Page 31 of From Hell

“Hate is a strong word.”

The blonde girl calls again. “Jaxon, over here.”

“She’s going to have a hernia if you don’t go over there,” Nola interrupts, shoving a glass before me. “Lainey, here’s the cherry cocktail you wanted. Drink it up before the ice dilutes it to fuck.”

I take the drink. “I think you should go.”

“And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t hate you.”

His eyes shimmer with fire, making my inside curl. “Good. Because I promised you a library tour, I don’t take just anyone there.”

As he saunters away, Nola stares, taking a mouthful of her drink. “Who the fuck was he, and why were you looking at him like that?”

“Like what?” I flush, taking a small sip of my cocktail.

Nola’s brows shoot up. “Like he was about to eat you up, and you’d willingly let him.”

Cheeks hot and burning, I give a dismissive shake of my head. “He’s the new hotshot surgeon joining Mitre. Thinks he’s God’s gift.”

“Looks like you do too.” She snorts.

“I do not,” I say with a scowl.

Nola shrugs as if to say,right, then leans against the bar and looks around. “Your life is so weird. Did you know there’s gold on those little steak bites they keep bringing around on trays? Gold. I’m not joking.”

Letting out a sigh, I give her a look. “This is not my life. I was born in East London, just like you.”

Nola eyes me up and down. “You say that, but you fit right in with these rich bastards. Your accent is allyah. You’re wearing the right dress and jewelry; even how you drink is damn dainty.”

I was about to take another small sip of my cherry martini, but Nola’s words slash deep, shame coursing through my insides. She’s right. I’m not these people, and yet I fit right in. Growing up, as my mother earned more and more money, I worked long and hard to prove I could be just like her. Elocution lessons. Ballet after school and tennis and riding lessons on weekends. Charity work when I could, to fatten up my CV. I wanted so badly to have her approval, but it wasn’t just for that. I pushed myself to fit in out of everyone.

“So, what did we come here to do?” Nola asks, thankfully dropping the subject.

My gaze darts around the room. “I need to find where the accounts for the Foundation are kept,” I say under my breath as we head out into the rear foyer. Wanting access to the library was a small white lie.

Nola cocks her head at me as we walk. “Isn’t that kind of thing isn’t digital these days?”

“Not for the Foundation. They have an archives room. The business records are stored there, according to my father, who’s been trying to get a warrant for years.”

Nola tilts her head, deep in thought etched on her face. “This is going to help you how?”

“Berners House is jointly owned by the five families known in history for establishing the Foundation. Whoever was following me, their car is registered here.” It sounds ridiculous, but it’s the only lead I have. I’ve been over it a thousand times. “My stalker is a member of this club.”

He could even be my killer.The Ripper has been a faceless demon in my nightmares for as long as I can remember. I’m almost scared to unmask him…

It must show on my face because Nola touches my shoulder. “Then let’s find that archive room.”

13

LAINE

We wait until the speeches are underway and everyone’s enraptured to slink off to the rear foyer, where staff have cordoned off the area with a curtain and a velvet rope.

We move through several private drawing rooms with rich, dark wood paneling and paintings and tapestries depicting scenes of men hunting. The plush burgundy carpeting muffles our footsteps until we get to the oldest part of the house, where there’s nothing but echoing hallways, painted timber walls, and worn stone floors.

We should have heard him coming before running into him—warm, solid, and immovable. I stumble back, the flush on my face apparent.