presses his body against the wall, lifting his chin to wait for Noah’s signal. Noah’s eyes are two pinpricks of unfathomable blackness. Even in the gloom of the house, he is a creature of shadow and sin. Noah flicks his gaze to the door. His chest heaves. He makes his decision.
Pressing his finger to his lips, he shoves the door inward.
It flings open, bouncing against the wall with a CRACK that sounds like a gunshot. My heart leaps in my chest, but I don’t rush into the room the way Noah and Tiberius do. A queen takes her time.
I take a moment to glance around me at the room. With the double-height ceiling, stiff furniture, and decorative frieze of romanticized battle scenes, this looks less like a room in a house and more like the stateroom of a Roman palace. A fire blazes from a stone hearth – as if this is the middle of winter in Seattle or something and not fucking California. The flickering light illuminates a portrait that takes up nearly the whole wall – a young man who looks remarkably like Noah. Except for the eyes – they’re a beautiful deep blue, like the water of Emerald Beach on a calm, clear day, and there are no secrets inside them. Only kindness.
Felix Marlowe.
I don’t have time to appreciate the artwork. Noah’s father is on his feet, yelling and reaching for the light. Tiberius grabs his hand and slams it against the table, smashing the Tiffany lampshade and raining shards of glass across the Persian rug. Senator Marlowe grunts as he tries to kick his captor, but his legs are tangled in a blanket he had over his knees and it only takes a few moments for Tiberius to subdue him completely.
Tiberius hauls the senator from the floor and slams him into the wingback chair, pointing the gun at his head. “Don’t move a muscle,” he says, flicking the safety off with a cocky grin. “Unless you want your brains to decorate that fresco.”
“Who the fuck are you? What is this—” The senator’s eyes flick to Noah. I see they’re the same dark shade, although where Noah’s have depth and fire, John Marlowe’s are the kind of dark that is cold and heartless. “Son, what is this nonsense?”
I nod to Noah, who flicks on the unbroken lampshade on the opposite side of the fireplace, aiming the bulb at me as I step onto the edge of the rug. He’s been taking lessons from Gabriel on how to make a dramatic entrance.
“Hello, Senator.”
John Marlowe doesn’t flinch as he recognizes me. I’ll give him credit – he has a near-perfect poker face. But he doesn’t know that I’ve been schooled in how Marlowe men maintain control. He sweeps a hand through his hair, and there’s a slight wobble on the edge of his mouth. He’s not shitting himself yet, but he’s not far away.
“What is this?” He glares at Noah. “Do you know who this girl is?”
Noah moves to stand beside me. He looks down at his father with an expression of complete disdain – I know he’s mirroring the way the senator has looked at him for so many years, and I want to slap John Marlowe for it. Noah is amazing, and he should have never been made to feel small while Felix was treated like a god even in death.
He’ll never feel small again. Not after tonight.
“Noah, what’s the meaning of this?”
Noah says nothing. He lets his dad take in the scene – Tiberius beside the fire, his scarred face wreathed in flame, his finger tapping the trigger. Noah facing him with defiance burning in his eyes, his fingers entwined with his enemy, Mackenzie Malloy. Senator Malloy flicks his finger beneath the arm of the chair, jabbing a panic button. Little does he know that Noah disabled the alarm. No one is coming to help him.
“What the fuck is this?” Senator Marlowe addresses the question to me. Spits it out like bile.
“You’ve been trying to have me killed, Senator.” I cluck my tongue. “Naughty boy. You should know by now that Mackenzie Malloy can’t die. I’m like a ghost haunting your ass.”
He tries to launch himself off the chair, but Tiberius shoves him back down. Senator Marlowe seems to accept this. He crosses his legs and picks up the whisky glass from the table beside him, dangling it from his fingers. I see the decanter is nearly drained. “And if I did? It would be only