Gabby is drunk. I mean,I’mbuzzed, too. But that’s kind of the point.
Two nights after the ceremony at Blackbriar Hall, we’re all at a party in the private room of a midtown club. The place is packed with Syndicate members and all the recent initiates, who are proudly showing off their new ink and knocking back drinks with their Syndicate brothers and sisters.
“Sofucking much,” I groan. “It still hurts.”
She giggles. “Girl, ribs werea choice. I’ve heard that’sthemost painful place, aside from like your nips or your pussy.”
I make a face. “Whywould anyone in their right mind get tattoos there??”
She snorts. “You tell me, Queen of Pain.” She grins salaciously me as she gulps her vodka soda. “Is ‘property of the Marquis’ in curly script right above your vag next on the list?”
I roll my eyes as she cracks up.
“So.” I look at her sharply as the party throbs around us. “We going to talk about your Adept now?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Nope.”
I snort. “Any particular reason?”
“Several,” she says primly.
“You two seem…” I glance at the ceiling. “Close?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, shrugging. “Carson is a psychopath and a fucking sadist. Yes, he was my Adept. But now that part's done, and I don’t ever need to cross paths with his crazy ass again.”
My gaze slides past her shoulder to where Carson is sitting by the bar, a dark, slightly malicious look etched on his face as hestaresat the back of her head.
“You, uh, sure about that?” I murmur, pulling my gaze back to hers.
“Yep,” she mutters.
A shadow falls over us. I glance up and my heart skips when I see Vaughn standing there, his ice-blue eyes almost glowing in the dark club light.
“Ms. De Luca,” he growls, inclining his head toward Gabby.
“Mr. Marquis,” she grins back.
He turns to me. “I need you.Now.”
Heat sparks within me. Gabby snickers, mouthing “have fun” at me before Vaughn takes my hand, helps me up, and then escorts me across the room.
“What’s up?” I ask as he sits in a chair up on a small stage, like a king or Roman emperor watching a debauched bacchanalian feast.
I gasp as he tugs me into his lap, my ass hitting his thighs as he wraps a large arm possessively around my waist.
“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I just wanted you right here. How’s the tattoo?”
“It hurts,” I admit. “But not too badly.”
“Maybe you just have a high pain tolerance.”
I smirk at him. “Gee, I wonder who I can blame for that?”
He grins. “Blame?I think you mean thank.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my earlobe. “On your knees, ideally.”
I flush, my core liquefying when I feel his hot, hard erection against my ass.
“You're happy with the placement?” he murmurs, tracing a finger up my arm.
