My father materializes in Simon’s place so quickly that I wonder for a moment if they fucking planned it, his face crafty and his eyes glittering.
“Having a good time?”he asks.“I’ve noticed you aren’t mingling with my guests.”
“I just arrived, Father,” I say sharply.“And I’m not in any hurry to mingle with these men.”
He stares at me for a beat too long–long enough for me to realize he expected me to be more polite to him–and then turns back to the crowd.
“Control that tongue, Brooklyn, or you’ll find it cut out of your mouth,” he says, delivering the words like they don’t mean anything.“You’ll shadow Samantha tomorrow.Go on a few collection runs.I want you to see how they work.And the next day, I’ll introduce you to the sorts of men who buy pretty girls.”
Then he’s gone, leaving a chill in his wake, and I’m left shaking with fury at his words.
Collection runs.The men who buy pretty girls.He’s trying to get me involved in the day-to-day operations, and expecting me to just accept that sort of role.My skin crawls at the thought of it, though, and the idea of being there when his collectors grab a girl, pulling her away from her family and friends and into the grip of a smuggling ring that will sell her to the highest bidder...
Some twisted old man who likes to buy pretty girls...
God, I’m going to have to kill someone.
Preferably my father.
But first, I have a rescue operation to run–and then a cover story to concoct.Because we might be able to get the girls out of the basement before they ship, but the minute the men go to try to take them to the dock, they’re going to notice that they’re missing.
And my father is going to expect answers.
I’m going to need a rock-solid alibi to convince him that I wasn’t involved, or I’m cooked.
Though I’ll worry about that later.Right now...
I pull my phone from its resting spot in my bra and glance at it, wondering if Camille and Kate are in position yet.Because I might not know for sure what Simon was talking about, but I do know now how many girls are downstairs.I know how many lives we’ll be saving tonight.
And I know that my father is going to be pissed as hell when they disappear from under his nose.
I grin at the thought, slip back out of the party, and reach for the butterfly knife I also slipped into my bra when I got dressed.
When I walk back up the stairs, my mind full of plans and my heart full of excitement, I’m twirling the knife in my hand, and a part of my brain is dreaming of the moment when I can sink it right into my father’s neck...and twist.
Brooks
Fifteen minutes later I’m back in the party, sitting at one of the poker tables and staring at a hand that would win me everything in any poker game in the world.
I slide a chip across the table to match someone else’s bet, then meet the guy’s eye, smirk, and slide another into the pot at the center of the surface.
“Raise,” I say.
I see the shift in his eye when he realizes I’m playing for keeps, and let my smile turn even more suggestive.I don’t remember the man’s name–it wasn’t important when my father introduced him–but I know how powerful he is.Dom said his name like he was the head of my father’s fucking cult, or some sort of god, and Dom doesn’t have that much respect for anyone.
Whoever this guy is, he’s important, and that’s the whole point of me being back in the party.
I got halfway up the stairs before I remembered that I was here for more than just gleaning information from Simon leBanc, and that I had the prime opportunity downstairs in my father’s den.He’d gathered the most powerful men in his sphere and then given me free access to them, and there I was, running up the stairs and planning something for later that night rather than taking advantage of the opportunity I’d been given.
Cue me turning and heading back down the stairs and into the den again, and then straight toward the poker tables.
Because I’ve hung out with a lot of gangsters in my time, and I know that the easiest way to get information from them is to get them when they’re distracted.
Like when they’re playing poker.
And when there’s a lot of money on the line.
The man across from me smiles a dangerous, pointed smile and matches me with one chip, then slides a pile of $100 pieces across the deep green of the table.
