Midnight Marked (Page 44)

Ethan offered a hand, and Robert shook it, but the act seemed distasteful. I was half surprised he didn’t wipe off his palm.

Ethan looked nonplussed. But then again, Robert wasn’t the target of his ire.

“This is an important night for Merit Properties, and an important event,” Robert said primly. He was being groomed to take over the family business. And while my father had undoubtedly helped us during our last go-round with Reed, it didn’t look as though his good faith would extend to Robert.

“And our being here risks that how?” Ethan asked, giving Robert a cool stare that would have iced over another man. But Robert was a Merit; the stubbornness was genetic.

“You tell me. Trouble seems to follow you everywhere you go.”

“Ah, but we aren’t the trouble. Through hatred and fear, it finds us.” Ethan let his gaze slip away to the other faces around us.

“Look,” Robert said. “Adrien Reed will be here, and I’ve been promised fifteen minutes to talk to him. He’s an integral part of our development plan in this fiscal year and next.”

I glanced at my father, saw his expression tighten. And I’d bet good money he hadn’t told Robert the truth about Towerline, why he’d lost it to Reed.

“Your business concerns are not mine,” Ethan said. “Your sister’s concerns are.”

Robert looked at me. “What concerns?”

“Reed isn’t a fan of ours. He’s decided we’re his enemies, and he’s taken a particular interest in Merit.”

Ethan was being circumspect—a wise course, given Robert’s apparent allegiances. Merit Properties was his lifeblood, his inheritance. I was the weird sister he suspected of inciting trouble and being overly dramatic.

“Then maybe spend a little less time trying to get news coverage,” Robert muttered into his drink.

“Would you like to say that again, and aloud?” Ethan’s eyes glittered. “Your convictions are wrong, but then I could at least say you had courage in them.”

Robert rolled his eyes, but before he could open his mouth to spew more invective—or say something Ethan would definitely make him regret—my father put a hand on his elbow.

“Why don’t we take a walk,” my father suggested, “before we all say something we might regret?”

“Too late,” Ethan said, watching them walk away. “It appears your father may no longer be a complete asshole, but your brother’s keen on taking his place.”

“High praise indeed.”

“For a man who tried to sell his daughter to vampires, yes.”

“We could leave,” I said. “We could leave right now.”

Ethan turned to face me, his expression fierce. “You heard what he said, what he believed, what others believe. Your father once believed you’d done something wrong; your brother still believes it. Despite all evidence, he believes Reed couldn’t possibly be evil because he’s rich, because he’s powerful, because he has what others want. And that’s bullshit. Adrien Reed will not stop until he is stopped. We will do our part in that.”

When I looked away, he tipped my chin back to meet his eyes. “I know our tactics are different. I can live with that, because it’s him. Because he will destroy this city if he can. And because it’s you, and I will be damned if he hurts you to get to me.”

I found I couldn’t meet his eyes, and that made me unbearably sad.

And the man who stood metaphorically between us emerged from the darkness, his wife at his side.

“Well, well, well,” said Adrien Reed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND VAMPIRES

Ethan turned his body to shield me as they stepped onto the path in front of us. I didn’t like it, but I knew this was a battle he needed to fight. A battle he believed he needed to fight for me.

Reed looked coolly powerful in the dark tuxedo. His dark hair curled at the top of his collar, his goatee carrying more gray than his hair. He wore the same expression of arrogant conceit as he had in the Tribune photo.

Beside him, Sorcha wore a long column dress in her preferred color of emerald green, her thick blond hair pulled up into a complicated braid that wound around her head. Around her neck was a gold necklace in the shape of a serpent, the triangular head resting in the deep V between her breasts.

While Reed looked at us, Sorcha gazed at her phone, fingers tapping furiously. She looked up at the sound of Reed’s voice, and her eyes widened at the sight of us. But then the emotion was gone, replaced by bored indifference, her attention back on her phone.

“Crashing a party isn’t your usual style, but it does show your lack of character.” Reed was playing his part, wearing the mask of cool and moneyed indifference. That mask was a lie; we’d seen the glimmer of excitement in his eyes at the possibility of murder, of destruction.

Ethan’s smile was thin. “We were invited, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. If you’ll excuse us,” Reed said, and made to step around Ethan. But Ethan moved in front of him, blocking the path.

“We’ll have words, Reed. Now or later, but we’ll have them.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about, Mr. Sullivan?”

“The threat you’ve made against Merit. The danger you pose to this city.”

Reed’s eyes flashed with what looked like pleasure, but his voice stayed cool. “As usual, Ethan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I find most supernaturals tend toward hyperbole.”

Ethan cocked his head. “Then how about the death of Caleb Franklin, the alchemy written near Wrigley Field?”

“I have no idea who that is,” Reed said casually, lifting a champagne glass to his lips. That was perhaps the most infuriating thing about Adrien Reed. He bluffed as well as any vampire.

“Ah,” Ethan said, nodding. “So you’ll play the mogul here, when surrounded by others who have money. Is that it? Afraid to let your true self show? Afraid they’ll see you for what you really are?”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“A thug.” Ethan dropped his gaze to Reed’s tuxedo. “A common thug at that, in a suit of medium quality. I’m surprised at you, Adrien—that your taste doesn’t run to something finer.”