White Hot (Hidden Legacy 2)

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted Rogan’s attention. I was jealous, and my jealousy was a full-blown monster with needles, fangs, and claws. In my mind, Rogan was mine.

Crap. When did this even happen?

I chanced a quick glance at them. They were talking to each other with the easy familiarity of old friends. They looked good together. Rogan—huge, hard, and wrapped in broody darkness—and Rynda: sweet, light, almost delicate. And here I was, the third wheel, wanting to slap that sweet delicate smile right off Rynda’s face.

“Jessica is in the first grade and Kyle will be starting school next year,” Rynda reported. “Can you believe it? I’ll be all alone.”

“Feeling abandoned already?” Rogan asked.

“Yes. I know it’s completely irrational.”

I glanced in Augustine’s direction. Rescue me. Please, before she notices I exist and I make a fool of myself.

He was moving toward us, but not nearly fast enough for my liking.

“Who is your companion?” Rynda asked.

“Nobody,” I said.

Rogan glanced at me, surprised.

“We’re not together,” Rynda said. “We never were.”

If I could’ve disappeared into thin air, I would’ve. “I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood the nature of our relationship. Mr. Rogan isn’t my date. I work for House Montgomery, and he was simply kind enough to escort me. I think I see Augustine over there. Excuse me.”

I tried to separate myself from Rogan, but he slid his arm around my waist. I wasn’t going anywhere without drawing attention to myself.

Rynda peered into my eyes. “No, stay, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I told her. “I simply didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” Rogan said.

And the exact thing I didn’t want to happen happened. Both of them were now focused on me.

I glanced back at Augustine, desperately hoping he was close. For some reason he turned almost in mid-step and was walking to the left. In his place an older woman who looked like a carbon copy of Rynda except twenty years older was marching toward us.

“Your mother is coming,” Rogan said.

“I know. Can you hear the ‘Ride of the Valkyries’?” Rynda sighed. “You probably should run.”

“Too late,” Rogan said.

Mrs. Charles stopped next to us and raised her eyebrows at me, then glanced at Rogan as if he was some dirty homeless person come to beg for change as she exited her limo.

“It’s too late for regrets, Connor.”

Rogan’s face had snapped into his Prime expression, cold and tinted with arrogance. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Olivia.”

“No, the pleasure is all mine. It’s been over a decade. My daughter is radiant. Her husband is successful and both of her children are likely to be Primes. And you’re a recluse, reduced to escorting your former college friend’s employee.” She spared me a look. “Couldn’t you have done something about her neck? I’m sure Augustine would do you this small favor. Or have you managed to ruin that relationship as well?”

“Enough, Mother,” Rynda said.

Rogan regarded Olivia with mild interest, as if she were an odd insect.

“No, I don’t think so.” Olivia’s stare could’ve cut like a knife. “I’m quite enjoying my revenge. Fifteen years of financial planning and genetic forecasts ruined, because he wanted to play soldier.”

She turned back to me. “Let me explain things to you, my dear. If you ever hope to make something of yourself, you will walk away from this man as fast as your feet will carry you. You stand here, in what is probably a borrowed dress, and you think that because your hand is on his arm, you’re Cinderella with a head full of dreams and he’s your wonderful prince.”

“Mother!” Rynda snapped.

“In reality, you’re an adornment, like a scarf that happened to complement his outfit. He doesn’t care about you beyond the fleeting benefit you can provide. And when he is done, he’ll discard you in the back of his closet, where you will linger, forgotten and still hoping, while your dreams wither and die one by one.”

Her magic rose behind her like a nest of invisible snakes slithering to me. Her voice reverberated through my skull, reaching deep into my mind.

“You better run, my dear. Run fast and hard, and never look back. Go on.”

Her magic crashed against me, a powerful hard surge pushing me to leave, and broke against my own. A psionic.

I could’ve stared into her eyes and fired back. Her will was strong, frightening even, but so was mine. And if I won, I’d make her spill every dirty secret she had on this floor. I wanted to so badly.

Instead, I turned around, broke free of Rogan, and hurried off, seemingly in the random direction that would take me to Augustine.

Rogan laughed quietly behind me.

You idiot, I’m pretending to run for my life. Don’t ruin it.

Rynda’s voice was brittle. “Are you happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when he dies alone,” her mother said.

“Always a pleasure, Olivia,” Rogan said, his voice amused.

The crowd ignored me, concentrating on Rogan and Olivia. Nobody openly watched, but most glanced at them, some with interest, others with alarm. Baranovsky viewed the show from his favorite spot on the second floor by the stairs. He was sipping champagne from a flute, his face wearing an amused expression.

Augustine stepped into my way. I pretended to bump into him.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m very publicly fleeing Olivia Charles and her magic,” I whispered to him. “I’m distraught. You should calm me down somewhere out of sight, where nobody will realize that two Baranovskys is one too many.”

“Of course,” Augustine said, putting a protective arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go this way.”

Rogan said something to Olivia, but we were too far to hear.

Augustine led me to the side, aiming for a hallway. “What would this second Baranovsky be doing?”

“Getting a copy of Elena’s USB from the computer in his bedroom.”

“Splendid,” Augustine said. “This will be fun.”

Behind us glass shattered. I whipped around.

Gabriel Baranovsky clutched at his throat. Blood poured from his neck, shocking against his pale skin. He stumbled, poised above the stairs, like some odd bird about to take flight, and plunged down. His shoulder crunched, connecting with the steps. His body flipped, his head bouncing off the red carpet, slid, and came to rest midway down the staircase, his unseeing eyes staring straight at the ceiling.

The two bodyguards pointed guns at the crowd.

Nobody screamed. Nobody rushed to help.

The silence was deafening.

The entire mass of people turned as one and marched toward the exit, streaming past the guards, out of hallways, and down the stairs. Instantly bodies flooded the space around us, all moving in the same direction.

I tried to fight my way to the hallway, but Augustine grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit. “No! They’ll lock down the mansion! We’ll be trapped here for hours.”

Damn it.

The security personnel charged into the room, cutting the crowd in a half. Cornelius appeared by my side. “We have to go!”

In the middle of the human current, Rogan turned and began striding against the flow of bodies forcing his way in our direction. He probably couldn’t even see us.

“Rogan!” I called out.

Ahead a tall blond man turned his head. Our stares connected. He smiled.

I had seen that smile before through the window of the Suburban.

“Rogan!” I jerked my phone out of the clutch and held it up, pressing the camera icon to activate burst mode. The phone clicked in staccato, taking a dozen shots of the crowd in rapid succession.

The blond man turned and melted back into the crowd.

Behind us metal groaned as the security gates began clanging into place. “Remain calm!” a clipped voice announced from the speakers.