“Come on, little mouse. You’ve wasted enough time getting your pussy worshipped, let’s go get some answers.”

I slip past her, walking ahead of her and towards the doors. Yet, I still hear her mutter asshole under her breath, and it does nothing but bring me joy to know I get under her skin so deeply.

Chapter 26

The Manipulator

I ’m seething, and my thighs are slick with my own arousal as I rush after Zade.

He doesn’t bother turning the movie off. We just slip from the room and quickly make our way back into the ballroom.

It’s like no one even noticed us gone. But I’m sure people have, right? Zade has worked this entire room by now, and as much as I loathe to admit it, the man is unforgettable.

To say the fucking least.

All of two minutes pass before a man approaches us, his black uniform and white vest signaling his position.

“Mr. Forthright, Ms. Reilly, please follow me,” the butler, Marion, instructs.

Just like that, I’m stone-cold sober and the lingering orgasm has been completely eradicated.

Marion leads us through a series of hallways, pointing out certain pictures and historical artifacts Mark managed to get his hands on.

I nod and hum my appraisal, but my mind is drifting back towards Gigi and the potential information I could garner tonight. Mark might choose to give me breadcrumbs and keep me coming back for more, but it'll be futile.

He’s not getting me back in this house again. I'm not entirely sure if coming here was even worth it yet or not.

At least I got to watch an unreleased movie, even though I didn’t get to see how it ended.

Whatever, I don’t remember much about it anyways. My gaze was sightless when all I could focus on was—

Stop it, Addie.

My stomach drops from the fresh memory, and it takes entering Mark’s study to pull my attention firmly back into the present.

“My two favorite people,” Mark greets loudly, a lit cigar poised between his fingers and a glass of amber liquid in the crystal cup dangling in his other hand.

He looks drunk. His ruddy face is flushed red, and his eyes have begun to glaze over a bit.

“Please, sit,” he directs, pointing to the plush leather couch beside his desk.

Zade and I take a seat, and the two men immediately engage in a conversation about the party. I add my two cents in when required, noting how beautiful the chandeliers are and the fascinating artifacts decorating his house.

He beams at the compliment, a smile stretching across his face.

“All thanks to my wife, of course. She does enjoy spending my money, and if decorating this house is what keeps her happy, then I can live with that,” he jests. His tone is joyful, but the words are condescending and meant to be an attack.

“I’m sure you know how much the ladies love our money, huh, Zack?”

And there’s the cherry on top of his sundae of misogyny. I bet his sundae taste like bruised skin and a bleeding heart.

Zade smiles, the act nearly primal and ripe with danger. “Small price to pay when they give us something so priceless every day. And if you ask me, I’d tell you I’m not worthy of it, but I’m a selfish bastard and will accept it anyways,” he answers cryptically. I don’t know how I know, but I know exactly what he’s speaking of.

Love.

Love is priceless. As Mark’s nefarious dealings have proven, pussy can be bought and is plentiful, whether they’re forcing it or getting consent. And despite all the ways Zade has forced me to my knees for him, the only thing he’s ever really wanted from me is to return his addiction. Because that’s the one thing he can’t take or force.

He can force my body to succumb to him, but he can’t force my heart to beat for him.

And ironically, it seems that’s the one thing he wants most from me.

Mark takes it the direction most men would. He laughs and offers me a wink, as if he knows without a doubt how priceless my pussy might be. But if I had to guess on what type of man Mark is, he’d put a price on me in a heartbeat.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he chortles.

Do you, asshole?

I shrug a shoulder. "I think you're the lucky one, Mark. One look at Claire, and you can see she is a strong, capable woman. Those are the most dangerous." I add in a wink, but I know it's falling on deaf ears. Mark is too comfortable in the patriarchy to consider that Claire might not shove a knife through his neck while sleeping one night.

Mark scoffs, but he takes the hint and shuts his mouth. At least he's not dense enough to feel the plummeting mood.

Zade appears relaxed and collected, but I know that beast in his soul is pacing back and forth, just waiting to be set loose. I can tell by the subtle flexing of his fist, and that way his smile appears threatening and feral. I can just feel the energy radiating off of him despite the serenity he exudes.

Why does Zade wanting to kill a man over a sleazy comment most men would say make me want to repeat the favor he stole from me in my driveway? This time I’d be much more… willing.

I hate him.

“So, Adeline, about your great-grandmother. Gigi was a beautiful woman. Even as a little boy, I remember that clearly,” he continues.

Climbing a mountain would take less energy than what it does to keep my eyes from rolling at his remark.

That would be something Mark latched onto. Gigi was beautiful, but who the fuck cares about personalities, right?

I clear my throat and paste on a smile. “Yes, she was.”

Mark tips his head back, seeming to retreat into a memory. “Yeah, I remember her signature red lips. Don’t think I ever saw her without that lipstick on.”

“Do you remember anything about her murder?” I ask, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“I remember how absolutely devastated John was when he found her. Was in near hysterics, and it took my father hours to calm him down enough to tell him what happened.”

“You said your father thought it was John, but do you think it could’ve been anyone else?” I press. I already know my great-grandfather freaked the hell out. There was a comment in the police report that they threatened to sedate him.

What I really want to know is what his father knew about the case. Maybe he knew something that wasn’t in any of the files.

He shrugs a shoulder. “From what I remember, he thinks that she was sneaking around on John—seeing some man. My father couldn’t seem to find out who it was, though, so it wasn’t something they looked into. But my father was almost certain that was the reason John snapped and killed Gigi.”

I twist my lips, glancing at Zade to find him already staring at me with an unreadable expression.

He’s skimmed through her diaries and knows she had a stalker. But it doesn’t seem that Mark or his father knew that, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Gigi’s diaries were in a safe behind a picture. The police would have had no reason to believe she would be hiding something like that.

I contemplate if I should divulge what I know. Maybe Mark would have some type of power to look into the diaries and see what he can find. But the second that thought enters, I boot it right back out.

Mark isn’t a nice guy. And he would only lord those books over my head and lead me on. I’m positive I would never see them again if I handed them over.

Besides, I’m confident Daya has many more ways to get information than Mark ever could. Mark’s father is presumably dead with the way he speaks about him in the past tense, and I’m sure the officers from the case are also dead, or close to it.

Gigi died in the ‘40s, making this case seventy-five years old.

“Why did Frank believe it was John and not the other man then?”