White Hot (Hidden Legacy #2)(73)

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.

The crowd double-timed it toward the doors.

Rogan emerged from the mass of bodies.

“The guy from the Suburban!” I told him.

“Where?” he snarled.

I stabbed in the direction of the exit. I couldn’t even see him anymore. Too many people between us and the doors. We’d never catch up to him.

Rogan raised his hand.

The wall to the left of us exploded. Chunks of marble littered the floor, spilling outside into the cold rainy night.

“Exit stage left,” Cornelius murmured next to me.

I kicked off my shoes, hiked up my dress, and scrambled over the rubble out of Baranovsky’s mansion.





Chapter 10