Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

1

A Night Beneath the Stars.

The muscles in my lips lift as I read the banner hanging in the hotel lobby. My mouth curls into a deep crescent shape as I crane my neck more, gazing at the diamond-shaped skylights in the ceiling. Twinkling bulbs droop in overlapping strands through the wooden rafters of the ballroom, glinting off crystal chandeliers and the textured maroon walls.

To think, I considered passing up the chance to attend the gala tonight on the off chance I’d run into my ex since his nephew is the entertainment.

Though off chance might be putting it lightly, considering how involved the James family is. I suppose when you’re pillars of the music industry, with dozens of labels and famous musicians from LA to New York City, the hands-on approach becomes a sort of necessity to keep others from taking advantage.

At least with the masquerade ball theme, I won’t be able to tell if Nate’s here or not.

Won’t be able to embarrass myself by asking him to take me back.

My cousin, Cora, leaves me at the entrance. She skitters away in her sleek rust-colored gown with her tall, icy-eyed boyfriend in tow. If not for her bright blue hair and the tattoos on her bare arms, I’d lose sight of her in the crowd immediately.

The silver filigree mask she has on is the last thing I see before she’s swallowed up by the collective of Aplana Island’s best—which, to me, doesn’t actually seem like that many people. Granted, the corrupt island’s population is lacking in permanency, but for a political fundraiser with a famous rock-star headliner, this hardly seems like a good turnout.

Not that I’ve mentioned that to Cora or her British boyfriend Alistair, the latter of whom is the politician in question. Though, after staying with them for the better part of the last year, I can’t help wondering why he’s indulging his advisors with the fundraiser at all when it’s painfully obvious he isn’t interested in another mayoral run.

Perhaps there are bigger aspirations afoot, and I simply haven’t been looped in. I wouldn’t blame him for not trusting an outsider.

As I pass buffet tables, covered in white linens, my gaze falls to the cast iron urns at their centers. Beautiful Flemish-style arrangements with helecho ferns that drape over the sides and pull toward the faux pomegranates, roses, and red orchids in the middle.

My mother would love them, weeping over their simple, rustic elegance while acknowledging the complexity of the pairings. My father would huff about not seeing the point of decorations, and my brothers, Jace and Alec, would ignore the arrangements entirely.

I’m too busy fawning over my handiwork—the only thing Cora let me contribute—to notice the floor shifts from hardwood to marble, and I’m falling before I have a chance to reach out and catch myself.

When I brace for impact though, ready to taste my teeth, I hit something soft instead.

Softish.

Large hands grip my biceps, steadying, even as they create a massive distance between us.

Or maybe it only feels massive because it’s existed here for so long.

My stomach drops as the hands fall away from me—quickly, as though he’d been burned. I glance at my elbows to see if anything charred remains, but the skin is smooth and pale, as normal.

Deep, dark, disturbed eyes pierce mine as I lift my chin.

Familiar eyes.

They’re set, hard and angry, in an even harder and angrier face, partially hidden beneath a matte-black masquerade mask. If rage were sculpted into stone, I believe Kal Anderson would be the mold.

“You should really watch your step, Violet. Imagine what could’ve happened if I hadn’t been here to catch you.” My brother—half, illegitimate, estranged, whatever he is—pins me with a disapproving look. One I shouldn’t recognize, given that I’ve spent most of my life avoiding him.

Music and idle chatter twirl in the air as other elegantly dressed, masked patrons flitter in pairs around us. Dancing without a care, as if the man before me isn’t rumored to be a deranged murderer.

I square my shoulders. “That almost sounds like a threat, brother.”

Something flashes quickly in his eyes—my eyes, our father’s eyes—but it’s gone before I have a chance to dissect it. “I wouldn’t waste that energy on someone who is of such little consequence to me.”

Ouch. I deserve that, but still. “Why waste any time talking to me at all then?”

“Despite our estrangement and your denial, you’re my flesh and blood. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to check up on you when you’re in the area.”

“Did Cora tell you I’d be here?”

“Not me.”

His wife then. Damn Elena and my cousin’s friendship.

Shrugging, Kal slips his hands into the pockets of his black suit jacket. “I’d have found out anyway, Violet. Nothing happens on this island without my knowing.”

“Pretty sure all those cease and desists I sent exclude me from being a part of that knowledge.”

He smirks, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.

The miniscule gesture feels somewhat disarming. It slices through the edge of danger threaded into the fiber of his suit, his soul—if he even has one.

If rumors on the island and his hometown of Boston are to be believed, he sold his years ago. Opted for a life of blood and violence, of twisting medical expertise and using it to get whatever he wanted from people.

Yet here he is, still trying to forge a connection with the sister who’s been avoiding him for the past twelve years. Ever since he appeared and explained how he’d come once before and left empty-handed.

How he’d waited years to return, hoping that the father who’d rejected him as a child might be more receptive to his existence as an adult.

I had no recollection of the previous interaction since I’d practically been an infant, but the memory of him had seared into my brain. As if it had a fundamental right to be there.

When he showed up on our porch in a dark suit, with hope in his eyes, I turned him away. Told him my father—our father—was out of the country, visiting a sick aunt in Kalamata.

I told him he shouldn’t come back. That they wouldn’t accept him.

It’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever done even if I did it for his own good. At least, that’s how I justify it—words spilled from shock, fear, and teenage spite. It was like I’d skipped the denial stage of grief entirely and gone straight to anger—something I’d never let myself truly feel before because my mother had told me it was wrong.

But where Kal’s concerned, I’ve been holding on to it ever since. Even when he’s tried reconnecting, or sent money, or lured me to this creepy little island under the guise of employment, anger is the one emotion I understand around him.

“Not that I adhere to the law anyway, but if you want a cease and desist to hold any weight,” Kal says now, those eyes still lighter than I’ve seen them, “maybe try using a lawyer who wasn’t disbarred three years ago for faking his bachelor’s degree.”

Indignation rises in my chest. “I—” Cutting my sentence short, I rock forward with the interrupted breath, considering. “He said he was the top criminal lawyer in Delos County.”

“And you just… believed him?”

“Am I supposed to go around, questioning everyone’s backgrounds and intentions? Who has the time?”

He shakes his head, his face growing somber. “There are some whose intentions you should be aware of.”

A lump grows solid in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.

Past that, a quick flash of something garners my attention. Drawn by some sort of magnetic force, my eyes flicker to the back corner of the room, past the stage and the buffet tables, through a curtained archway leading to another part of the hotel.

I only catch the tail end of the tall, imposing figure. His lean frame slips through the parted red fabric, and I register cool, dark brown hair peeking out from behind a black goat mask. One I’ve seen before in photos, kept safe among a myriad of others in a curio cabinet at an estate in the mountains. Its massive horns and pointy ears curl over his head, and there’s a space cut out so only his mouth and stubbly chin are visible.

A sick, scalding shiver races down my spine. Familiarity crackles beneath the surface of my skin, humming with its sudden surge of desire.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, sliding my hands behind my back and stepping away from Kal. “I’ve got a very pressing matter to attend to.”

Kal doesn’t speak as I retreat. Just stares with that same cold, calculating look on his face.

I hate how much it looks like our father’s.

Making my way through the crowd, I pause just once, glancing over my shoulder at where I left my brother. He’s been joined by his wife, and he turns in a small circle at the edge of the dance floor with her in his arms. Her dark brown hair spills down the open back of her black cocktail dress, and when he dips her, I hear her laughter from where I’m standing.

When she looks at him, the stars are no longer in the sky above us. They’re in her eyes, and they burn bright for him. The love that bleeds from her pores is palpable, and it almost relieves the pinprick of guilt I feel in my gut for not letting him in. Not letting him be a part of my family.

I can almost justify my decision in the end because Kal Anderson got the love he deserves even if he was brought up without it. Even if he’ll never get it from some of the people he clearly aches to have it from.

The silken fabric of my sheath dress swishes against my legs as I power-walk through the back of the ballroom. Passing the wooden bar in one corner, I’m almost out before I feel a slender hand wrap around my bicep, forcing me to halt.

“Where are you going?” Cora asks, her golden irises scanning my face for visible signs of distress.

Behind her, Alistair Wolfe keeps his glacial gaze trained on his girlfriend, ready to catch her if she tries to run off. The tie tucked beneath his dark gray suit matches the exact shade of Cora’s hair, and a distant part of me wonders what it’s like to have someone be so in love with you that they want to carry a piece of you anywhere they go. Even if they’re spending the night plastered to your side.

Nate James certainly didn’t have that issue. Our breakup was swift and clean, and he disappeared from my life as quickly as he’d seemed to enter it.

“I just want to get some air,” I tell my cousin, gently peeling her fingers from my arm. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

She narrows her eyes. “If I find out you’re sneaking off to finally have some rebound sex before I’ve even vetted the guy, I’ll—”

A snort bursts from me. As fucking if. “I promise not to run off with strangers.”

“Well, maybe not just any strangers. I don’t want to scrape another relative off the walls, you know?”

Choosing not to comment on the callousness of that statement, I give her a quick nod and start back toward the open doorway.

I pause just outside, glancing up and down the narrow hall as I try to imagine where Nate might have gone. A plain white sign bars the massive staircase leading to the next level of the hotel.

VIP EVENT IN PROGRESS.

A pinch in my gut pushes me forward, and I slip beneath the velvet rope, climbing the steps slowly, gripping the iron railing in one hand. At the top, there are a host of doors leading to various guest rooms, but only one is partially open, revealing a dimly lit suite, complete with a fireplace and fancy furniture.

If he was going to hide out, I’m positive it would be in there.

I cross over to the door in a few short strides, slipping in before anyone can spot me. In the center of the room, a solid oak coffee table pulls the focus toward it with each piece of furniture angled in its direction. Bookcases line an interior wall—the only one not made of windows—and I take a deep breath as I turn, admiring the simplistic serenity of the room.

It takes me far too long to realize there are other people here.

Even longer to realize what they’re doing.

On the burnt-orange sofa, a man in a blue mask lies flat on his back while a woman with waist-length dark hair straddles his waist. She’s bent over him, their mouths fused together, chests brushing as they kiss, and completely naked.

There are other people strewn about the room, tangled in heaps of flesh on armchairs or pressed against windows, but it’s the two on the sofa I find myself unable to look away from.

Her form comes alive as his hands find her hips, pale against the darker bronze of her bare skin. Slowly, he lifts her up, then reaches between their bodies, drawing a low, almost-pained moan from deep within her.

I can’t see what he’s doing, exactly, because of the lake of shadows they’re cast in, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out when she begins moving on top of him seconds later. Gruff, passionate grunts echo off the exposed rafters, seeming to catch in the high boxed ceiling before raining back down over me.

My throat tightens, and my stomach churns.

A door in the corner opens a fraction, and then another man steps inside, immediately walking over to the couple.

“You started without me,” he rasps as he steps out of his clothing. He runs a hand down the woman’s spine as she rides the other, not stopping even when he bends to capture her lips.

Hot, liquid hunger pulses between my thighs. My limbs feel heavy, my bones dense, and an ache throbs within me, cascading out in numbing waves.

I watch, enraptured even though I know I shouldn’t be. The new man withdraws from her, then rounds and throws his knee onto the couch, positioning himself behind her writhing form. His hand wraps around her hair, pushing it over her shoulder, and then he’s moving, grappling for something on the coffee table before joining the entanglement completely.

As the three of them share a collective gasp, an inhalation of euphoria, a small one escapes me too. It sticks in my throat, caught in a web of shock and desire I’ve never really experienced before.

I’ve watched porn, and I’ve even gotten myself off to it, but seeing the act in person… it’s different.

One of my feet inches forward, as if I’m tempted—by what, I’m not sure.

A closer look?

To join?

“You shouldn’t be here.”

On a reflex, my head shifts, twisting to look up at the whisper’s owner. If my stomach wasn’t already falling out of my ass, I think it would drop to the floor as I take in the sharp, devastating profile of Nate James.

Even with that horrible goat mask hiding most of his face, I can see the defined ridges of his jaw. The rage lining the edges of his too-handsome face.

I hadn’t realized until now how jarring his presence is.

“Oh God, yes,” the woman on the couch mewls, a high-pitched sound tearing its way from her chest as the men begin fucking her in earnest.

My stomach plummets, and warmth spreads fast through my veins. Before I have a chance to really think about what I’m doing, I push up onto my toes and shove my face into his.

If nothing else, maybe a kiss will draw him back in. Remind him that we were good together and my brother isn’t important—since that’s what scared him off in the first place.

I don’t have a better plan either way. Wasn’t sure I’d get this far.

I’m just desperate for the sense of normalcy he provides. The rightness of being with him.

The kiss is stiff for a moment, and panic seizes my muscles. His mask scrapes the corner of my mouth as my lips move against his, as if trying to kindle a fire.

I worry that I’ve ruined everything by not thinking this night through, but then he shifts. His large hands come up, bracketing my bare shoulders, and he slants his head. Granting me access, his mouth parts, and his tongue tentatively seeks mine.

Effervescent golden light seems to stretch between our two bodies, and I step into it, craving it. My fingers tremble as they come to his chest, sweeping lightly, searching for something to keep me grounded while my body feels like soaring.

After a few seconds, he recoils. His shoulders stiffen, and his tongue retracts before he releases me entirely.

His voice is still that harsh whisper when he speaks again, staring down at me like I’m a stranger. “This is a private area. You shouldn’t be here.”

Unkempt, dark umber hair falls over the top of his mask as he looks at me. The top four buttons of his white shirt, partially obscured by the tailored black suit he wears, are undone.

A part of me wonders if I’m interrupting him, and red-hot embarrassment scalds my face. Of course he came here for sex. Clearly, it’s in no short supply, and men like him prefer an easy route when they’ve gone without for so long.

“You need to leave.”

I blink. Like he’s an apparition I’m trying to dispel.

He blinks back. The fire makes his eyes glow, almost like they’re green instead of brown.

“Let me rephrase,” he says, taking a step forward. Still whispering.

His eyes are now hard, angry, and I wonder if the people on the couch hear him. I wonder if they’re looking at us now, what they’re thinking.

“You can’t be here.”

Somehow, I manage to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “I can’t?”

“I’ve said it three times. Get. Out.”

“Out?” I don’t know why I repeat the word. Maybe I’m too busy admiring the way his lips curl around each syllable, having not realized how much I missed him.

Maybe I’m still in shock, trying to process the orgy I’ve found him in.

I should ask why he gets to be here, but the words don’t come. I’m not used to him being so abrasive.

“Are you suddenly hard of hearing or just being deliberately obtuse?”

“Deliberately obtuse,” I echo, then smack my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

His stare darkens, and he drops a quick glance down at my dress. Cold seeps into my pores until his attention returns to my face.

“Are you drunk?”

“I don’t… think so?”

“Fuck me.”

My mouth parts, ready to agree, but the words die on my tongue when his hand lashes out, gripping my bicep tightly. It seems like mere seconds pass before he’s dragging me across the room and throwing the exit open, enshrouding us in bright light. Gasps come from behind, but his hold doesn’t allow me to turn and look.

He pushes me through the door, his eyes murderous. I trip over my dress, pulling the skirt between my fingers as anxiety throbs across my temples. My brain struggles to keep up with what’s happening.

“Voyeurs pay double,” he snaps, pulling himself back into the room.

I open my mouth to reply, but he just slams the door in my face.