Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)
Ready to leave it all behind. At least for a little while.
Veering to the right, I bypassed the kitchens—one for everyday use and another adjacent to it for caterers—as I headed for the solarium at the side of the large house. Opening the double doors, I stepped into the massive, ceramic-tiled garden room, the walls and ceiling made entirely of glass, and instantly felt the rise in temperature. The thick, wet heat soaked through the fabric of my dress, making it melt to my body.
Trees rose above and all around me in the quiet, dark room, lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the windows overhead. I inhaled the sweet smell of the palms, orchids, lilies, violets, and hibiscus, reminding me of my mother’s closet and all the perfumes from her coats and scarves blending together in one space.
I turned left, stopping at the glass doors leading to the terrace and slipped into my heels as I gazed out at the crowd.
Twelve hours.
And then I straightened, reaching up, grabbing a handful of hair, and bringing it over my shoulder to cover the left side of my neck. Unlike his brother, Trevor would definitely be here tonight, and he didn’t like to see my scar.
“Miss?” a waiter said as he stepped up with a tray.
I smiled, taking one of the highball glasses that I knew was a Tom Collins. “Thank you.”
The lemon-colored drink was Mr. and Mrs. Crist’s favorite, so they insisted that the servers circulate it.
The waiter disappeared, moving on to the many other g
uests, but I stayed rooted, letting my eyes drift around the party.
Leaves fluttered on their branches, the calm breeze still holding remnants of the day’s heat, and I surveyed the crowd, all dressed in their casual cocktail dresses and suit jackets.
So perfect. So clean.
The lights in the trees and the servers in their white waistcoats. The crystal-blue pool adorned with floating candles. The glittering jewels of the ladies’ rings and necklaces that caught the light.
Everything was so polished, and when I looked around at all the adults and families I grew up with, their money and designer clothes, I often saw a coat of paint that you apply when you’re trying to cover up rotting wood. There were dark deeds and bad seeds, but who cared if the house was falling apart as long as it was pretty, right?
The scent of the food lingered in the air accompanied by the soft music of the string quartet, and I wondered if I should find Mrs. Crist and let her know I’d arrived or find Trevor, since the party was in his honor, after all.
But instead I tightened my fingers around my glass, my pulse quickening as I tried to resist the urge to do what I really wanted to do. What I always wanted to do.
To look for him.
But no, he wouldn’t be here. He probably wouldn’t be here.
He might be here.
My heart started thumping, and my neck heated. And, against my own will, my eyes started to drift. Around the party and over the faces, searching…
Michael.
I hadn’t seen him in months, but the pull was everywhere, especially in Thunder Bay. In the pictures his mother kept around this house, in his scent that drifted into the hallway from his old bedroom…
He might be here.
“Rika.”
I blinked, jerking my head to the left, hearing Trevor call my name.
He walked out of the crowd, his blond hair freshly cut close to the scalp, his dark blue eyes looking impatient, and his stride determined. “Hey, baby. I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
I hesitated, feeling my stomach tighten. But then I forced a smile as he stepped up to me in the doorway of the solarium.
Twelve hours.
He slipped a hand around the right side of my neck—never the left side—and rubbed his thumb across my cheek, his body flush with mine.