Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Same.” Lifting her glass, I do the same, and I hate that the thought of Arlo flickers in my head. “Here’s to finally figuring out what we want in life.”
Both of us laugh. It feels good to laugh like this—real, unguarded laughter that makes my shoulders drop and my chest feel lighter. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I’m not bracing for something. I’m just here, with my best friend, a glass of wine in hand, good food in front of us, with no pressure to be anything other than exactly who I am. It’s a relief I didn’t realize I needed. Tonight… tonight I get to just breathe. And that, in itself, feels like a small kind of freedom.
EIGHT
ARLO
I have a few friends, if you can call them that.
Soren is obviously the one I spend most of my time with. Boston is another. I’m not really sure if I consider Reon a friend or an acquaintance at this point. And then there’s Rylas. He’s a criminal lawyer—one of the best. Everyone in the Forsaken has a dark side, and Rylas is no exception. Sometimes, I think he became a criminal lawyer to figure out all the reasons people get caught for murder so he could use that knowledge to get away with it himself. He’s generally someone who keeps to himself and doesn’t have a lot of friends. And that’s usually how most of the members work, apart from Soren, who seems to have a lot of friends. Though no one knows how fucked up he is. Even as close as I am to him, I know he keeps things from me as well.
Soren has a thing for fighting—underground fighting, that is—and he’s good at it too. I’ve gone to a few fights with him, and though I can’t say I enjoy it all that much, I understand the lure for him—he’s a powerful businessman during the day, and at night, he fights until either he or his opponent, or both, are soaked in blood.
“I heard you invited Reon to the mixer,” Rylas says as I stand from my desk. Today was an early day—well, it was meant to be. I have to head into my restaurant, which is something I don’t usually have to do. But tonight, the manager asked to speak with me. I pay the manager a lot to handle all the day-to-day stuff and only call me when absolutely necessary.
“Soren’s idea.”
“He’s always had a soft spot for him.”
I nod in agreement. Soren has always respected Reon the most for reasons unknown. And when Soren arranged for Reon to marry his sister, that’s when we all realized he thinks more highly of Reon than anyone else.
The last time Rylas saw Reon was during the hunt, where Lilith was the chosen prey. To say that didn’t bode well with Reon would be an understatement.
But once you’re in the Forsaken, you can’t leave.
Reon knows that.
Wives are also off-limits, and Reon knows that as well. And despite my seeing Lilith in a professional capacity, even I wasn’t aware they were married until he declared it. It’s one of the reasons both of them are still standing instead of being dead, like the rules state.
We also have another rule, which is usually at the discretion of our Lord. It states that members should be married by the age of thirty to limit their chances of being taken advantage of by a woman. We’ve had instances in the past where one member let it slip to a woman about the Society, and she used that to her advantage and got a lot of money out of the deal. Now she has an “NDA” and knows that if she talks, she dies. Last I heard, she’s living out in the country and is married with children.
I’ve passed the required age for marriage and am still single, and even though it’s up to the discretion of our Lord, I have not been required, yet. But Rylas? He’s married, though I doubt he spends much time with his wife.
“Go home to your wife, Rylas.”
Rylas laughs at my comment but continues to sit there in his expensive suit, sipping on an expensive whiskey.
We both know he isn’t going home to his wife anytime soon.
NINE
CORA
We’re two bottles of wine in and finishing our dessert when I notice someone approaching our table. I pay them no attention as I continue shuffling through my bag to find something, when I realize my wallet is missing. Where did that go? Did I leave it at home? Surely not. A wave of panic surges through me, and just when I’m opening my mouth to tell Delaney, I’m startled by someone slapping their hands on the table, veins visible beneath tan skin, a map of muscle and tension that makes my pulse jump. My gaze traces from the sexy hands to forearms bared by the rolled-up sleeves of a tailored black dress shirt, and I feel myself get a little bit wet at the sight. Maybe it’s the wine, but those hands are more than welcome to caress all over my body. Those are some good-looking arms too.