The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(107)

Crap.

“Fuck!” Mason snaps, looking to my broken glass beside him on the ground and then up at me. “Luce!”

“I’m so sorry!”

Megan rushes to the terrace and looks over the railing, then back at me.

“Tell me you’re trying to kill two men without telling me you’re trying to kill two men….” Her lips twisted up in amusement. “Or just throw champagne flutes at their heads.” She cackles her witchy laugh and slaps my butt, sending me in the direction of the door. “Let’s get you another drink!”

We find Nina and Scarlet in the kitchen eating from a giant platter. Megan and I get a cocktail from the minibar, then join them.

“I love that we all got the unwritten memo tonight,” Nina says as she looks between us all and our outfits.

We’re all in black.

“You bitches look good.” Scarlet grins, pulling up her freshly washed, perfectly curled, lavender hair and tying it into a messy ponytail. “I think I’m wearing my DMs, though. The walk back is always a killer.”

“We can get the cars to pick us up,” I tell her.

Scarlet smiles around a mouthful of meat. “We walk. Always. It’s like my favourite part of the night.”

“You’re not cliff jumping,” Nina warns her.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t do it drunk,” she assures us. “But we’ll probably end up at the beach, right?”

“Depends how messy we get.” I shrug, inhaling my cocktail as if it’s water.

“I am so excited to go dancing!” Megan buzzes, walking to the music console and plugging in her phone.

A remix of “Dancing in the Moonlight” plays out, and we all follow her into the lounge, our bodies swaying to the beat and the last of my inhibitions float away. I throw my arm in the air as Nina pulls me to her side, smiling at me as we sing the words.

The guys must hear the music and appear at the folding doors. They observe us from the patio for a single second before they join us.

We laugh, sing, and dance.

And when my eyes drift to Elliot, who’s got Scarlet all but off the ground as he spins her, I get this feeling deep in my gut for the first time since seeing him yesterday. It’s hopeful.

I have hope.





Maxwell seems to stumble from the taxi, and I wonder how much of his afternoon he’s spent drinking. When we get inside the club, he heads straight for the restrooms, and I know I won’t be seeing him for a while. Other than at dinner and when I’ve crawled into bed at night, I’ve barely spent any time with him.

He spends all day working on his phone, and for me, that’s not what a holiday is about.

The girls and I disappear to the dance floor the minute we get our drinks, and that’s where we stay.

After an hour of nonstop dancing, I have to sneak away to take a breather. I go to the restroom and fix my makeup and hair.

I’m on my way back to the dance floor, pushing my way through the tightly packed bodies, when I spot Maxwell with his mouth ghosting up the side of a blonde’s neck.

I watch him as his hands roam her body, and I feel nothing—other than embarrassment.

Most women would go over there and cause a scene, but I don’t want to.

Maybe it’s what I want to see.

I get knocked by two women and fall into someone’s back. The man looks over his shoulder at me, and I apologise, instantly snapping out of my trance.

Not wanting to dance anymore and needing a drink, I walk towards the bar and slip in at the very end, putting myself against the wall.

My fingers grip the edge of the bar, and I lean back, needing the distance it creates in front of me. Bodies push into me from all angles, and I close my eyes, feeling stuck and as if my space is getting smaller and smaller.

I feel the panic rising in my gut, the alcohol in my stomach growing hot.

Images of Maxwell and the woman flash in my mind.

I should go and find the others.

Breathe, Luce.

I should never have left the dance floor alone.

I turn and suck in a sharp breath.

Elliot is standing right there, his arm pinned on the bar top and his body firm as he gets knocked from behind.

He doesn’t look at me, his eyes locked on something behind me.

“Vodka cranberry,” he says, reeling off my order.

“Elliot.”

He looks down at me, his jaw ticcing as he moves to rest his other hand on the wall above my head, boxing me in. I don’t think he’s going to answer me and then, “What?”

I swallow and try to think of the words that are needed, but the barman comes back with my drink.

I turn and take it, quickly paying and drinking down the contents.

When I turn around again, Elliot is shaking his head at me, a hard look on his face.

My chest works hard, and I know he can see it. The way my eyes bounce around his face

This charged energy between us is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Is this how it is for everyone?

Is it just him?

The Elliot Montgomery effect.

“Your boyfriend’s a cunt.”

I nod my head, not knowing what else to say.

He steps back, and it feels like a reluctant move. As if he has to force himself away from me.

I walk in front of him through the crowd, but I want to turn around. I want to speak to him, tell him everything I haven’t had the chance to yet. But the fear of him shutting me down keeps my feet falling one after the other, closer and closer to our table.