Chase was unperturbed by my rudeness, just cleared his throat and sat opposite me at the table, smiling like we were celebrating our anniversary or some shit.
"There's no need for such hostility, Darling," he purred, totally at ease in his seat. Totally in control of the situation. Bastard.
His man, who'd patted me down, seemed to be the only other person in the room, and there was an edge of familiarity about him. The lighting was so low that very little was visible beyond the sphere of candlelight on our table, so I filed that away in my brain for later.
Chase reached for the champagne, poured a glass for each of us, then indicated I take mine.
"You must think I'm an idiot," I murmured, shaking my head as I sat back in my chair. "I'm not risking being drugged tonight, thank you. I agreed to come to dinner; I never agreed to eat or drink."
Chase's single eye narrowed in annoyance, and he snapped his fingers impatiently. His guard silently approached the table and picked up my champagne flute. Watching me from under low lids, the man raised my glass to his lips and took a noticeable sip before placing the glass back down.
As he swallowed and licked his lips, recognition sparked. He was the same guard who'd been outside the Locked Heart offices the night I'd first confronted Chase. He'd seemed familiar then and even more so now. How strange.
"You see?" Chase snapped. "Perfectly fine. No drugs."
The silent guard arched a brow as if confirming that he was, indeed, not drugged. But shit, call me paranoid, I still didn't trust my certifiably crazy ex.
To avoid things turning nasty so soon, though, I gave a tight smile and raised the glass to my own lips. Chase held my gaze as I took a sip, seeming satisfied, and didn't seem to notice when I simply spat the champagne back into the glass again before lowering it.
Such a douche, he let his own arrogance and ego blind him to simple deceptions. No doubt that'd work in my favor at some stage.
"What am I doing here, Chase?" I asked when he just sat there looking at me for an uncomfortably long time. To be fair, the total lack of ambush or assault had thrown me for a loop, and I was way off balance.
He tilted his head to the side. "Enjoying a nice dinner date with your fiancé, Darling. What else?" He gave a sick, evil laugh. "Can't a man just want to spend quality time with his future wife?"
My stomach churned. "You're deluded," I muttered.
"Or determined," he shot back. "I hope you're hungry; the chef has cooked quite the masterpiece for us tonight."
That poor chef had probably done it all with a gun to his head.
Restraining the urge to fidget, I carefully avoided looking at my phone. But I'd placed it there on the table deliberately so I'd see if anyone called with an update on Seph. Not that they'd had any luck as of the last time we’d spoken to Demi, but a girl could hope.
"I see polite conversation is asking too much this evening." Chase sighed when I didn't respond to his comment about dinner. "Would you feel more comfortable if we spoke about our shared interests?"
"Oh, we have those?" I replied, sarcastic as hell.
Chase gave a soft laugh. "Darling girl, we're so much more alike than you care to admit. We always have been, remember? You used to call me the other half of your fucked up soul. We were made for each other, something you proved when you so ruthlessly shot your Reaper lover without hesitation."
His eye sparked with excitement as he said that like he was remembering the moment and slightly getting off on it. Sick fuck.
"We're nothing alike, Chase," I lied.
He just sneered. "Speaking of your dead lover... he was awfully fascinated with the Lockhart legacy, wasn't he?"
Confusion rippled through me, but I didn't let it show. "Were you always this self-important? Or is this something you've picked up since suffering a bullet to the head?" I tipped my head to the side, my fingers toying with the stem of my champagne flute. "No one gives two shits about the Lockharts anymore because they're all dead."
Chase gave a shrug. "If that were true, I wouldn't have found an entire hard drive of research in the Reaper's apartment. Digital stamps don't lie, Darling; he's put a number of years into his investigation of my father. But I can't quite put my finger on why. Can you shed some light?"
What the fuck was he talking about? Cass had been investigating Chase's father? Why?
"I'd offer to ask him for you," I replied in a cool voice, "but I don't think fate would save two bastards from my bullets. Some secrets really do go to the grave."
Chase's lips thinned like he wanted to accuse me of lying. Like he suspected I knew exactly why Cass was researching Channing Lockhart and just wasn't letting on. Unfortunately for him, and me, I really had no clue.
"Fine," he hissed eventually. He waved his hand in the air, and a moment later a very stressed-looking waiter came hurrying out of the kitchen with two steaming bowls of soup. His hands shook as he set them down in front of us, then he all but ran back to the kitchen, where he must have been hiding.
"Eat your fucking food, Darling," Chase snapped, picking up his spoon. "You're too skinny."
When I made no move to even touch my soup spoon, his temper snapped and he slammed his fist down on the table. Soup sloshed, and my champagne fell over, spilling wine all over the tablecloth and onto the floor.
"I said eat," he snarled. "Or pretty little Stephanie loses a finger."
I stiffened, my heartbeat thrashing in my ears as panic flooded my system. Chase didn't have his phone in sight, but I didn't doubt he could make that call in a snap.
Swallowing hard, I picked up my spoon and dipped it into the creamy green soup. Even if it was spiked... I'd survive. I always did.
The soup tasted like ash on my tongue, but Chase didn't let up with the murderous glare until I'd swallowed that first mouthful. Then his whole demeanor shifted like he'd unzipped a skinsuit, and suddenly we were back to charming dinner-date Chase.
"I'm so sorry about what happened to your apartment building," he commented as casually as if we were discussing the weather. "That must have been such a blow, losing all your pretty cars like that."
I resisted the urge to gag as I took another tiny spoonful of soup. "The loss of innocent lives somewhat eclipsed my love for those cars, Chase. I understand that you severely lack in empathy and basic human emotions, but you're not stupid. Stop acting like you are."
His eye narrowed at me, flashing with anger. Then he tossed his head back in laughter—full-belly laughter like I'd just told him the funniest joke on earth.
"I missed that smart mouth of yours," he commented when his laughter died down, then his expression quickly shifted to something darker, more dangerous. "I can think of so many things I'd like to do to that mouth. Five years has given me so very much time to think about our reunion."
Bile curdled in my stomach. "No, thank you. Zed's been more than keeping my mouth busy at home." I knew better than to provoke Chase, but I couldn't fucking help myself.
Chase stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over in the process, and stepped around the table to snatch a brutal handful of my hair. Enraged, he hauled me out of my seat with my scalp screaming and slammed his mouth into mine so hard it made my mouth fill with the sharp tang of blood.