Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

The mother of Henry’s child.

But they don’t know any of that because Henry hasn’t told them, and now is hardly the time.

“Guys, enough.” He gives them a warning look, but they all just laugh harder. No one else seems to notice the way his body has stiffened.

“Come on, that was forever ago. As if anyone would care now.” Preston chuckles, but then gasps and points at me. “Wait a minute, did she not know?” As if I’m not listening to this entire conversation.

Henry’s jaw tenses. “Abbi knows.”

Boy, do I ever. And plenty of people would still care. One of them is a girl struggling with the memory of her mother. I’ve thought about Violet more than I expected to this week—about how she’s feeling, how she’s coping. I nearly asked Henry for Gayle and Howard’s number so I could call and check up on her, but I decided against it. She needs more time.

A chorus of chirps sounds with incoming texts. The four men and Margo fish for their phones.

“We’ve got the location!” Merrick announces, the first to read the message.

Henry’s shoulders sag, with relief for the change in subject, I’m sure. “And it’s a good hour’s drive from here, so we better get a move on. See you all there.”

“I think he’s kicking us out.” Preston downs his drink.

“He’s definitely kicking us out.” Warner pats Henry’s shoulder with one hand. “See you soon, buddy.” Swooping in to collect my hand, he kisses my knuckles. “I know this degenerate had nothing to do with dinner, so thank you, Abbi, for making the first part of the night perfect.” He winks. “See you later.” He waves at everyone else.

Tatiana stands and follows him without a word.

“Not the most charming, is she,” Joel mutters, his face pinched with distaste.

“What do you mean? She’s a fucking delight,” whispers Preston—too loudly—and then kisses my cheek, hooks his arm around Kendra’s shoulders, and they leave.

Margo offers me her signature two-cheek kiss. “We will look for you,” she whispers and then pulls away to kiss Henry’s cheek. “Walk with me a moment.”

Henry obliges, and Joel trails them out.

Merrick is the last to leave. He towers over me. “You still mad at me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” But I struggle to hide my smile. It was a good joke on their part.

“Henry made me do it.”

“And do you always do what Henry tells you to do?”

He shrugs. “He can be hard to say no to, as I’m sure you’ve learned.”

I narrow my eyes, searching for meaning hidden within his words.

He laughs at me, and then, with an affectionate squeeze of my biceps, says, “I think you’ll forgive me when you see what I’ve chosen for you.”

I watch his back as he ambles toward the foyer, fist-bumping a returning Henry on the way.

“Okay, Raj will see the caterers out and Victor will be downstairs in fifteen minutes to drive us. Let’s get upstairs and—”

“Did you and Merrick ever hook up?” I interrupt.

He gives the bartender a salute as he leads me toward the stairs. “No.”

“Henry …”

“Why would I lie? You know I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done.” His lips twist. “But there is a story.”

I knew it. “What happened—”

“Not now, Abbi. We have the event of the year to get to.” His tone brokers no argument.





CHAPTER 11





The long row of high-end SUVs and cars crawls forward, each taking their turn at the curb, releasing their patrons before quickly pulling away. The cloaked figures cut through the shadows and vanish through a long, narrow path draped in the typical red and gold fabric of a circus tent.

Never would I suspect this nondescript warehouse of hosting a super elite, invite-only party, but I guess that’s the whole point of the clandestine operation. “How many people come to one of these events?”

Henry leans back in the seat, relaxed, his thighs spread, as if he’s done this countless times before. “I have no idea. It’s hard to say, based on the layout. Hundreds, certainly.”

“And they’re all dressed in costume?”

“They won’t be allowed in otherwise.” He scowls at a gold button on his jacket that he’s concerned isn’t stiff enough.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s floppy.”

“You look amazing.” When Henry stepped out donning the gold and red jacket, my jaw dropped. It looks custom-tailored to his body and sewn with high-end fabrics.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “You have a thing for ringmasters?”

I lean in and whisper into his ear so Victor doesn’t hear me, “You still owe me for that tease before dinner.”

“The night is young. Careful what you wish for.” He weaves his fingers through mine, his gaze dragging down my costume. “You’re not the bearded lady, but this will do.”

I giggle and smooth a hand over the black-and-white-checkered stockings that reach halfway up my thigh and clip to a garter belt. I’m relieved by Merrick’s choice for me. He was right. The second I unzipped the garment bag to reveal the sexy mime costume inside, all bad blood washed away.

“I promised you’d be respectably dressed, didn’t I?”

“Depends on who you ask, I guess.” Mama certainly wouldn’t approve. The frilly little dress is obscenely short, and my breasts have nowhere to hide behind the Lycra material of the bodysuit, but at least it comes with a black bathing suit bottom so I don’t show my underwear when I bend over. Paired with my black stilettos, I know I look good.

“Just a few more cars, sir,” Victor calls out.

“Okay, it’s showtime. Give me your wrist.” Henry clamps a thin bracelet around it. “This is how you get in and how you pay for drinks. Leave your purse here. Don’t worry, Victor will take care of it.”

“What? But I—”

“No phones, no cash, no wallets. Nothing to record or identify anyone in there. Those are the rules.”

I frown as I set aside my little black satchel. What kind of party is this?

“And these stay on at all times unless you’re in a designated area,” he continues, sliding on a white mask that covers his face down to just above his mouth.

I affix a similar mask, except mine has the traditional black markings of a mime.

Our car comes to a jarring halt and a security guard moves in to open our door for us.

“Ready?” I sense a rush of adrenaline in Henry as he slides out.

With a nervous flutter in my stomach, I accept his hand. Am I?





“Okay, this is insane.” Music thrums as we move deeper into the warehouse, my focus unsure where to settle. The space has been transformed into an upscale carnival, canopied by a big top tent, and everywhere I look, there’s something extravagant to see. A pair of acrobats swing high above us. Ahead, a woman in a risqué red dress stands on a dais, juggling flaming torches. To our right, a female mime sits on a stool in lingerie while a half-dressed man with a dramatic, twirly mustache throws knives at a target directly behind her.