The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

When she’d drugged me before, she hadn’t looked at me with the kind of malice she did now. This was a whole new level. Pure, unfiltered hatred poured out of her. If she could have killed me with a glare, she would have, but even Hera didn’t have that power.

Instead, Alice settled for a knife, and the morning sunlight gleamed off its sharp blade.

TWENTY-ONE

SOUND FADED OUT AS MY GAZE FOCUSED IN ON ALICE. It wasn’t clear where the knife had come from. I assumed she’d grabbed it from the block in the executive kitchen, but had she been hiding it in the folds of her skirt? Neither Royce nor I had noticed it until she raised it and pointed the tip menacingly at me.

Her eyes were wild with madness. “How could you?”

I sucked in a breath, and my whole body went tight, making the bottle of water crinkle in my hand.

When she took a step toward me, Royce tossed his bottle away with a loud thump against his father’s office door, and he moved between us, his hands out in front, trying to keep her calm. “Alice.” His tone was soft. “What are you doing?”

His nonconfrontational attitude made no difference to her. She was too far gone and determined to get to me. I realized it as he did, and Ares activated. He lunged for the knife the same moment she jabbed forward.

I gasped and backpedaled, slamming painfully into the railing. Fear had me immobile and my reaction slow, but not Royce. He grabbed Alice’s wrist and struggled with her. He was bigger and stronger, but her dark motivation made her match his strength. She tried to cut him, but his grasp prevented her from getting at him and made her slice awkwardly at the air.

It was a frantic battle I was powerless to stop, and I had to watch with my breath halted horribly in my lungs. He gave a grunt of pain, followed by hers, and the blade flashed between their hands before he was able to shake the knife from her grip.

It clattered loudly to the concrete, and Royce kicked it away as he clasped a hand over the sleeve covering his forearm. With the weapon gone, it left the two of them glaring at each other and breathing hard. She’d been disarmed, but danger continued to swirl on the balcony.

Adding to it was the cold wind of Macalister, who stepped through the side door of his office and took in the scene. His gaze went from the knife near his feet, then to Alice, before moving on to his son.

“Royce,” Macalister’s expression was . . . strange. Concern pulled his eyebrows together. After what had happened in the boardroom, worry was the last thing I would have expected.

“I’m okay,” my husband said quickly.

Too quickly.

My heart thudded to a stop.

He stood to the side, so I couldn’t understand what had put anxiety in Macalister’s eyes, but his expression was enough to give me genuine fear. It was then I noticed the red drips on the concrete. It was so much worse when Royce turned to face me. His black suit sleeve was wet, and crimson blood slipped through his fingers. It poured down his wounded arm, dripping from his listless hand.

No. Oh, no.

I dropped my water bottle with a thud. He was the one who was hurt, but as he took in my ashen face and saw how I had an arm braced against the railing to hold myself upright, he only seemed to be worried about me. “Marist, it looks worse than it is.”

“Oh, my God,” I moaned.

I wanted to be strong, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My knees became gelatinous, my stomach rolled, and my vision narrowed. I was going to pass out again, and I fought the sensation with every fleeting ounce of strength I possessed. There was just enough to turn away from the gruesome sight and grip the railing with both hands, hard enough my fingers ached.

If I could catch my breath and get my legs back under me, I’d be all right, I told myself. It was fucking ridiculous I was so weak. Alice had cut him. What if she’d done worse? All while I stood there, paralyzed with—

A pair of hands hit my shoulders and shoved. The shocking force of it, combined with my weakened state, made me pitch forward.

“No!” The word was so horrified, I couldn’t tell which one of the Hale men had yelled it. This was the thought that ran through my mind as I tipped over the ledge, the ground no longer beneath my feet.

The disorienting feeling of falling was the first to slam into me.

Then—utter terror.

I screamed as I tumbled over the side of the railing and clawed desperately for anything to hold on to. One hand found the thick, blunt edge of the smooth glass, and I jerked to a stop so hard, it wrenched my shoulder. If I’d had any left, the pain would have taken my breath away.