Burning Daylight: Chapter 18

A modern-day cursed queen with ice in her veins, wearing a crown forged from the bones of those she’s killed.

Death by Pilates: her favorite way to watch them go.

She smells of roses and arsenic, and when the princess disappoints her—which is often—she flashes those bright red talons. The princess often wonders if one day she’ll dig them into her chest and rip out her heart, the same way she does to all the other people who annoy her.

Just another casualty bleeding in the name of perfection.

“Welcome home, Baby Calloway.”

My cousin Tyler drops his arm across my shoulders, dragging me out of my head, where I was busy crafting the perfect villain origin story for my mother.

The smell of vodka is strong on his breath. So strong, in fact, that it makes my nose scrunch.

“Ugh,” I complain, elbowing him in the side. “You reek, Ty.”

Tyler grins cheekily at me, his strawberry-blond hair dropping across his forehead. “Just celebrating your homecoming.”

“I don’t know why. Nobody else is here for me.”

Tyler’s smile falters, and he squeezes me tighter to his side.

I’ve been poked and prodded until my hair is perfect, and my makeup is flawless, and the whole time, I’ve been trying my best not to stew in the fact that none of my brothers have even come by to say hi, and I have no real friends in the area until next week when Felicity comes home. Hopefully sans her boyfriend Keagan.

At least my dress is pretty. I run my hands over the soft pink fabric.

The late-afternoon sun casts a bright glow over the courtyard, and the light catches on deep, purplish-black shading underneath Tyler’s eye.

I jerk forward, gripping his chin and yanking him closer. “What happened?”

Tyler flinches before covering it up with a smirk. He taps me on the head like I’m a pet and coos, “Don’t worry your pretty little heart about it.”

“I can’t just not worry about it now that I’ve seen it.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, gesturing toward the groups of dressed-up people scattered around the pool in the middle of the courtyard. “Just pretend you’re like every other member of your family.”

I frown. “Our family, you mean. And that’s not fair.”

“Things usually aren’t.”

Scoffing, I cross my arms. “Have you been fighting with Lance again?”

It’s not out of the ordinary—at least, it didn’t used to be. It’s possible that things have changed in my absence. Back when I was growing up, though, he and Lance were always attached at the hip, for better or for worse. They used to spend weekends practicing everything they learned in their Jeet Kune Do class, then trudging through the place with goose eggs on their foreheads and deep bruises on their ribs.

Tyler snorts. “Lance wishes he could land a punch like this.”

I smirk at him, because Lance could beat the shit out of him. I don’t know anyone Lance couldn’t fight and win. He’s been trained since he was five years old, and although Tyler’s got repressed anger issues that could put down an elephant, fighting is Lance’s outlet; it always has been.

“So, it’s not from him?” I push.

Tyler’s grin drops. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And I want to wake up with a mother who loves me,” I reply sarcastically. “Tough shit.”

He sighs. “I may or may not have gotten into an argument with Benjamin Voltaire, remember him? Fucking Montgomery trash.”

Tyler spits the last name out like a curse, but it isn’t surprising to me. He hates the Montgomerys on principle, and when it comes to Benjamin—the guy who’s dating his sister—sometimes I swear his anger outweighs even my dad’s.

“And he hit you?” I inspect his black eye. “For what?”

“Because he’s a piece of shit, Juliette.” He lets out another sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I tried to talk to Rosalie, and he…intervened.”

“What?” My voice sharpens. “He wouldn’t let you talk to your own sister? What did Rosalie do?”

He gives me a look. “Just sat there and stared at me with those big puppy dog eyes.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“Yeah.” Tyler’s jaw tenses. “I don’t know what he’s done to her, but it’s like she’s not even there anymore. She just smiles, and nods, and lets him pull her strings. It’s pathetic.”

He glances around and then lifts his shirt.

My eyes widen when I see the gun at his waist in a holster. “What the hell is that, Ty? Do you even know how to use a gun?”

He shrugs. “Protection.”

“I can’t believe you brought that here.”

“Preston here yet?” he replies, peering around with his hand over his eyes.

He’s clearly trying to change the subject, and it works.

I scowl. “How did you hear about that already?”

He smirks. “I know everything that goes on around here. Besides, Preston’s got a big mouth; he’s been spouting off for weeks that he’s about to ‘claim’ you again.”

“Yeah, I saw the Rag.”

I glance around the courtyard.

Paxton’s under the covered patio talking with a few people I’ve never seen, and Alex is leaning against the Roman-style column next to him, smiling like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

Rude that they’re here and yet they haven’t even come by to say hi.

My mother flits around in another one-of-a-kind outfit, a gorgeous, emerald summer gown this time, laughing at something Mayor Penngrove is saying. I’m sure both her and my father are using this as an opportunity to blackmail people into donating to his campaign so they can keep him in power. He’s been in my dad’s pocket for years; no reason for that to change now.

“Where is Lance?” I ask.

I skim the area again like maybe I just missed him.

Tyler shrugs, but he avoids my eyes. “You know he doesn’t like coming to these things.”

“Yeah, but…”

It’s me.

I don’t say the last part out loud, but I guess I’m showing it on my face, because Tyler gives me a pitying look and says, “Lance is a dick.”

Suddenly, he clicks his tongue and gestures toward the giant sliding doors leading to the veranda. “Speak of the devil…”

I follow where he’s pointing, relief whipping through me when Lance appears in the crowd. He’s not alone; his best friend Art is right there by his side, and as they get closer, I do a double take.

Art was always kind of scrawny and scrappy, but that’s definitely changed. Now he’s broad shouldered, his auburn hair perfectly styled, and his tailored suit fitted perfectly to his body.

He looks just like his dad, Mayor Penngrove.

“Art’s…different,” I note.

Tyler snorts. “Trying to be more like his dad every day.”

I choke on my drink.

“Art?” I clarify. “Like his father?”

Art has always hated that his dad was in politics. Used to joke frequently about how he’d become an anarchist just to say “fuck you” to the system and ensure his father couldn’t force him into following in his footsteps.

Tyler grimaces. “Unfortunately.”

My mouth drops open when Art pats Lance on the back and then jogs over to stand next to his dad.

“You think Lance and Art are…?” Tyler continues.

“Are…what?” I reply.

“You know.” He sticks his finger through the hole he’s made with his other hand lewdly, wiggling his brows. “Lovahs.”

I scoff. “God, who cares? This is why you get black eyes.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just asking.” He shrugs, lifting his hands in the air.

“You’re being a prick.”

I turn my sights back on Lance. I haven’t technically seen much of my brothers since getting back, but the rest of them I talk to frequently enough where it doesn’t feel like we’ve become complete strangers.

Lance is a different story.

It’s like I don’t know him at all anymore, which makes me sad because we used to be the closest.

I keep watching him and waiting for him to search the crowd to find me. Maybe give me a quick “I missed you.”

But Lance doesn’t even look in my direction.

All of my brothers treat me the same: like I’m furniture, decoration, good to be on display but not good enough for anything else.

Lance’s frown is intense as he leans in and says something to Paxton and Alex, and then Alex nods and disappears inside.

“Why is everyone in our family so goddamn rude?” I mutter, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Tyler asks like I’ve offended him.

I grin, patting his cheek. “Never. Your loyalty is why you’re my favorite cousin.”

He smirks. “Exactly. I expect you to remember this moment when others try to tell you they love you more.”

When Lance and Paxton disappear around the side of the house, Tyler’s gaze follows them. “Stay put, okay?”

“I’m not a dog,” I mutter into my champagne, even though the second Tyler gives me a sharp look, I cower like one.

“Fine,” I relent.

He stalks off toward wherever my brothers just went, and I lean against the bar, taking another sip of my drink before setting it down.

“I’ll just wait here!” I yell sarcastically to Tyler’s back, irritation ringing in my ears.

This is ridiculous. In fact, the longer I stand by myself with not a single person coming over to say hello, the more pissed off I get.

Where did they all go?

When Preston makes an appearance, my mother’s loud fake laugh ringing through the air, I panic, pushing through the partygoers and following the path Tyler just took to find my brothers.

My mother watches me closely, her lips tight and her eyes like daggers, but I just smile her way, give a little wave, and keep moving.

It’s not like anyone will miss me back here, anyway, and what does she think I’m going to do? Make a scene?

Maybe she should have thought about that before forcing me back here on graduation day.

She can get over it. I’m not ready to face Preston, and I’m too curious about where everyone disappeared to stand still and smile like a good little household pet.

I walk by the pool and cross underneath the veranda that’s beneath the balcony of my room, until I’m on the side of the house. My heels sink into the grass, making it too difficult to walk, so I bend down and slip them off, holding them in my hand while the cold ground squishes beneath my feet.

There’s a group of people standing together at the edge of the property, half of them on this side of the open gate and the other half on the opposite side.

My bare feet crunch on a loose piece of gravel and I wince, but I keep moving.

Paxton is next to Lance. And then there’s Tyler, standing in front of all of them, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his posture rigid as he stares down the other group.

Anxiety punches me in the ribs, because Tyler has a gun, and he’s not really known for his patience or even-keeled thinking.

Lance grips Tyler’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Tyler jerks away, giving a withering look to Paxton and Lance before he throws up his hands and leaves toward the house.

What the hell is going on?

I take a few steps closer to get a better look at the faces of the people my brothers are facing off against.

Rosalie is the first one I notice. Of course she is.

Ever since she started dating Benjamin, she’s been unreachable and causing enough mayhem that my parents have wiped their hands of her completely, refusing to even let her come to family dinners. She usually gets an invite to these bigger events still, although I’m surprised to see her show up to one.

My gaze flicks past her to the man at her right.

Merrick Carter.

Him, I know well. He attended Rosebrook Prep on the Montgomery Founder’s scholarship, and we were in the same grade all the way from kindergarten to twelfth grade. Honestly, he was probably invited to this event. He’s one of the most social people in all of Rosebrook Falls, and there’s rarely a party he isn’t attending.

Even if his best friend is Benjamin, who’s standing at his left. He’s a slimy, pasty guy with wavy blond hair and pinched features. Objectively, he’s considered handsome enough, I guess, but he’s always given me the creeps. He went to Rosebrook Prep also, but considering he’s Marcus Montgomery’s nephew and a Voltaire—a family that’s always been just powerful enough to piss off my dad—I was told to stay away from him.

And then once he got his grubby hands on Rosalie, I didn’t need any other reason to stay away.

Seeing him now sends a shiver down my spine.

I walk the rest of the way to my brothers and look at Paxton. “What’s going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Jules,” he mutters, low enough that only I catch it.

Lance cuts a look my way, too. “Don’t you have a debutante ball to plan or something?”

I glare at both of them. “Nice to see you guys, too. Do either of you assholes want to answer my question or are we just doing the whole ‘me man, her woman, must protect’ male posturing thing today?”

“We’re taking out the trash,” Paxton replies, his eyes fierce as he stares at the group. His voice carries, which I’m sure was his intention.

“You know, I’ve always thought you’d make a good garbage man,” Benjamin says to Paxton with a smirk. “You’ve got the right people skills.”

Lance crosses his arms. “Shut the fuck up, Benny.”

My head snaps to Lance in shock. “Benny? I’m sorry, are we on a nickname basis now with the enemy?”

Lance side-eyes me with a grimace, and Benjamin flips him off. “Sure thing, Boss.”

“Did you just flip him off at our home?” Paxton asks, his voice icy and direct.

I won’t lie; he’s intimidating. More so now than he was years ago. He reminds me so much of our dad.

Benjamin shrugs. “I’ve been known to be disrespectful.”

Paxton tilts his head. “Are you being disrespectful to us?”

Benjamin’s eyes flick to the security flanking our gates. “Will your security beat us back if I say yes?”

“No. But I might,” Lance cuts in. “Merrick, you better get your boy.”

“You know what, Lance, maybe it’s you who should get your boy. You think you’re God just because you can throw a punch?” Rosalie pipes up.

Lance smiles thinly. “We all know I hit harder when I’m angry.”

“Okay,” I chime in. “This is weird. You’re all being weird. One of you needs to tell me what the hell is going on or I’ll start loudly reciting embarrassing childhood stories.”

Lance smirks, looking over at me. “Blackmail’s not very ladylike, Jules.”

My eyes widen. “Neither is threatening people in our driveway, yet here we are.”

Paxton’s mouth curls up. Barely, but it’s there.

“Come on now, Lance,” Benjamin interjects, throwing his arm over Rosalie and tugging her to his side like he owns her. “You were just fine when you were with us a few hours ago. Why so mad now? You didn’t think we’d make the guest list?”

There’s a collective intake of breath on our side, like all the oxygen has evaporated from the air.

Lance grows very still, and if looks could kill, Benjamin would be nothing more than a smear on the asphalt.

Nobody asks for clarification, but the accusation is there that Lance has been with the Montgomerys, and I can feel the trust between my brothers—the kind that was already thin and bruised—break apart and fall away.

My eyes narrow on the group of party crashers, slowly cataloguing every single one of them and committing them to memory.

I’ve never hated anyone the way that the rest of my family has, but them coming here and stirring up trouble like this? It’s enough to put them on my permanent shit list.

At the end of the day, I’m loyal. And the Montgomerys have always gone out of their way to cause my family problems, both in business and in everyday life. Plus, Tyler swears it was Marcus Montgomery who killed his parents, not a boating accident.

My chest burns at the reminder of the loss.

There’s movement to the side, next to the brick columns that house the entry gate, and it’s only then I notice there’s another person with them. He’s wearing all black, hidden in the shadows of the setting sun as if he doesn’t want to be seen. He’s got what looks like an unlit joint in his mouth, and he’s flipping a lighter on and off, the flame lighting up his face just enough to make out some of his features.

Icy blue eyes: ones currently fixed on me.

My heart stumbles, and my stomach flips.

Ryder.

I step in closer, because surely I’m seeing things, but Paxton grips my arm and holds me back.

“Ow,” I complain, glaring at him. “What’s your problem?”

Paxton shakes his head. “Nothing for you⁠—”

“Little Rose.”

The air stutters and mutates, like it bends for Ryder’s voice alone.

He’s off the brick pillar now, walking directly in front of Lance. I don’t miss the way Rosalie’s eyes follow him with a wistful glaze.

Ryder smirks, looking at me. “Having a party and didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Lance interjects, moving until he’s shielding me better, his body taut.

Paxton’s grip on my arm tightens. “Why is he calling you that?”

I don’t answer him. I can’t, because I’m too busy staring at Ryder.

What is he doing here? And with people like Benjamin Voltaire?

He’s here, I think again. And he doesn’t look surprised to see me.

Which means he knew who I was.

He knew.

And didn’t tell me.

The realization is like ice sliding down my spine, chilling me from the inside out. Every touch, every flirtatious word, every moment of stolen intimacy feels like a trap now.

Ryder’s eyes flash, and he doesn’t so much as glance at Lance. “Welcome home.”

A strange, weightless sensation hits my stomach, like when I miss a step on the stairs and think I’m about to fall.

His voice is calm and a touch flirty, like we’re still us.

But we’re not.

I guess, really, we never were.

Paxton leans down and whispers sharply, “Do you know him?”

Before I can reply, Lance’s voice cuts in. “Don’t talk to my sister. In fact, don’t even look at her.”

“Lance, we don’t want any problems,” Rosalie finally says, moving to stand next to Ryder. “You know as well as I do that I was invited here. They’re just my guests.”

“Bullshit,” Lance snaps. “If you didn’t want problems, you wouldn’t be with them at all, Rosalie, let alone at our front gates. Let’s not be willfully obtuse.”

I rip myself from Paxton’s hold, ignoring the way it makes my forearm burn, my focus still on Ryder.

“Juliette,” Paxton hisses.

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder before stomping up to Ryder until I’m right in his face.

We’re so close, I can hear his intake of breath, and electricity snaps between us the same way it always does. Only this time, it feels like it might burn me to a crisp.

“Jules,” Lance tries.

“Shut up, Lance. I’ll deal with you later,” I snap, keeping my gaze on Ryder. “Who are you?”

His jaw tenses, and he licks his lips. “You already know.”

I shake my head. “Don’t play with me. What’s your name? Your full name.”

He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You first, Princess.”

Someone next to him scoffs. Rosalie, probably. And I bristle, because even in just the few times we’ve hung out, he only calls me Princess when he’s not being sincere.

“Uh-oh, kitten’s got claws,” Benjamin jokes.

Merrick lets out a low whistle. “Ten bucks says she’ll hit him.”

I lower my voice, dread dripping through my veins like a leaky faucet. “I need you to just…tell me I’m not the stupidest girl on the planet. Tell me who you are and why you’re here with them.”

His gaze breaks away and skims lazily over my brothers before landing back on me. “You’re not stupid.”

He doesn’t answer my other question.

“Ryder,” I whisper.

The tension radiates through me so strongly, it makes my voice shake.

Something that looks like remorse flashes on his face, but it’s so quick, I can’t be sure I’ve really seen it. That inkling from earlier breaks free and gallops through my chest like a stampede, and I back up a step.

I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I’m staring at all the pieces of a puzzle but can’t figure out how to slot them together.

Footsteps sound from behind us, and the air changes again to something harsher. Colder.

“What’s all this?” The icy tone of my father breaks our stare-off, striding toward us with Tyler at his side.

“They’re trying to—” Lance starts.

My father stops and puts his hand up. Lance presses his lips together and quiets, but I see the way it pains him to listen.

Then my dad turns toward Ryder, and shock covers his face for a brief second, so fast that if I blinked, I would have missed it. Every ounce of warmth drops away from him like a funnel siphoned it out, and hatred oozes from his veins like it was born and bred within him.

“You,” he sneers.

Ryder doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t deny whatever was laced in my father’s tone, but his jaw flexes and his expression hardens into stone. Like he knew this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for the hammer to drop.

Which tells me one thing. He didn’t just keep things from me.

He lied.

All the moments we shared. Lie. Every touch, every whisper, every smirk across a table. Lie. Lie. Lie.

“Roman Montgomery,” my dad breathes. “You’re alive.”

And just like that, my world spins and my stomach bottoms out.