Why can’t I breathe?
“Drink?” Harvey leans over to open a mini fridge as the limo pulls away. I know for a fact that there’s a tracker hidden somewhere in this vehicle, courtesy of my guys, though I have no idea where. They’d never let me go otherwise.
As it is, I imagine they’re pulling at their hair and pacing holes in the carpet.
“No, thank you,” Dominic refuses.
“Ellie?” Harvey asks.
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
Before Harvey can even ask Doyle, the younger man reaches for a bottle of bourbon, pops the top, and downs it in a few chugs.
Dominic and I watch him with wide eyes.
Harvey simply grins, seemingly unconcerned with his son’s erratic behavior.
We drive for over an hour, an unnatural silence permeating the limo. I have no idea where we’re going, but the houses and shops gradually transition into rows of meticulously groomed trees. The asphalt morphs into dirt as we veer off the main road and onto a side street.
“Masks,” Harvey reminds us as the limo begins to slow.
With shaky hands, I grab the gold-edged mask he hands me, securing it on my face. The weight is unbearably heavy, almost like cement, but I know it’s just my overactive imagination working against me. With shaky hands, I pull my hood up, making sure every wispy strand of brown hair is hidden away.
Dom gives my knee a reassuring squeeze as the limo pulls to a stop. All of us wait for an attendant to open the door for us. Harvey slips out without a word of thanks, and I move to follow him. Right before I exit, however, I hear Dom whisper to Doyle, “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t talk to me,” Doyle hisses back, his voice laced with vitriol. “I never should have helped you.”
Before Dom can inquire further, Doyle pushes past him—and consequently me—to exit the vehicle and stand by his father. I stumble slightly, but Dom is there, keeping me steady.
“You okay?” He squeezes me for a second before reluctantly releasing me.
“What do you think Doyle meant by that?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
I wish I could see Dominic’s expression, but that damn mask makes it impossible. “I have no idea, but I don’t like it. Stay alert, always, and don’t leave my side.”
“Never,” I promise. Then, because I’m nervous, I babble, “I meant, I’ll never leave your side. Not that I won’t stay alert. I mean—fuck. I’m going to stop talking now.”
Dom brushes his pinkie against mine, the lightest of touches, before pulling away.
We move to join Harvey and Doyle in silence.
Fear skates up my spine and knots in my throat as I stare up, up, up at our destination for the evening.
A sleek architectural marvel rises from the dense greenery—all glass, black steel, and sharp angles, gleaming like a monolith in the filtered moonlight. Trees press close to the perimeter, their canopies towering above, but the building itself remains unfazed, lit from within like a jewel box.
Outside, a looping driveway of dark stone winds through the trees. Luxury vehicles purr in—sleep black limos, glossy sports cars, and antique Rolls-Royce, all immaculate, all moving with almost choreographed timing. Guests pour out, chatting animatedly, dressed in masks and cloaks.
It’s fucking terrifying.
My ribs squeeze my heart like a vise as I follow the flow of the crowd through security—more excessive than the TSA, though they never once ask us to remove our masks or cloaks.
Anonymity is a staple of the Paragons of Prosperity, after all.
Then we’re inside.
I thought I would be able to breathe easier once I made it through security, but I was wrong. God, my chest feels tight. Too tight.
Did the other guys make it in? Were they even able to? I know Zane snuck in before, but how did he do that? Did he kill someone and steal their identity? Would they be able todo it again? How would I even know if they’re here? Landon mentioned a way for us to be able to identify each other, but I suddenly can’t remember what he said. Something about a sticker?—