27

27


The drunken guards who’d been eyeing me like a piece of meat now gave me a wide, wary berth, their eyes dropping to the floor as I passed. But their fear wasn’t a comfort. It was just the flip side of the same ugly coin. The higher-ranking men, the ones in suits who stood near Dante and Enzo, now looked at me with a different kind of hunger.

It's always the old men.

I kept my tray of empty glasses clutched tight, using it as a shield as I moved through the roaring crowd. The music was a physical thing, a pounding beat that vibrated up through the soles of my shoes and into my bones. I felt a hand brush against my lower back, I flinched away quickly, spinning around to see a man in a dark suit smirking as he walked past, not even looking back. My heart frantically drummed against my ribs.

About to look away and my gaze landed on Nicole. She was across the room, refilling a glass for one of the men in suits, but her eyes were nailed to me. To my wrist. And dear heavens was her face a pale, tight mask of pure, undiluted hate.

I'd laughed if I was in a good place.

She looked like she wanted to peel the skin from my arm just to get that black band off me. I could help but smile tauntingly at her before looking away.

She'll forever be a bitch over things that doesn't even make sense.

I resumed my walk to the bar, to refill my tray and have something to do with my hands until this ungodly party was over.

It really was just an unnecessary event, a waste of space and resources.

I reached the relative safety of the long, crowded bar. I started loading my tray with fresh glasses, the clinking sound drowning in the low music.

“Be careful with those.” The bartender warned as he served some guys at the counter.

I grabbed the tray and walked away. “Sure —” Halfway to where the men were gambling, a hand suddenly came down hard on my ass, cutting me off. The sting jolting my whole body.

I spun around with a burning face, ready to smash a glass of whiskey on his head. It was a guard, one of the ones who’d been handing out the bracelets earlier. His uniform shirt was stained and unbuttoned, his face flushed a blotchy red. He grinned, a stupid, wet grin that showed too much teeth.

"Just checking if the premium model feels different, I didn't know Lissa would give you that.“ He slurred, his breath turning into a hot wave of whiskey and probably decay.

Yeah, that would be decay.

"Fuck off," I said, fighting the urge to drive my knee right between his legs. I've been feeling the urge and it's like a wolf during the full moon but mine's just to kick the shit out of them.

His grin just widened and he grabbed my wrist before I could walk away, his thick fingers digging into my skin like he was trying to crush the bones. "Or what? You gonna tell your boyfriend?" He leaned in closer, his voice a nasty whisper. "Do you think having this bracelet makes you special to the boss? I hope you're not that delusional, I've fucked a bunch of dolls that's worn this before you."

I tried to yank my arm back, but his grip was like iron. The glass in my other hand tilted dangerously, the full glasses sliding and clinking together in a panic. My heart was hammering so hard I felt dizzy.

And as if hearing my thoughts and prayers, a sharp, deafening crack split the air. It was so loud and close it felt like the sound had teeth, ripping through the music and the chatter.

The guard’s grin vanished, replaced by a shrill, piercing scream. He let go of my wrist and clutched his leg, his hands instantly turning slick and red as blood bloomed through the fabric of his trousers. He crumpled to the floor like a sack of stones, his screams dissolving into choked, gurgling sobs.

Oh shit!!

For a single, suspended moment, the music faltered. A dozen heads turned our way. A man at a nearby card table glanced over, his face blank, then simply shrugged and laid his cards down. The music swelled back to life, a wave of sound that deliberately drowned out the man's moans.

It was like I’d imagined the whole violent episode.

Two other guards materialized from the crowd and hooked their arms under the wounded man’s shoulders and dragged him away, his bleeding leg leaving a dark, smeared trail on the polished marble. His pathetic, whimpering apologies echoed for a second before being swallowed by the bass.

My ears were ringing.

I stood frozen, my hand still burning where he’d grabbed me, my lungs refusing to work properly. The smell of cordite and blood mixing together in my nose.

My gaze shot up, searching for the culprit, and found Enzo. He was calmly tucking a small, dark pistol back inside his jacket.
He was leaning against the bar a few feet away, swirling a glass of something amber after shoving the pistol back. He did so with a detached, almost bored expression. He took a slow sip, his eyes half-lidded, but lit up with a grin when they finally met mine. He then looked away, bored again.

Why?

I couldn't help the cold shiver that traced my spine.

I looked up, towards the balcony and found Moretti with his hands resting on the railing, his posture relaxed as he stared directly at his brother, his face an unreadable expression, he looked a little pissed, maybe.

Mad about his brother killing his worker for a mere slave, or the stain on the floor. Yeah I wouldn't push that past him.

I've seen him kill someone once, I didn't know who it was or what happened, I had heard the gunshot before I saw them, and the body of a woman falling to the ground, he left afterwards and the guards had to pick the body to go dispose.

My nightmares tripled after that night.

I looked back at Enzo, who was now studying the rows of bottles behind the bar as if looking for his next drink. The gears in my head, turning and grinding against each other.

I hope it works.