King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 29

Stella

I’VE JUST WITNESSEDa tragically beautiful performance by a talented dancer named Ezra Bell. The routine was moving and his talent was impressive, but my heart aches for his forced service as a talent slave as much as it aches for Fiona.

I was watching Anya during Ezra’s performance as much as I was watching him. It’s just something I do now—observing the love she has for Ezra has become almost an obsession for me. They are truly star-crossed lovers, their fates not their own to decide. Yet their devotion to each other is palpable…and utterly addictive.

I longed for Murphy that way once. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m starting to long for him that way again. But my blasphemous love for the villain is something I just haven’t been able to accept. I haven’t allowedmyself to accept it fully, and that hurts me more than anything. Yet I can watch Anya and Ezra and find peace in their innocent, acceptable love—though the four families won’t accept them forever.

I hear there are already murmurings of dissent from the Vittoris—they want Anya dead after she has the baby, who they want to raise as their own. They think the Russian line should end with Anya. They’d rather see three powerful families than have one where Anya has such great influence over the child who will become its Head of House one day.

Part of me wants Anya to rise, to fight the families along with me as we both grow in power. But if the rumors are true, then Anya’s life is in danger the moment she gives birth…and there may be nothing I can do to save her. But perhaps she has a plan to save herself.

I’ve been observing not only Anya and Ezra, but Kostya as well. The three of them have started spending more time together. I caught them once in an intense conversation where most of it was in Russian between Anya and Kostya, which in itself was odd because Ezra only speaks English.

It gave me an inkling that they may be planning something. I didn’t know what and I didn’t know when, but I knew it would be significant and soon.My obsessive observations over the last few weeks have allowed me to pick up on their subtleties.

Anya grew increasingly more agitated as Ezra’s performance carried on, wavering between shifting uncomfortably in her seat and tense stillness. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, given how pregnant she is and past her due date. It wasn’t her obvious physical discomfort that caught my attention—it was the way she tried to hide it.

Even more telling was the way that Kostya popped from his seat the moment Ezra’s performance ended. He rushed up the aisle to exit as a standing ovation was given for the talent. His face was tense and he was in a hurry, which seemed unnecessary. And the way Ezra’s tension on stage ticked up after his performance was done—as he darted glances between Kostya’s retreating form and Anya standing in the aisle—put me on edge.

I just know they’re planning something.

But what?

An escape?

Murphy and I linger in the foyer just outside Nobility Hall as others filter through a narrow hallway which connects back through to Mikhailov Manor. It’s blistering cold outside—winter in the Russian wilderness. No one is exiting through the doors that lead outside, all choosing to use the interior connecting hallway instead.

That’s why I find it odd when I spy Kostya creeping around outside. I only spot him because I’m looking for him, wondering where he rushed off to right after Ezra’s performance. I look away after I spot him, trying not to draw attention to him.

Instead, I turn to look at Murphy standing beside me, waiting to ensure that Anya and Ezra make it back to the reception.

Somehow, I know they don’t mean to make it back to the reception.

Help them.

Cause a distraction.

I reach out my hand to hold his, squeezing his palm gently. His eyes drop to where our palms touch, his brow furrowed in confusion before looking up to meet my gaze.

Okay, I have his attention.

Now what do I do?

The number of people filtering through is waning and the theater is nearly cleared out. My heart pounds as the final groups of people exit the theater, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.

What would distract him?

What would get his attention?

By luck or some miracle, one last person exits the theater alone, and it gives me an instant idea. It’s a stupid, childish idea, but one that should work to distract Murphy, nonetheless.

Renata Vittori breezes by, giving both of us a once over as she moves past. Before she can exit through the connected hallway, I swallow my apprehension and pick a fight.

I put on an expression of pure rage, as if I’ve been slighted, and turn my head with disdain toward Renata. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

She stops. “Excuse me?”

I don’t want her to stop, I want to get them both into the hallway.I let go of Murphy’s hand and circle her like a predator about to pounce on its prey, lining up to push her back where I need her to go.

“She just called me a bitch, Murphy,” I lie smoothly.

“What?”

“Say it louder, Renata. I dare you.”

She gives me a look of disgust, pulling her head away from me. She’s got a good two inches of height on me, but I can take her. Adrenaline punches through my veins in preparation for a fight.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she purrs condescendingly, giving me a real reason to want to kick her ass, “if I wanted to call you a bitch, I’d say it loud enough for your husband to hear.”

Murphy’s jaw ticks and he steps forward, trying to get between us—it’s actually a little heart-warming, but I don’t have the time to unpack that feeling. I need to get them out.

Before he can step between us, I lunge for her. I put my hands on her shoulders and shove her backward toward the open door leading into the connected hallway. Renata stumbles back on her heels but quickly rights herself.

Her eyes pop in surprise that I’ve laid hands on her, but honestly, it was probably just a matter of time before someone did. She has power, but it’s unearned. She’s a bitch and nobody likes her—except for Cordelia, but she’s a bitch, too.

“I didn’t call you a bitch,” she argues, “but I will now, you filthy tramp.”

“That’s my wife,” Murphy growls, but I don’t allow him to intervene.

I shove her again and she moves back, closer to the hallway entry. This time, I don’t stop moving; I keep marching toward her and she keeps backing away. For being such a big talker, she sure is afraid of a real fight.

I breathe a sigh of relief when she crosses the threshold and enters the hallway backward. Murphy quickly follows behind me, so I chase after Renata, leading him away from Nobility Hall.

I need to keep them both moving.

“Stella,” Murphy warns as I keep pushing her back.

He’s right where I need him to be, following right behind me, his attention on my behavior and the ensuing fight with Renata. I’ve got some pent-up rage to let out anyway, so maybe this worked out well for all of us.

“Are you going to hit me, Stella? Go on. I’ll turn your entire family against you if you do—”

I ball my fist, rush her, and land a punch squarely against her perfect fucking cheekbone. Pain shoots through my knuckles, a sharp rush followed by a slow-aching bruise. Her body twists as the force of my hit turns her sideways and she stumbles, catching herself against the wall.

“Stella!” Murphy shouts, and I feel his fingers wrap around my elbow.

I yank free from his grip as I shake my hand. Renata touches her cheek, her mouth open in shock as her eyes start to water. I can’t stop my smile, and I do nothing to hide it—I may as well let loose because I have both of their attention fully on me now.

Fury slips down her features, washing her face in anger, and I welcome it. I hold my arms out to my sides, welcoming her to come after me. She drops her hand from her face and lunges for me, shoving me sideways and slamming my back to the wall.

“Renata!” Murphy shouts.

But I don’t need him to defend me with her.

I wrap my fist around her swinging black hair and pull her head down, forcing her neck to crane at an uncomfortable angle. She lets go of me when her hands come up to try to loosen my grip, and I use the leverage to swing her around and shove her to the wall instead.

“You disgusting cunt!” she spits.

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline at her insult. I draw back my fist and swing, hitting somewhere on her face. I don’t get to see the result of my strike because Murphy’s arms wrap around my waist and drag me backward. He spins me around and moves between me and Renata, blocking us from each other.

He hovers over her as she slumps to the floor, wagging a stern finger in her face. “I’ll hit you myself if you ever call her that again. She hates that word, and I think it’s pretty disgusting coming from you, too.”

My pulse thrums at the way he defends me. He turns to me, putting his hands on my cheeks as I pant to catch my breath. “Are you okay?”

I grin slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He flashes me a quick wink, then turns his attention back to Renata. He grabs her by the elbow, hoists her pathetic ass from the floor, and marches her up the hallway toward the manor. “Let’s get someone to look at your fucking face because that’s gonna bruise.”

Thank God that worked.

I run in the opposite direction as soon as they start moving. I cross the threshold into the foyer of Nobility Hall, grab hold of the door, and slam it shut behind me, pressing my back against it.

Anya and Ezra are both standing there, wide-eyed and fearful.

“Where’s Kostya?” I ask quickly. “He’s coming. Murphy’s coming.”

We all startle as Kostya whips open the exterior door from the outside. I see the exhaust from a car he’s got running just beyond the door.

They’re planning to run.

Yes, they have to run.

“Go,” I tell them quickly. “I can stall him. But you have to hustle. Get the fuck going!”

I can finally breathe when they move. Anya and I share a glance, a look of concern in her eyes. I’m sure she’s fearful for what they’re about to do, so I try to grant her some encouragement with a small smile.

And in the next moment, they’re gone, disappearing through the exterior doors. They’re gone from the theater, but they aren’t off the grounds yet. They still need more time. And the more I can give them, the better.

I have to stall Murphy.

“Stella?” I hear him through the door at my back as he jiggles the handle, trying to push it open. “Let me through.”

I steel myself and turn to open the door, but I don’t let him through. Instead, I rush him, tossing my arms around his neck and hugging him close.

“I’m sorry,” I lie. “She just…I swear she called me a bitch under her breath, and I just lost it. I hate that woman.”

He hugs my waist, holding me sweetly, and it makes me feel guilty. “It’s fine; I don’t like her, either. We’ll have some explaining to do to our families, but it’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

I pull back to look at him. “Someone’s tried to break her jaw before?”

“I don’t know that anyone’s actually struck her before. Hell of a right hook, by the way, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

He strokes his hand down the side of my head and I allow myself to melt to his caring touch, just a little. “I’m fine. Better now. That felt good.”

“I’ll bet it did.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I probably should be, but I’m not. It might have turned me on a bit to watch, though.”

My cheeks flush with heat, because maybe it turned me on a little, too. It really was a rush to slam my knuckles into her smart mouth. There’s an opportunity in this, a way to distract him for a little bit longer.

I grab hold of his lapels and tug him with me as I walk backward toward the theater doors. “Let me fuck you in the back row.”

His eyes flash with the desire he always has for me. He slams his body against mine, turns us, and pins my back to the wall. “What’s gotten into you?”

He wants me, though his jaw is tense with his restraint, with his caution.

He knows.

“I want you,” I tell him.

It’s not even a lie.

I do want him, even though I’m not supposed to.

He slaps his palms to the wall on either side of my head, bending over me, trapping me. My breath catches and I struggle to steady it with the way he watches me. His eyelids fall to hood his narrowed eyes, his head falls to the side in consideration, and I feel the steady pulse of his suspicion.

“I can’t recall a time since I brought you home that you asked me to fuck you, Stella.”

I arch my back to curve my body against him. “Well, I’m asking you to fuck me now.”

He dips his head, bringing his mouth a whisper of an inch in front of mine. His tongue slips out to wet his lips and he leans in, about to kiss me, but he stops short. He turns his head away with a snap. “Where are Anya and Ezra? They should be out by now.”

I reach up and grab his face, turn it toward me, and kiss him hard and fast. He lets out a strained groan against my bruising kiss—a kiss I’ve given him willingly, a kiss he didn’t have to steal. I feel something like shame ripple through me as I use my sexuality against him this way…shame I don’t deserve to feel for doing what’s morally right.

I wonder if he can feel it, like a rolling wave of guilt vibrating across my lips. I don’t have to wonder long. Suddenly, he jerks back. He knocks my hands away from his cheeks so he can grab my face instead.

“What did you do?”

My lips part, but no words come out. I just shake my head against his hands.

“What did you do, Stella? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I just—”

He doesn’t let me finish. He releases me with a huff and storms over to jerk open one of the doors into the theater. He steps inside the empty house and bellows, “Anya? Kostya?”

I run after him as he storms down the aisle toward the stage. “They’re probably just backstage.”

“Anya!” His voice echoes eerily through the empty space.

He waits a beat, and when he gets no response, he whirls around to face me. He stomps back up the aisle, coming after me with fury painted across his features. I step back, but he catches me before I can retreat, his hand latching around my throat as he comes in close.

“Where are they? You know something. Tell me. Tell me right fucking now.”

“I don’t know where they are.”

“Yes, you do!” he shouts, but his rage is masking his fear.

I can see it flicker behind his eyes and it changes something within me. It pulls out some long-dormant need to comfort and care—something I haven’t had the urge to do for him until this very moment.

“Baby,” I whisper. I lift one hand to lightly touch his wrist, and his grip around my neck loosens. “It’s okay.”

“Where are they?”

I hesitate, but I can’t stand to see that fear behind his beautiful eyes. I know I shouldn’t say a word; I shouldn’t tell him anything. I try to stay strong and keep my mouth shut, but when he softens, when he drops his arm and comes in close, it takes everything I’ve got just to keep air moving through my lungs.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Stella, please. Tell me.”

What do I do?

He’s going to find out one way or another, and I don’t know how long I can delay him.

What if they don’t get away?What if the four families realize they’re gone first, and then go after them?I have to tell him…but how can I keep him from stopping them?

I hug his waist and hold tight, knowing I can’t tell this lie effectively if I’m looking in his eyes. “I helped Kostya plan their escape.” He starts to pull away from me, but I squeeze, refusing to let go of him as I lie. “I knew they were going to do it. I helped them plan it. I was involved with all of it, Murphy, and I’m…I’m scared. What will they do to me when they find out I was involved?”

He’s rigid in my arms, but a brief, sudden tremor shudders through him. It scares me a little. His grip on me tightens and that scares me a little more. But this is what I need from him. I need him connected with me, emotional and fearful for me given what I’ve done.

Though I lied about planning it, I did help them escape—regardless, this will get me in trouble with the four families. It puts Murphy in a precarious situation, and I need to keep him on my side. I firmly press into his hold, letting my cheek rest against his strong chest.

“I helped them escape. What will the four families do to me?”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, Stella. What the fuck were you thinking?”

The tremor in his voice, the way he clutches me so tightly, scares me even more now as it really hits me. I had aided in their escape, and very real consequences might fall upon me for that.

“What do we do?” I ask.

He releases me, grabs my wrist, and starts up the aisle, dragging me after him. “We’re going to fix this.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going after them.”

I plant my feet and jerk back, trying to shake free from his grip, though he holds me firmly. “Let them go, Murphy.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” He tugs and manages to make me move, and I stumble after him in my high heels.

“Murphy!”

“Shut the fuck up! This isn’t a negotiation! Your life is now at stake for what you’ve done, but there’s still time to rectify this, and I will rectify this.” He shoves the theater doors open and pulls me through.

“Let them punish me for it. I don’t care. Anya and Ezra deserve to be free!”

His fury reaches a peak as he stops, spinning to face me, coming in close. “I don’t give a shit about them. I give a shit about you. They’ve killed for lesser offenses than this. I’ve killed for lesser offenses than this. But I’ll be damned if anyone tries to take you away from me.”

The raw truth shining in his eyes halts me, stills me.

He pauses, swiping his palm over his beard. “Listen to me. You got us into this, and you’re gonna help me get us out of it. I need you to be still and quiet. We’re gonna go get keys to one of the vehicles, and you and I are going after them. If you keep fighting me, you will raise their suspicions and that will be problematic for everyone. I suggest you calm the fuck down and pretend you didn’t just aid in an escape, or else the four families will go after them and deal with all of you in an equal manner. Is that what you want?”

I want them to be free.

Iwant to be free.

The only chance of that happening is to keep the four families out of this and let Murphy handle it. There’s hope that they’ll be gone before we reach them, and I choose to hold on to that.

I stop fighting him. “Okay,” I agree. “Okay, let’s fix this together.”

His grip slips from my wrist to my hand and our palms clasp together. There’s a lightning bolt that bursts through our palms, a thunderous flash of light that blinds me with the knowledge that we need each other—we both actually need each other right now.

I recall him slicing my palm and drawing blood before our consummation—from the very hand he holds now. He’d told me, “Our blood is the same now. Yours and mine.” I feel the meaning of that in our grip—his loyalty and devotion, the way he takes ownership with me, viewing my choice as his choice, a problem that we have to solve together.

“I won’t let them take you away from me,” he says gently.

I lock our fingers together and hold his hand tightly, for the first time feeling stronger with him at my side than I feel on my own.