Page 39 of Vicious Kingdom

I rolled my eyes. “Ten bucks says they divorce in three years.”

“Always betting on the misfortunes of others.” He straightened his bow tie, the movement drawing my attention to his scrawny arms perfectly encased in a custom Armani tuxedo. “But you could at least try to be cheery. It makes us look bad when you sulk.”

I’m not sulking, you idiot!I wanted to be miles and miles away.

“I don’t enjoy their bad luck. I’m just stating a fact,” I explained, hiding the shake in my fingers by reaching for my water.

Jonatan sighed. “These events are necessary, cousin. Connections are made here that benefit the business.”

Hertz Media operated under the veneer of legitimate business, but everyone in this glittering ballroom knew where their real power came from.

What we printed was gospel truth, even when facts proved it was a bold-faced lie.

That was the power of the written word.

“I understand the necessity,” I replied, running my finger along the rim of my champagne flute. “That doesn’t make it any less mind-numbing.”

Jonatan scoffed.

“Why aren’t you two dancing!” Kennedy, looped arm in arm with Callah, sauntered over. They flanked my cousin, leaning over to offer him a tantalizing look at their tits.

“My feet are tired,” Jonatan protested.

“Party-pooper,” Callah whined.

Kennedy swiveled to me. “You come dance, gorgeous!”

I felt another lingering look shot in my direction.

Focusing on the girls draping themselves on my cousin, I smiled and pretended this was just a normal outing with my family. “I’m tired too. The other night was a lot.”

“You were on fire!” Kennedy gushed. “Jonatan, you should have been there.”

That German accent, thick and mysterious that girls craved, came out as a purr. “No one said. Or I would have come.”

“We texted you!” Callah insisted.

My skin crawled again. The trio didn’t notice my distress. But the Tormentor had his focus on me. His attention felt dirty—wrong! No one saw anything out of the ordinary. No one could stop this. I was done with this whole night. I came. I made the necessary social rounds. It was time to leave.

That was always my only option to escape.

“Make my excuses to the family,” I said to my cousin and tossed my napkin on the table. “I’m feeling sick, and I’m headed home.”

I had to make my escape before I was trapped by my nightmare against my will.

Rising from my seat, I swept one last glance at the crowd, careful to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. I had to move fast; if I lingered, someone was bound to notice and pull me into another conversation about hedge funds, politics, or the latest gossip. Under the sound of clinking glasses and forced laughter, my heart thumped louder with each step toward freedom. Slipping through the clusters of people, I dropped my gaze to my shuffling feet, anxious to be anywhere but here. The exit was just up ahead—my breath caught with relief.

I hated these obligatory events. They could be fun…if that disgusting presence wasn’t infecting the whole room.

I made my way to the hall. These shoes were killing me. My ankle screamed in protest, but I pushed through, desperate for escape. I could baby the poor joint elsewhere.

The relentless footsteps behind me sent a chill crawling up my spine, each echo a sinister omen.

No, no—no!

The Tormentor's voice slithered through the air, dripping with malice. “Going so soon, Pookie?”

I froze, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. In a flip of a switch, I went from a strong, confident woman to a scared little girl. I hated the traitorous reaction. Hated how he made me feel powerless.