I could feel my mother’s bad intentions through her mask, boring into me and full of disappointment that I disobeyed her again.
I watched Abigail’s eyes dart around, trying to take in the theatrics of this ball and all the outlandish masks people wore to hide who they truly were—the ones pulling the strings on society, like politicians, entertainers, engineers, writers, high-ranking religious deities and anyone with the ability to create change. We had all of those people in our back pockets.
My mother practically floated over to us on her high fucking horse clearing her throat like she might blend into the masses. No, I saw her, hard to miss.
“Jason, a word.”
Gauging her tone was easier after seeing Jessica standing in the distance with a scowl on her face in a short red dress and black knee high boots with a mask made of crystals. Her anger emanated off of her, and it was pretty obvious her eyes were glued to Abigail, who stole everyone’s attention.
Khaos being exactly who he was oohed and aahed from behind what looked like wire rimmed glasses and fucking 3D eyeballs tapped to the back.
Fucking lunatic.
Leaning into Abigail, I whispered, “I’ll be back. Don’t leave Khaos’s side.” Following my mom down a hallway branching off the main room, I felt like a kid in trouble. At least when I was younger, the trouble was kicked away with a smile and seemingly innocent virtue I used to have.
Slapping Khaos with the back of my hand, I told him without stopping, “Watch her.”
Now trouble was considered stepping out of line, disobeying, and the punishment? Punishable by death.
I didn’t expect my father to come in behind me and slam the door closed when he shouted, “You’re a fucking disgrace!”
His voice made a tingle crawl up my back, creating a wave of goosebumps. I wasn’t scared of anything, but if you filed down my father’s teeth, I’m sure that would be the one thing closest to me experiencing fear. My father wasn’t easy, kind, or even decent. He got to the top by not giving any fucks.
Those got passed down to me, not nearly as much, but the gene still there.
“Spit the rest out, old man.” Folding my arms, I waited for the assault on my choices to rain down on me.
My mother was the one to make the next move, out of character, considering she had perfected the role as the silent but deadly wife. Her open hand collided with my cheek, and the sting of the collision felt like I accidentally bit my own lip on the inside. “You’re going to respect your father, the rules, and the Clave’s desires for you. Jessica was waiting for you to arrive for you to only arrive with her, your assistant.”
I took her slap with a callous expression, not giving away anything, even though her heavy rings were basically turned around brass knuckles against my skin.
“You were loud and clear last time. Now I’m doing what I want to do.”
“What you want to do?” She laughed, like it was actually funny, genuine and full sounding. “Who told you what you want matters at all, Jason? Is that the idea she gives you? She isn’t Clave. She doesn’t know what happens to the exiled; you do. Do you want to be exiled?”
“She doesn’t give me any ideas, mother. I’m done following these fucked up rules and letting you convince me I’m powerless.”
She raised her hand, like slapping me again was going to knock literal sense into me. I caught her wrist, holding it in my grasp and staring her down with intent.
“None of us get a choice, Jason. We are all slaves to the Clave. We are powerless,” she barked into me, and I dropped her wrist.
I didn’t expect my father to round the desk, pushing his way into my line of sight, with his features looked to be made of stone. “After tonight, I don’t want to see or hear about her again. Your marriage with Jessica is pending, and that is an alliance we can’t afford to lose.”
I was too angry to speak. They were blaming Abigail's presence in my life for my insubordination when I had shed that skin so long ago it was hard to remember ever being like Vic.
“One of the other guys will take her. I’m not interested,” I insulted.
The tension in the room was at an all-time high, suffocating, burning my lungs. My father’s hand slammed down on the desk in the room that no one used except for his private meetings.
“You will choose Jessica. It’s not up for debate.”
The only card I could play would be her maybe being pregnant, but it wasn’t a card I was willing to show yet. Protecting her was a fucking dance—one where I took steps forward to only take them back.
Walking out of the room mid-conversation wasn’t going to go well. Slamming the door behind me, well, that was pure adrenaline slapping against the anger. It always sounded like wood splitting.
The crowd of partygoers gathered in the one area moved on, exploring and enjoying a party exclusively for them. It came as no shock when I noticed even Khaos and Abigail had moved on to enjoying the party.
I had to find a fucking loophole other than the one Khaos suggested. My parents were in charge; they weren’t going to bend because I wanted them to. They wouldn’t think twice about killing Abigail, carrying my child or not.
I needed to go drastic. Fake her death. Send her to Paris. Make nice with Jessica. Something that looked and felt real.
More real than what I was feeling for her by continuing with this suicide mission.
In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to use our unborn child as our ticket out of this. It might not be enough, and I could be risking it all. The Clave is cutthroat.
Searching for Khaos, easier to spot, I wandered around trying to find them. When I said keep an eye on her, I meant for him to stay close by, but Khaos wasn’t a great listener. I found the rest of the party goers mingling downstairs with the traditional punch I’ve avoided for years, Jessica flirting with everyone with a pulse, probably to make me jealous, and no Abigail in sight. I even looked around for Oscar, just for good measure. Finally giving up, I pulled my phone out, sending Khaos a text when Bo scared the shit out of me.
“She ran off, and Khaos followed upstairs,” his voice was tainted with suspicion.
Read the room. He’s always suspicious.
“You should wear a fucking bell. I didn’t even hear you walk up.”
“Seen and not heard, basically the motto of the Clave.”
I could see his eyes through the distorted skeleton mask, made out of jewels and something out of Egyptian culture, peering at me like he could sense all the shit no one was telling him.
Bo was the last person I needed involved.
“Doesn’t make it any less creepy coming from your mouth.”
“Creepy is kind of my thing. Shit gets fucked up when our parents decide who we’ll be before they even know us.”
He drew in all of my attention when I faced him needing him to rewind. “What does that mean?”
“They picked which horsemen we’ll be before they sent us to Servants. I’m creepy, stealth, have no issue killing what needs to be dead… unlike you. I should have been death, but they got to choose.”
Bo was suggesting our parents knew, planned, and determined our fucked up lives before we even got sent to Servants. I blamed them for creating the monster living in my head, but this was a new level of puppeteering, even for them. They weren’t throwing me to the flames, hoping for the best, and I just happened to be this person. They did this to all four of us.