My palms sweat, and I’m practically hanging out of the window to keep cool and stop my makeup from melting off.
This was a bad fucking idea. A terrible idea. Especially with what Kingston promised yesterday. I tell myself I’m only wearing the dress he gifted me because I don’t have anything else to wear, and I certainly don’t own a mask to go with it. At least with what he has given me, the dress and the mask are a complete outfit, and it was beautiful. Stunning actually.
How he got my measurements spot on is a question I don’t want answered, just like I don’t want to know how he got into my apartment in the first place to plant the dress. God knows what else he has done in here.
The thoughts are both thrilling and abhorrent. I shake my head. This was stress. This wild, heady mix of emotion was as addictive as a drug, and could only be this intoxicating because it was a thrill to go along with the stress. A way to stop myself from going crazy. It’s the only explanation as to why a man like Kingston could get this kind of response from me.
Once I’ve cooled enough where I’m no longer worried my makeup will run off my face, I pad across the carpet to where the dress is laid out on my bed. The dress isn’t black but maybe I shouldn’t be taking the whole Black tieso literally. I wouldn’t be the only one not wearing black.
I gently lift the satin material from the bed, holding it by the thin straps and press it against my body, turning to face the mirror. I hadn’t had the nerve to try it on yet, but from the measurements on the card it came with, I’m sure it’ll be a perfect fit. The mask to accompany it sits on my vanity, the white feather sewn into the left side glittering as the small crystals catch in the light. It would sit across my eyes and cover most of my nose, leaving only my lips on show which I guessed was a good thing. I didn’t know what sort of party this was, or who would be there, but best to be safe and with the mask, no one will recognize me, especially since I never wear makeup or clothes like this.
I strip the robe from my body, leaving me in just a strapless bra and pantie set, so flimsy you could hardly call it underwear, but I couldn’t get away with anything else.
I don’t think about what I’m doing, and I don’t look in the mirror as I slide the zipper down and step into the dress. The material is soft, a faint whisper against my skin as I pull it up and over my hips, sliding my arms through the straps and securing them in place. I reach around and pull the zip up, the dress pulling and molding to the shape of my body as if it had been made only for me. The v neckline plunges deep, and the material hugs my breasts, pushing them together and holding them firmly in place before it flows down to the waist, tucked in with an invisible belt. From there the dress flows into a wrap skirt that follows the lines of my hips and thighs and splits all the way to the waist, only pure luck and careful maneuvers would ensure I didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction. The dress from the back is tight, curving to my shape, but it’s longer than I expect, hitting just below the knee though that hardly mattered when a gust of wind going the wrong way will open it right up anyway.
I pick out a pair of strappy, rose gold heels and slide my feet into them. I can’t think about what I’m doing and who I am doing it with because if I do, I’ll either empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet and in turn ruin my make up, and the dress, or I won’t go at all.
I place the mask on my face and then secure it with a neat ribbon at the back, smoothing my hair which I have left down and curled so it sits in soft loose ringlets around my face and bounces against my shoulders.
I finally turn to look at myself in the mirror.
The woman that stares back at me is not the same one I know. This isn’t me, they aren’t the same deep brown eyes looking back at me, not my curves or legs or mouth.
The dress is stunning and fits flawlessly, the mask a perfect match. Simple elegance but the whole outfit packs a punch I’d never thought I’d be able to pull off.
I can do this.
I can pretend for a few hours. For Tate.
And maybe for myself a little too. There’s no denying I live a safe life and maybe it would be good to get out a little more though, I’m sure I could find safer company if I truly wanted to do that.
Right on time the buzzer for my apartment rings and my heart drops into my stomach. I inhale deeply and exhale, grabbing my purse as I slip out the door and carefully take the stairs. A large black SUV is parked against the curb, the windows blacked out but a huge man, dressed pristinely in a black suit and tie nods at me, “Miss Locke.” He greets.
“Hello,” I respond.
“I’m Micha,” he gives me barely a smile, I guess to try and ease the situation, but there’s no mistaking the air of violence and danger that surrounds him like a halo. He’s attractive, big, with muscled arms larger than my thighs and a whole two heads taller than me. Broad shoulders and green eyes, his skin a deep bronzed color.
He steps up to the door and opens it for me.
I’m not expecting to see Kingston, I assumed I’d be meeting him at the party, but there he is and there right with him is the colleague that joined him the first day we met. I barely look at him though as Kingston slides from the back seat and stands before me. His black suit is perfectly tailored to fit his body, the lines molded to the shape of the muscle underneath. His shoes clip on the pavement as he stops and looks down, eyes raking over every inch of my body, taking in the deep plunging neckline, the high slit in the front of the skirt. My body lights up, a bloom of heat that makes me want to squirm as he continues his slow appraisal.
With one finger he traces the outline of my mask before he leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s such a gentle brush of his lips I almost believe I imagined it, but then his warm breath tickles against the shell of my ear as he whispers, “you look beautiful, love.”
Blooms of color spot on my cheeks as he steps to the side and sweeps out an arm, inviting me into the car. His friend stares at me, a brow cocked and a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth.
He seems to be the complete opposite of the other men in the car, except for his size. His hair, golden blond, is long, hanging around his chin, but he’s swept it back and a thick dark blond goatee frames his mouth. Like both men, his suit is black.
“I’m Ace,” he holds out a hand, “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”
“It’s Abel,” Kingston corrects, “not Ace.”
He chuckles.
“Why Ace?” I ask, trying to loosen my shoulders and muscles as I settle into the car. The inside is huge and plenty big enough, but when there’s three in the back and two of them are big enough to take up two seats on their own, it becomes a little cramped. Before anyone can say anything, Ace or Abel, or whatever his name is hops out the car and jumps in the front.
“Ace because I’m a gambling man, Eleanor, do you like to gamble?”
There was more to that sentence, “No.”
I slide across the seats and take the one Abel just vacated. Kingston remains where he is on the other side.
“None of you are wearing masks?” I say, fingering the one covering my face.
“We’ll put them on,” Kingston looks out the window.
“Is there anything I need to know about this party?” I ask, if only to keep the quiet from unsettling me. The men seem to be content with sitting in silence.
Kingston glances over at me, a secret smile tugging on his mouth, and then he simply responds with, “You’ll see.”
We’re only in the car for about twenty minutes, and then we’re stopping at a nondescript white house, it’s large and detached with a stone porch and rose bushes beneath the windows. Certainly not something I was expecting.
“Are we picking someone else up?” I ask, staring at the large black door.
No one answers me as all the doors open, and then my door is opened by Micha who is suddenly donning a simple black mask. He offers me his hand, but I refuse, using the edge of the car instead to steady myself and climb out.
“If you run,” the voice is whispered from behind me, the deep baritone causing shivers to run down my spine, “I’ll chase, I do love a good game of cat and mouse.”
I spin to find Kingston looming over me, his own mask secured to his face. I’m not able to stop the sharp inhale of breath as I take in the brutal beauty of it. It’s a half mask, the left side of his face concealed. It’s gothic and disturbing, the one half resembling the face of some demon with spikes around the eyehole and the features sharply carved, what one would assume to be brows furrowed low and the cheekbones pronounced and protruding. It appears to have been molded for his face only, with the way the nose curves and sits flush against the bridge of his, the end coming down to a point. A horn juts out from the head of the mask that sits just below his hair line, the end sharp enough to cut. The mask itself is an obsidian black, so dark it seems to absorb the light but as the light of the house catches his face, I see tints of red shining through. His eyes are a stark, brutal contrast against the blackness of it.
Fear, very real and yet mixed with something else, injects itself into my bloodstream, coursing through my veins like a rampaging bull.
I’m in a whole heap of trouble and doubted anyone could help me now.