“Here, drink this at least.” Holding a filled shot glass in one hand and the uncapped bottle in the other. “Just toss it back. You don’t look like a Cassamigo’s girl.”
Almost robotic in her actions, she takes the shot and does as I instruct.
Immediately, her shoulders relax.
I pour her another then one for myself.
“Girl, Snake is going to kill your ass. Give me that.” Sara reaches for my bottle. I snatch it back.
“He’s not my papa,” I fuss. “He just thinks he is.”
I cut a look her way. Deciding to share anyway.
Sara takes the bottle from me, turning it. She takes a couple of swigs as Ezekiel-Jane slips her arms into the robe. It dang near drawfs her. The material looks like it’s heavy and drags on the floor.
Sara hands the bottle to Lorena, who drinks heartily from it before handing it back to Ezekiel-Jane. She seems very eager for more. She already looks more relaxed, which is saying a lot from the way she was wound so tight earlier.
She’s reaching for the bottle when Sara cuts in, taking it from her. “Uh-uh, Angel won’t do it if you’re drunk. Trust me, you want it to be him.”
Taking the bottle, she places it on his desk with a snap. “Feel free to go wild when it’s over.”
A hard knock sounds on the door. My heart stops when Snake steps through. He’s clothed in a black Henley, Wranglers held up on his narrow hips with a cowboy belt sporting a viper motif.
His cold, hickory-hewed eyes land hard on me.
“Are you done, girl?” He sounds so put upon, like just having to talk to me is so beneath him.
For a split second, the hurt registers before I can stop it from showing on my face.
“Si, she’s ready.” I lift my chin, and for a split second, it’s almost as if he’s proud of me. He regards me for just a second too long. My stomach sinks. Everyone notices. I don’t want them pitying me.
He nods, finally turning back to the other women. “I will carry you out on my shoulder. Don’t look at anyone, or that will incite a claiming challenge. Angel says he doesn’t want any bloodshed, but he’d have to kill somebody if they pop off, saying you looked at them, wanting to be claimed. So, eyes forward at all times until you’re on the stage, then eyes only on him.” His voice is almost soothing as he talks to her, trying to help her avert disaster.
Grabbing my stuff, I start to head out with the other ladies.
“Not you,” he growls down at me. “Stay your ass in here. Sit. Down.”
Embarrassment becomes my best friend at the harsh tone he uses with me. My gaze steadies on him with malice for a hot second, but he’s looking like he’s begging me to give him a reason.
Instead of giving him the sass he so richly deserves, I head over to the couch, sitting beside Ezekiel-Jane.
“I’ll be back for you when it’s time.” He looks over to me, his voice a shade less mean. Ignoring him, I focus on anything, and I mean even the tiniest piece of lint I see on Angel’s fastidiously kept couch.
The air pulses around us. I don’t know what he expects when he’s barking orders like a drill sergeant at me.
Seconds tick by, then a shadow drops over me.
I glance up quickly after moments tick by into his cold, unfathomable gaze.
“Yes, sir.” I let my sarcasm coat every syllable.
“Calling me girl when he knows I’m a grown ass woman. Sick of him.” I speak in French, which has the woman beside me looking at me in surprise.
“Care to say that shit again in a language I can understand, girl?” Taunting me, though I’m pretty sure after all this time he’s picked up on some of my native tongue.
“Whatever, Snake.”
“How old are you?” Ezekiel-Jane asks in French. Both Snake and I look at her in surprise. Drawing both our stares.
