft eyes but her, the smirk on his face a loving thing rather than the one that he gives everyone else that drips with acid.

His hair has grown out a little, curling at his temples and, sitting at the bar in a pair of jeans and an old Vanth tee, he looks like a normal teenager. He looks happy and tired and in love and so at peace with everything and I’ve never been so fucking thankful to the little lost Mounty girl we tormented through freshman year.

The worst part about the gala is coming face-to-face with Blaine Morrison, the namesake of the Gala, standing in the center of the room talking about how fucking amazing his life is now that he’s once again a single man. It doesn’t matter that every last person here knows that he abandoned his oldest son, gave up custody of his infant son, and is in a bitter divorce with his wife after years of mental and financial abuse, every last person attending flock around him like he’s someone worth knowing.

Illi scoffs at the sight. “He’s on our kill list, right? Want me to do it tonight? Quick and easy, no more deadbeat daddy wasting good oxygen.”

I smirk at him and murmur back to him, “Lips has dibs on his death, she was very clear about what she has planned for him. We just need Blaise on board first.”

He huffs and holds out his arm for me to take as we walk towards the bar area. The socialites all stare at us with varying levels of fear and disgust. A few look at Illi like they’d be open to him bending them over a table somewhere out of sight which has him rolling his eyes.

I make note of them all.

Every detail counts in the games of war.

Illi orders us both drinks and then, as he sips at his whiskey, he murmurs, “So, who’s on our hit list? Please tell me I can kill someone tonight. There’s not enough… fear in this room.”

I sip delicately at my champagne and raise an eyebrow at him. “Dead socialites and businessmen are no help to me. I know it’s hard to put up with them all but I need some very specific skill sets.”

He grumbles under his breath and orders another whiskey, downing the last of his glass in one gulp. I start people watching, observing who was invited to the gala this year and who has been left from the list.

I’m approached a few times by people who aren’t on my radar at all, gossipmongers who are only after the scoop on what really happened to my father. Everyone knows he’s dead and on paper it was a heart attack. The gossip rags had labelled it a ‘broken heart’ after losing my mother and Joey.

I broke every piece of china in my house the day I read it.

Ash had taken it a little better, he’d gone for a run until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and Lips had eventually taken him to bed early. When I told her the next morning to never tell me what happened in their bed, she rolled her eyes at me and told me he’d just laid there listening to her duet with Blaise on repeat.

He’s a total sap for her voice and the day she sang in the chapel back at Hannaford, her raspy tones casting a spell over all three of her men like she was some sort of siren.

I cut the gossiping bitches down the moment they bring up my father and send them on their way, ignoring Illi’s chuckles and huffs at all of the niceties and social cues they all follow. It’s as easy for me as breathing, something that was drummed into me before I was even conscious of it, and I keep my attention on what is happening around the Kora board members.

Easiest to go through them to collect more people.

I’m sipping and glaring at Blaine when I feel a presence besides me, the scent of the Hermes perfume that comes with her screaming money.

I glance over, ready to just tell the gossiper to fuck off, but I don’t recognize this woman.

Perfectly styled blond hair, a stunningly understated Missoni gown, with neutral makeup and a red lip shade that might even be the same as mine.

I meet her eyes right as we’re both finished