Chapter 4 - THE CAGE OF VELVET AND STEEL
The ride from the ballroom to Griffin Hales’s private compound in the Lake Forest woods was suffocatingly quiet. Fay sat in the back of the armored Maybach, clutching her rumpled apron in her lap, her knuckles white. Griffin sat beside her, radiating raw, dark authority. He had already shed his tuxedo jacket, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his tailored shirt to reveal the dark, intricate ink of a snarling panther stretching from his collarbone up to the base of his throat.
Outside, rain lashed against the bulletproof glass in violent sheets.
"You haven't asked where I'm taking you," Griffin said, breaking the silence. He was pouring amber scotch from the car's crystal decanter into a single glass. He didn't offer her any.
"Does it matter?" Fay replied, her voice soft but steady. "Men like you don't offer choices to women like me. I'm either being taken somewhere to be interrogated, or to be buried where the police won't dig."
Griffin paused, the decanter clinking against the glass. He turned his head, his dark eyes raking over her profile in the dim interior light. "If I wanted you dead, little waitress, you would have stayed on the ballroom floor. You saved my life. I don't murder my debts. I honor them."
"Your fiancée was going to put you in the ground, Mr. Hales. You think her partners will let me live after I ruined their plan?" Fay asked, turning to meet his gaze. "I heard her through the crack of the VIP lounge door. She wasn't acting alone. There was a man in there with her. He had a voice like gravel and smoke."
Griffin’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian. "Gravel and smoke. Dominic Vance."
"Who is he?"
"The man who controls the south docks. A man who thinks Chicago is big enough for only one king." Griffin took a slow sip of his scotch, his jaw setting hard. "Dominic thought he could use Celeste to poison me, claim my territory through a widow’s inheritance, and sweep the board clean. You shattered a fifty-million-dollar coup with one kiss, Fay."
The Maybach rolled through towering wrought-iron gates reinforced with steel spikes, winding up a private, forested drive until a colossal stone manor loomed out of the darkness. It was a fortress disguised as an estate—floodlights sweeping the grounds, armed guards stationed every twenty yards, motion sensors blinking red through the rain.
When the car stopped, Griffin stepped out first, extending a hand to her. Fay hesitated, looking at his broad, calloused palm before placing her cold hand in his. He pulled her out gently, his grip warm and impossibly steady.
He led her through towering double oak doors into a foyer of dark marble and spiral staircases. Servants and armed guards bowed their heads as Griffin passed, their eyes darting curiously toward the disheveled girl in the red uniform clutching Griffin’s side.
"Give her the master guest suite on the third floor," Griffin instructed the elderly housekeeper who stepped forward. "Burn that uniform. Bring her clothes, food, and have the house doctor examine her hands for glass cuts."
"Yes, Mr. Hales," the woman said softly.
May you like
Griffin turned to Fay, stepping into her personal space until she was backed against the base of the massive staircase. His hand rose, his knuckles lightly grazing the curve of her jaw, right where she had held him minutes before. The touch sent an electric shock straight through her veins.
"You're safe here," he said, his voice dropping into a low, possessive register. "From Vance. From Celeste. From the world. But make no mistake, Fay—once you step inside my house, you play by my rules. Do not lie to me. Do not try to run. Chicago is burning tonight, and you are right in the center of the fire."
