Phantom: A Dark Retelling (Tattered Curtain Series)
Phantom: Act 1 – Scene 4

Sol

“Atext message, hm? I thought you were more old school than that,” Ben mutters behind his glass before taking a large mouthful of the drink. I shrug. The room is frantic as people try to see the text message I sent Monty from a blocked number.

“Jacques is dead?” someone yells as commotion and hysteria spreads.

“—suicide—”

“—he hung himself—”

“—with a stage curtain rope?”

A picture is worth a thousand words, even over the phone, and this one speaks volumes, revealing Jacques Baron hanging from the ceiling in the cellar below the stage. I thought it was fitting that a rat die with his brethren where they scurry through the basements. Ben knows it had to be done. After seeing Jacques paw at Scarlett last week, he practically wrote the suicide note himself.

“Also, not great timing with the Phantom letter,” my brother points out.

Okay, I admit sending the text immediately after Monty opened the letter was a little rash. I’d previously intended the letter to be my only surprise tonight, but once he began to accuse Scarlett of being the sender, I had to change my plans. Texting Monty the picture I took earlier today was the only thing I could think of to get the heat off of her in the moment.

Besides, I’ve been getting bored waiting for someone to find him. He needs to be cut down before the body starts to stink or the rats decide to make a meal out of his corpse. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The staff begins to mill around again and I welcome the new Sazerac from the waitress, since I was actually the one who broke the last glass. That’s the thing about Masque. Despite the fact that a crisis is taking place in real time inside the speakeasy, the service is still on point, even if Madam G is glowering at me for breaking another one of her glasses.

“What if someone connects the letter with the picture?” Ben asks more blatantly, but still quietly enough that no one will hear him over the bedlam.

“Let them add fuel to the wildfire of rumors surrounding me. People worship the heroes protecting them until they realize the cost of their safety. Whispers in the dark keep the worst of my justice from coming to light. You know reputation means everything. No one is afraid of an ordinary man with a horrifying face. Let the Phantom be terrifying in their minds.”

“Your face wouldn’t be what terrifies people. At some point, the citizens of this city are going to figure out that not all the whispers are rumors.” Ben sighs. “And then the NOLA PD who are on our side will be forced to turn on us.”

“It had to be done,” I insist.

Ben wants more than that, I can tell. He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, shifting his skull mask. My face makes the same movements when I want an explanation, or at least the left side does. Ben might be frustrated now, but he knows that if I’ve made a kill, the person deserved it. It’s the same moral code I’ve had since I was fifteen.

I watch Scarlett out of the corner of my eye. A delicious mix of confusion, concern, and satisfaction swirl on her face over the news. Her last emotion makes my cock swell with need. My little angel is more savage than she looks. I love her innocence, but her darkness is what calls to me. Jacques Baron’s death was a gift from me to her, and I knew she’d love it. If Monty doesn’t heed my warning, I have no doubt she’ll enjoy that one, too.

“Sol, are you listening?” Ben asks with a huff.

“No,” I answer honestly.

He sighs again. “Why do you play with your food, knowing you’re not going to eat it?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Her.” He tips his head toward my muse. “You act like she’s yours. It was bad enough when we both knew you’d never go after her, but now that Rand has declared her, she’s completely off-limits. Besides, she’s not like the women you bring home in the dark. She’ll want to be with you in the light. Women like Scarlett Day want to see the man behind the mask. Are you willing to reveal that to her? Are you ready to show yourself? Or will you just watch your pretty doll from afar?”

I fidget with my ring. His questions hit home more than I’d like to admit. Scarlett and her voice have been my fantasy for months. But no matter how dark my angel of music is on the inside, I’m certain she’ll never be able to accept how ugly I am. Inside and out.

“You’re right,” I finally respond. “She won’t be interested as soon as she sees what that bastard did to me.”

Ben snorts and shakes his head sadly. “If you think I’m only talking about your skull mask, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Confusion twists my face and pulls the skin tight. I take my eye off Scarlett to question him, but a throat clearing makes me face the man who’s approached us.

One of my skull-masked shadows dips his head before speaking. “Rand Chatelain to see you, sirs.”

I didn’t know which one of my men it was until he opened his mouth. Masks ensure that no one knows who works for the Bordeauxs. Not knowing who they can trust outside of me and Ben also prevents my men from betraying us to our enemies.

Ben relies on his vision too much, so he is at a disadvantage in the dark. But our shadows answer to me and as soon as they get close enough for my other senses to catch details, it’s easy to deduce their identities. Ben is the face of our operation, our mask, so to speak, and I am everything underneath.

I nod to the man and he steps aside to reveal a deliciously furious Rand with a garish red-and-yellow jester mask covering the top half of his face.

“You wish to speak to me?” I ask. “Bold, considering you’re trespassing.”

“I was invited by Miss Day,” Rand insists with a smug sneer on his lips.

My jaw threatens to tic at the jab. Despite my wish to keep my feelings private, I fucked up in box five earlier tonight, showing my hand. Now Rand is testing me to find out just how valuable his taunts are. I can’t fucking stand it, but what’s done is done.

“Invitation trumps the truce,” he spits back when I don’t reply. “But it’s not like you respect it in the first place.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over how loud your ridiculous mask is,” I point out and smirk.

He tears off the jester mask, revealing his fury in full force. His emotions are so unchecked, so unlike his normal charming presence and the opposite of the cold calculation his brother had. Interesting.

Ben angles forward, making sure no one at the adjacent tables in our corner can hear us. When he speaks, the uncovered part of his face is neutral, but his words are laced with cold anger. “What do you mean we don’t respect the truce?”

“Jacques Baron,” Rand bites out. “You hung a Chatelain man, my former proxy. No doubt the police will rule it a suicide, as they normally do when you’re involved. But do you really expect me to believe my second-in-command killed himself underneath your opera house? I thought this was a fucking safe zone.”

“Chatelains are only as safe in the House as they are rule abiding. One wrong move means reprisals. You know that,” I answer.

“One wrong move? What did he do?” Rand leans in so closely I can see the vein in his temple throbbing. I haven’t missed his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He’s losing his composure.

Good. I’ve been waiting for him to crack.

“He was a spy for you.” I give the partial truth.

Baron wasn’t an actual threat since all my men knew he couldn’t be trusted, but I don’t want Rand Chatelain to know that I’ll kill for my muse, not yet.

“I demand evidence.” He stabs the table with his finger.

“Do you dare question me, Chatelain?” I ask carefully. “In my own home?”

Just then, a vision in white catches my eye and stops the conversation cold as Scarlett’s slender fingers brush Rand’s forearm. My eye doesn’t leave the place where their skin touches until they’re apart again, the briefest of moments that feel like an eternity too long. She’s close enough that even with my poor eyesight, her white rose shines like a beacon in the dim light. But a red tinge makes me frown.

“What happened to your rose?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

The world quiets around us. Her eyes widen before darting down to the rose and she fingers the petals delicately.

“I pricked myself putting it on,” she answers. Her voice is low, but our interaction has created a cocoon of silence around us, so I hear it perfectly.

“Why didn’t you take it off?” I ask.

A small smile curves her lips and she covers the flower protectively before looking at me again. “This came from someone special. And I love white roses, so I couldn’t bear to part with it.”

“Not even after it hurt you?” My lips purse and her brow furrows as she tilts her head to the side with a tentative smile.

“No, I guess not. Not even after it hurt me.”

Her confession stirs something deep in my chest and all I want to do is whisk her away. She turns to Rand, breaking our gaze and bringing back all the noise in the room, the sensation akin to coming out of a tunnel.

“I’m, um… heading up to my dorm.” Her lyrical voice is soothing to my ears, despite the fact that it’s nearly drowned out by everyone’s hysterics over Jacques Baron’s demise. “The party is clearly over.”

Rand turns on a hungry smile that makes my fist tighten. “Let me walk you up.”

Her bright-moonlight eyes flick to mine. “No, um, that’s okay. It’s just upstairs.”

Rand opens his mouth but Jaime interjects. “I’ve got her. Go on home, man. I’ll protect her from the big bad Phantom of the French Quarter.” He smiles, studiously ignoring me.

She beams up at her best friend like a sister to a brother, and not for the first time I’m thankful that Jaime took his assignment as seriously as he did. Since they were already cordial, it was easy enough for him to befriend her when she was at her lowest. His daily updates have become unnecessary thanks to the fact she’s moved to her dorm, but he’s stuck around because now he’s her true friend. It calms me to know that in those few moments when I’m not around, she’s still safe.

Rand sputters for an objection, but she squeezes his forearm and wishes him a good night before leaving.

I watch her unabashedly as she navigates the crowd. Just when I think she doesn’t feel it, this gravitational pull like the moon to the night, she glances back. Her silver eyes flare and her gorgeous pink lips part. My cock jumps to push inside them, but I slowly settle farther into my seat. She breaks eye contact first as Jaime irritatingly guides her away from me and around the corner to the exit.

I glare back at Rand. He’s still staring where Scarlett disappeared, and the frustration reddening his face pleases me. He’s now seen the undeniable chemistry I have with his alleged childhood sweetheart. Even though Scarlett doesn’t realize my connection with her yet, and even though I’ll never act on these emotions, fuck does it feel good for someone to know Scarlett Day is mine.

When he finally drags his eyes away from the empty space and back to me, he’s failed to conceal his anger and I can’t resist toying with the prick.

“Leave, Rand. Your invitation has apparently been withdrawn. Don’t come around again until our next meeting. Our business is done. Your request for access to the port and a hotel in the French Quarter is denied.”

Rand’s lips morph into a tight line before he finally speaks. “This isn’t over, Bordeaux. I will get what I want.”

“You can try,” I answer with a bored sigh. “But just like your brother, you will fucking fail. A little advice? Make sure your failure isn’t at the same cost.” I cross my ankles under the table and my arms over my chest. “Or don’t. I don’t give a shit. I’ve always got more rope handy. Just ask your second-in-command—oh… wait. You can’t.”

Rand’s eyes burn with fury before he stalks away in silence. Satisfaction courses through me, a sensation not too different from the buzz I get when I indulge in my Sazeracs.

“First Baron, then Monty, now Rand?” Ben’s words carry an edge. “If you keep fucking up and threatening these Chatelain men, you’re going to get burned, brother. Again.”

I smirk before taking a sip of my drink. “I’ll have fun while it lasts, though.”

I couldn’t give a fuck about me. I haven’t cared about my fate since I was fifteen and learned my entire life could be taken away from me in an instant. That realization was shortly followed with the revelation that the same fatal truth applied to those who harmed me and the ones I loved. My enemies and I have been living on borrowed time ever since.

But now that a certain soprano has appeared on my stage, all of my time has belonged to her. Nothing else matters.

Speaking of which…

“I have to go.” I stand from my chair, ignoring the fact that Ben has apparently been talking to me this entire time. Right now, my one-track mind doesn’t allow for anything other than thoughts of white roses and moonlight.

Ben doesn’t try to prevent me from going. He hasn’t for months now. At this point, neither of us could stop me even if we tried.

My little muse is my addiction, and her voice is my drug. If there is a cure to my madness, I don’t want it. I’d rather welcome blissful oblivion.

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