After a few minutes going unnoticed, I fidget with my fingers, finally speaking up.
“Blake? I’m ready to go if you are.”
After a moment, Blake finally sits up and looks at me, standing to his full height and pocketing his phone.
“Are you trying to look like a whore?”
My mouth falls open as my head bounces backward like he struck me.
“Excuse me?”
“You couldn’t find a more modest dress, Bristol? Christ, everyone is going to be looking right at your tits.”
“Most men would be proud to show off their woman, knowing,confidently, that she only has eyes for him. This is the dress I chose; this is the dress I feel good in, this is the dress I’m wearing.” Well, standing up to him sure feels better than I thought it would. He looks just as stunned as I am.
“Try not to embarrass me tonight,” he snaps.
“I’ll do my best,” I mumble with an eye roll.
The drive to the event is the same as all the others—silent, bland, and lonely. After thirty minutes, we pull up to the valet parking and get out, Blake plastering on a fake smile, one that is well practiced and used often. He takes my arm in his and leads us into the building.
The hotel hosting the gala has been decorated to the nines. It’s always surprising to me how much money flows into political campaigns and fundraisers. With the amount of money spent at this event alone, I could fund the shelter for a decade.
Champagne flutes are passed around to guests, hors d’oeuvres served with the finest silver trays. I immediately want to shrink away. While Blake may look at these events as lively and a good time to network, I abhor them.
“Blake Mercer, so glad you could make it! I’m glad you brought your beautiful fiancé,” Mr. Evercrest says as he looksright at my breasts. Maybe I should have picked something more modest, after all. Pig.
“We wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for the invitation,” Blake replies as he shakes hands with the man who gives me the creeps. I slip my hands behind my back, digging my fingernails into my palms in hopes he won’t try to reach for me. Instead, his hands grip my shoulders, leaning in and dropping a wet kiss to my cheek. I visibly shiver, and I have to use all my self-control not to let my face twist up in disgust.
“Please, enjoy yourself this evening. An open bar, all the food you could want. A multi-course dinner will be served later, and of course, a special event for the men afterward,” he says, giving Blake a wink that I don’t understand the meaning behind. “Excuse me while I make my rounds.”
He walks away without another word from us, and that is fine by me. I wish I could do the same.
“What did he mean by that? What’s happening later for just the men?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, Bristol. Like you repeated, it’s for the men.”
Jesus Christ. Fuck him. Fuck Mr. Evercrest. Fuck all of this. I’ve never wanted to disappear more.
Chapter Seventeen
RHYS
The night of the gala arrives, and I feel nervous as fuck. I know Bristol will be there with that fucker on her arm, and I don’t know if I’m fully prepared to see my woman with another man.
But she’s there, so I need to be. She said it herself how much she hates being around these rich, pompous bastards, so I’m going to be her buffer. I don’t need anything in return, besides knowing she’s comfortable.
“Well, don’t you look swanky!” Malice says with a whistle as I walk into the common area of the clubhouse, dressed in a full suit. I feel stuffy and uncomfortable, much preferring my leather jacket or cut with a pair of loose jeans and boots.
“Fuck off with that, Mal,” I say, lifting a tattooed finger and flipping him off.
“You sure you’re good? I feel like you’re heading into a fox’s den without your pack,” Wrath says, adjusting my shittyattempt at tying my tie. Wrath is the most fashionable one out of all of us. He actually gives a damn about what he looks like and puts in the effort. The rest of the Heathens are just, well, heathens.
“I may be, but I’m a fucking lion, so I’m not worried about it. Heathens don’t die easily, and these are rich pricks, they throw money at all their problems, and we use our fists and guns. I’m good. I just need to be there for her.”
“I get it. I did put a tracker in the bottom of your shoe. After everything the last year, I think it’s better safe than sorry.”
Malice bounds over to us, draping his arm loosely over Wrath. “I wanted to have him stick it up your ass, but he said no.”
