“Don’t condescend to me, little girl,” he growled.
“But she’s right, Maiden,” Shrimp said, neatly deflecting Maiden’s attention. “And why should they make good on their promise anyway? They couldn’t stiff an Employee or Exec without getting into trouble, but a Basement-dweller…” He snorted. “Since when do they give a shit about us? They can’t even be bothered to fix the fucking lights.” He glared up at the chandelier, which remained stubbornly dark, then shook his head.
“Nothing good can happen if we turn them over,” Shrimp concluded. “And a whole lotta bad could.”
Maiden gave a noncommittal grunt and turned his attention to his salad, stabbing with his fork in a way that suggested he was still simmering over Nadia’s “condescension.” Who would have thought it was Nadia who’d end up pissing off their host? Though obviously it didn’t take much to piss him off.
Following Maiden’s lead, Nate picked up the fork closest to his plate, even though it wasn’t a salad fork. And was on the wrong side. He noticed that Nadia and Agnes did the same. Nate wondered if the small errors weren’t errors after all. Maybe Maiden was getting a kick out of watching them follow his lead. It would be just the kind of petty power play people like him would enjoy.
For a while, they all munched quietly. All but Kitty, that is. She stirred the salad around her plate and took the occasional nibble, but she seemed much more interested in the contents of her wineglass. Nate didn’t know who she was or how she had ended up in this position, but he felt sorry for her.
“I won’t turn you in,” Maiden announced as the salad plates were being cleared. “As long as the money keeps flowing and you don’t cause any trouble, you can stay. But trust me when I say you do not want to get on my bad side. I don’t care who you were before you came into my territory, but as long as you are here, you are Red Death property. You will not make any waves, and you will not do anything that might draw unwanted attention to me or my people.” He turned his menacing gaze on Agnes, who hadn’t uttered a peep so far.
“My brother tells me you wanted to use our signal hookup to make a phone call. If you even think of doing something like that, I will do things to you that your genteel Executive mind cannot even begin to comprehend. Is that quite clear?”
Agnes blanched, and Nate wanted to leap to her defense, or at least beat Maiden senseless for being a coldhearted bully. But this was one of those times when he had to control his temper, to think about anything he might say at least three times before speaking, and so far, he hadn’t come up with anything to say that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
“I told you I already warned them about that, bro,” Shrimp said. “There’s no need to be such a hard-ass about it.” He met Maiden’s eyes with his own fearless gaze and put his arm protectively around Agnes’s shoulders. She jumped a little at the touch, but otherwise made no objection.
“You warn them your way,” Maiden said, “I’ll warn them mine. And if they bring Paxco security forces into our territory, I will hold you personally responsible.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his ice-cold stare made it very clear how serious he was. “Just because I won’t let anyone else hurt you doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Shrimp showed no sign of being rattled by his brother’s threat. Neither his face, nor his voice, nor his body language betrayed anything Nate could label as fear or even anger. He merely accepted it with a slight nod.
“Understood.”
Maiden’s stare lingered on him a moment longer before turning to Agnes. “And you, Agnes Belinski? Do you understand?”
“I understand,” she responded quietly, her eyes demurely lowered, her naturally high-pitched voice making her sound innocent and childlike.
Maiden’s self-satisfied smile said it was exactly what he wanted to hear.
CHAPTER TEN
The lights didn’t come back on.
Dinner was a quiet, tense affair, with no one except Maiden doing much talking. Considering the man’s delusions of grandeur, the food was probably good quality, but Nadia barely tasted it. The whole past week, she and the others had been in wait-and-see mode, waiting for their audience with Maiden, waiting for his permission to leave the building, waiting to see if he was going to follow through with the shelter Angel had paid him to provide.
Now, the wait was over. As if he were granting some kind of special blessing, Maiden gave them permission to leave the building at will, provided they stayed within Red Death territory and always wore something red whenever they were in public. Wearing red would mark them as honorary members of the Red Death, and that meant that none of his people would dare lay a finger on them. (Unless, of course, he gave them permission to do so.)
Their immediate future was taken care of—as long as Angel kept the money flowing, of course. But they were no closer to stopping Dorothy than they had been the day they’d fled Paxco Headquarters. Maiden had expressly forbidden them to make contact with the outside world, and if the power remained out, they wouldn’t even know what Dorothy was up to. Nadia had never realized before just how cut off the Basement-dwellers were from the rest of society.
Taking the candles from the dinner table to light their way, they returned to Shrimp’s apartment. He dug out a couple of flashlights, then headed out into the night.
“I’m gonna get more candles and flashlights,” he said. “Think we’re gonna need ’em. And I’ll see if I can find out what’s up with the power.”
“Austerity measures,” Nate and Nadia said together, and neither one of them cracked a smile at their unison.
Shrimp frowned. “You think she’d really just leave us all in the dark for good?”
“Hard to believe the board of directors would let her get away with it,” Nadia said, wondering just how Dorothy had managed to twist their arms so thoroughly. It was true that most Executives looked upon Basement-dwellers as little better than leeches, useless parasites who sucked out the lifeblood of society. But even the hardest-nosed of them would at least make a show of wanting to take care of the poor, and cutting all power to the Basement seemed extreme.
“And yet the power is still out,” Nate said. “With Dorothy, I’m always going to assume the worst until proven wrong.”
Shrimp headed for the door, but paused before opening it. “I know Maiden gave you the okay to go out, but you might not wanna risk it when the lights are out. The dark brings out the worst in people.”
Nadia suppressed a shudder. She did not want to see the worst of the people of the Red Death. She felt she’d done an admirable job of maintaining her poise during dinner, but Maiden reminded her disturbingly of Dirk Mosely, Paxco’s late chief of security, who had murdered the original Nate and threatened Nadia as well as her young niece and nephew with torture. At least Mosely had done it all under a veneer of patriotism; Maiden made no apology for his blatant evil. She felt like she needed a shower after spending so much time in his company.
And yet Maiden was the one Nadia and all her friends were counting on to keep them safe. Shutting out her inner voice, which kept telling her this couldn’t end well, was the only way she could cope with what she’d learned about their host this evening.
* * *
After Shrimp left for his nightly rounds, Bishop announced that he and Nate were going back to the boys’ apartment to take advantage of the “romantic” darkness. It went without saying that Dante was staying at Shrimp’s until someone gave him the all clear. Even in the candlelight, Nadia could see how Nate blushed at Bishop’s none-too-subtle proposition. There were still times when the Executive taboo made Nate uncomfortable about being out of the closet, but even prim Agnes hardly batted an eyelash at it anymore.
Nate and Bishop’s exit left Nadia, Dante, and Agnes alone in Shrimp’s living room, but about five minutes later, Agnes looked meaningfully back and forth between Nadia and Dante and then claimed she had a headache and wanted to go to bed early.
“You don’t have to go running off,” Nadia said. The idea of spending
some quality time with Dante in the candlelit dark was unquestionably appealing, but sending Agnes into what amounted to solitary confinement just seemed wrong.
Agnes forced a yawn and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, really. I need to lie down for a bit. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I need some time to decompress after that dinner anyway.”
Nadia bit her lip. Now that Agnes had made an issue of it, it would probably be awkward for her to stay anyway, but still …
“Are you sure?”
Agnes nodded and smiled faintly. “Introverts need alone time every once in a while, and I haven’t had any in forever. Don’t worry about me.”
Agnes’s departure left a strangely uncomfortable silence in its wake. Dante was sitting on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, and Nadia was standing by the coffee table, wondering if she should just sit down or if she should snuggle up against Dante’s side. Or on his lap, for that matter. It wasn’t like she’d never been alone with him before, but somehow Agnes’s obvious assumption that they were going to fool around made things feel … unnatural.
Dante smiled and reached out a hand to her, a hand she gratefully took. He gently guided her down to the couch beside him, fingers intertwined with hers.
“We don’t have to make out just because Agnes thinks we’re going to,” he said as he slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Nadia laughed nervously and laid her head against him, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of him. “Are you saying you don’t want to?” she teased.
He snorted. “I’m a guy. Of course I want to. I just don’t want you to feel awkward about it.”
She opened her eyes and tilted her face up to his. The candles cast flickering shadows across his face, their flames reflecting in his eyes. She reached up to stroke his cheek, loving how he shivered at the brush of her fingertips over his skin. No other guy had ever come close to making her feel the way Dante made her feel.
For years, she had tried hard not to think about what her future would bring, knowing she was fated to marry someone who could never be attracted to her. She had never allowed herself the romantic dreams and fantasies that girls were supposed to have. But if she had allowed herself such dreams, they would have starred someone just like Dante. Someone kind, and gentle, and brave, and, let’s face it, just plain hot.
Maybe she was living that dream right now, though it was peppered with pockets of nightmare. She should be eagerly taking advantage of every one of these stolen moments with Dante, because one day she was sure to wake up. If she didn’t die first, of course.
“You look like you’re thinking too much.” Dante smiled at her and cupped her cheek in his hand.
“Occupational hazard,” she said, shaking off her momentary gloom.
“Maybe I can help you with that,” he said, moving in for a kiss.
Nadia made a humming sound of agreement in the back of her throat while his lips feathered over hers—lightly at first, but that restraint didn’t last. She buried one hand in his hair and wrapped her other arm around him, holding on tight and reveling in the sweet sensations.
The sensual brush of his lips against hers. The incendiary strokes of his tongue. The silky texture of his hair between her fingertips. The faint scent of the sandalwood soap Shrimp provided them all with. The quickening of his breath and heartbeats.
Nadia ran her hands over him, feeling the subtle play of the muscles in his back as he laid her down on the couch, his body leaning over her as he tried to balance and not crush her. Without breaking the kiss, Nadia felt around her until she found the edge of the sofa’s back cushion and yanked it out of the way, making more room. Dante followed her lead, and soon they were lying side to side, the position still a tad precarious, but reasonably stable.
Dante broke the kiss to stare into her eyes as he stroked her hair reverently. “Someday, we’re gonna do this in complete privacy, where we can both lie down comfortably, and when our lives aren’t in danger.”
“Making out in the woods in the cold rain, or on the floor of a ratty Basement apartment, or in the living room of a gang lord’s little brother’s place not romantic enough for you?” she asked. She wished that someday could be now, but with their luck, as soon as clothes started coming off, Shrimp would bring some of his enforcer buddies home for a drink. She really envied Nate and Bishop with their own apartment and their own bedroom.
“Any time you’re with me, it’s plenty romantic,” Dante said, kissing her again.
The words practically melted her heart, and she clung to him ever more tightly. All the cares and troubles of her world seemed to disappear when Dante kissed her. Her brain stopped whirring with plans and ideas and fears, and all she could do was feel.
In Dante’s arms, it felt like all was right with her world. And even though a little part of her knew that was an illusion, it was an illusion she was more than happy to lose herself to for a little while.
* * *
Nadia stayed on the sofa with Dante for hours. They kissed and cuddled and explored each other’s bodies as much as they could while staying fully clothed. If Shrimp walked in on them, he’d be able to tell what they’d been up to, but at least he wouldn’t be getting a peep show.
When it was nearing dawn, Bishop knocked on the door and let Dante know that it was now safe for him to return to the boys’ apartment, and he and Nadia reluctantly parted.
Much as she had enjoyed those stolen hours, Nadia found herself strangely melancholy when she tiptoed into the bedroom she shared with Agnes. There were a lot of things she missed about her old life, she thought as she snuggled into the covers. She missed being able to go outside whenever she felt like it. She missed thinking the worst thing that could happen to her was some kind of petty scandal. She missed reading and studying, being able to focus her mind on something other than the struggle to survive.
The list of things she didn’t miss, however, was also surprisingly long. She didn’t miss being photographed every two seconds, or having the press and their talking heads scrutinizing her every move, her every outfit, her every word. She didn’t miss the barbed jealousy of her peers, who were all polite to her face while secretly hoping something dreadful would happen and she’d be socially ruined. Nor did she miss the endless party circuit wherein Executive families constantly strove to one-up each other with the elegance and pointless extravagance of their hospitality. That life seemed so foreign and distant these days.
As was inevitable whenever she allowed herself to think of her old life, Nadia couldn’t help wondering if her parents were all right.
Well, no. Of course they weren’t all right. They were both locked up in Rikers Island, and who knew what horrors they had to face inside that infamous prison. But she hoped they were at least alive. That they hadn’t been tortured. That they hadn’t been broken.
The heat of her little make-out session with Dante was long gone, replaced by guilt that she’d been indulging herself while her parents were locked up in Rikers because of her. Tears dribbled down Nadia’s cheeks and dripped on her pillow. Thinking about what her parents were going through made her miserable; and yet not thinking about it made her feel like the worst, most uncaring daughter ever. There was no winning. In the direct aftermath of Dorothy’s murder of Chairman Hayes, Nadia had bolstered herself with the image of her and Nate gathering and leading a new resistance movement, one that would somehow topple the government and bring Thea to justice. Now, it turned out their great resistance activities consisted of hiding out in a gang lord’s apartment and doing absolutely nothing.
“Are you awake?” Agnes whispered.
Nadia drew in a shaky breath. She was pretty sure her tears had been quiet—and that Agnes wouldn’t scorn her for them if she knew—but she surreptitiously brushed at her face and rubbed her eyes in hopes of erasing all traces.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s hard to sleep knowing what kind of monster we’re trusting our lives to.” Not that that had anythi
ng to do with the little pity party that had been keeping Nadia awake.
The bed shook and creaked as Agnes turned over. Nadia wiped her face with her hand one more time before turning over to face her in the darkness. The blackout drapes were effective enough that she could barely see the other girl’s form.
“I can’t sleep because I can’t stand the thought that we’re letting her win,” Agnes said.
Nadia groaned softly. “I hate it, too. I wish we could at least do something, even something tiny, to help bring her down. But I think Maiden made it pretty clear that he won’t put up with anything that might cause trouble.”
Beside her, Agnes propped her head on her hand, and though Nadia couldn’t see the expression on her face, she could almost feel her intensity. “So maybe Maiden isn’t who we need to talk to.”
There was only one other person Agnes could have in mind. “I’ll admit Shrimp seems pretty decent, but I can’t see him helping us behind his brother’s back. He does a good job of fronting, but I’m pretty sure Maiden scares him almost as much as he scares the rest of us.”
Agnes let out a frustrated huff. “He does,” she confirmed. “Evan’s told me some stories that make my blood run cold.”
“Evan?”
“That’s Shrimp’s birth name. I like it a lot better than ‘Shrimp,’ don’t you?”
Nadia smiled at the hint of smugness in Agnes’s voice. It seemed that she and Shrimp were getting on even better than Nadia had thought.
“Absolutely,” Nadia agreed. “But somehow I don’t think he’d be too happy if I called him that.”
She would bet everything she owned—which, granted, was almost nothing—that Agnes was blushing.
“Probably not. And, uh, it’s probably best if you don’t let him know I told you.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“Anyway, you’re right that he’s kind of scared of Maiden, but he has a heart. And he can see the bigger picture.” Propping her head on her hand was apparently no longer enough, because Agnes sat up and crossed her legs. Once again, Nadia could feel the intensity wafting from her. “We all know Thea’s not going to let up anytime soon. Maiden can sit up there in his gaudy tower room with his slave girls and live like he thinks a king should, but if Thea keeps escalating, a lot of people are going to die. Maiden might not care as long as they’re not his people, but Evan does. And Evan knows it’s only a matter of time before Red Death people start getting hurt anyway.”