"You're a terrible tease."
Her smile is pure sin, all curved lips and knowing eyes. "Jasper tells me that all the time." She begins loosening the tie of her robe, letting the silk slip just enough to hint at what's beneath. "Now go. Have fun. And for the love of God, get some good dick. Or three. No judgment."
I press my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh that wants to escape. Luna is married to, dating, involved with... honestly, I don't know the mechanics of her relationship with Jasper, Voss, and Shayne. Some kind of reverse harem situation that seems to work beautifully for all four of them. I've met her men twice, and each time I walked away wondering what it would feel like to be loved so completely by not one but three people. The way they looked at her, like she hung the moon and stars, made something ache deep in my chest.
I'd settle for one person caring about me at all.
"Thank you," I whisper, and the words carry the weight of everything I can't say. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being the one person in my life who isn't trying to use me.
Luna crosses to me and pulls me into a hug, careful not to smudge my paint beneath the coat. She smells like the paints she's been using all evening, earthy pigments mixed with something floral that's entirely her own. "You deserve this," she murmurs against my hair. "You deserve everything. Now go take it."
I slip out the front door and pull it shut behind me, schooling my features into the vacant expression I've perfected over twenty-four years of surveillance. Pleasant. Empty. Unthreatening. The hallway stretches before me, beige carpet and bland walls and the elevator at the end that leads to freedom.
Don't run. Don't look back. Don't give them any reason to suspect.
My dark hair curls around my face and I keep my chin lifted.
My heels click against the tile of the lobby, each step measured and calm despite the thundering of my pulse. The doorman nods at me without really seeing me, same as always. His eyes slide right past, finding nothing worth noting. I'm wallpaper to these people. Invisible. Exactly the way my father wants it.
And for the first time I’m happy no one makes eye contact with me.
The revolving door spits me out onto the sidewalk, and the late summer air hits my face like a shimmering kiss. It's warm and humid, heavy with the promise of rain, carrying the scent of wet pavement and city heat and something electric that prickles along my skin. Above me the sky churns with clouds that glow amber from the city lights, promising a storm before dawn.
I don't look at the black sedan. I can feel their eyes on me, the weight of surveillance that has followed me my entire life. But I keep my chin up and my stride confident as I walk to where Luna's car is parked at the curb. A sleek little sports car her men gifted her, racing green with leather seats that smell like money and freedom.
The key fob is in my pocket. I press the button, the car chirps, and I slide behind the wheel. The leather is butter-soft beneath my thighs, warming instantly against my skin.
Only then do I let myself look back.
Three floors up, silhouetted against the golden glow of my apartment, Luna moves slowly past the window. Her robe slipsfrom one shoulder, then the other, and she stretches her arms above her head in a movement that's pure sensual invitation. Even from here, I can imagine the guards in the sedan shifting in their seats, eyes locked on what they think is their charge giving them a private show.
The creeps deserve the frustration of wanting something they'll never have.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, bright and reckless and terrified. I start the engine, and the car purrs to life beneath me with a power I've never been allowed to wield. The dashboard lights glow like promises in the dark, illuminating my hands on the wheel, my painted flowers peeking from beneath the coat's collar.
Twenty minutes. That's all it takes to drive from my gilded cage on the Gold Coast to the tower that houses Scarlet Thorn. Twenty minutes of freedom, of singing along to music my father would never approve of, of feeling the engine respond to my foot on the gas like it's asking how fast I want to go.
I want to go fast. I want to go so fast I leave my whole life behind.
The Redthorne building rises against the stormy sky, all glass and steel and secrets. Lightning flickers in the clouds above it, turning the windows to mirrors for one brilliant instant. I've heard whispers about what happens in the floors above the legitimate business offices. A club where wishes come true. A place where the most powerful men in Chicago play games with the desperate and the wanting.
Tonight, I'm both.
I pull into the private parking entrance and a valet appears before I've even turned off the engine. Young, handsome, eager,with a professional smile that falters slightly when he sees the car. He looks at it with obvious appreciation, probably calculating its worth.
"Welcome to Scarlet Thorn," he says, opening my door. "May I take your keys?"
I step out into the warm air, thick with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume from the guests who passed through before me. And there's something sweeter drifting through the air.
It's bravery.
My fingers find the buttons of my coat. They tremble, but I don't let myself hesitate. One button. Two. Three. The wool falls open, and I shrug it off my shoulders and hand it to him along with my keys.
“Toss that inside, sweetie. I won’t be needing it for the rest of the night.”
The young man's eyes go wide. His jaw actually drops, lips parting around a sound that never quite becomes words. For a moment he just stares at me, at the flowers blooming across my breasts, the vines curling down my torso, the leaves that make me look like Eve before her orchestrated and unfair fall from grace.
A flush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.