“We can crash the party,” Lyon said. This time, I did laugh but when I met his stare, he wasn’t kidding.
“Crash their big, fancy party? You saw what happened when we drove up, and we had an appointment. We were patted down like thieves, and you want us to just show up and join the fun?” I scrubbed my hand over my face.
“It would be hard, but Lyon might be right. We have tuxes packed away.” We used to go to some swanky corporate parties. I hated them. We all did.
“We could rent a car.” Suddenly I was on board with this desperate plan.
Cash nodded. “Yep. One of those big, black SUVs all the city people drive.”
“Are we really doing this?”
“We are.” Cash squared his shoulders. “We have to know if what we saw was a mistake, or if she’s being abused.”
“And if she is?” I asked. “Then we have another problem to solve. We have to find a way to get her out of this.” He looked at Lyon. “And without murdering any husbands.”
“Let’s get out of here before one of Funnizi’s goons drives out and finds us. We need to get home and dressed and rent that car. The party is at seven.”
They both looked at me.
“What? I overheard one of the guards talking about it. They learned how to whisper in a sawmill.”
We all got back into the truck.
“What do we say to her?” I asked, breaking the silence of the ride.
“We ask her if she’s safe. If anyone hurts her.”
Lyon snorted. “That is if the bastard lets her breathe and move away from the others. People like that keep their victims close.”
Chapter Seven
Isabella
I never appreciated the courses I took at college until the first time I had to attend one of my husband’s parties. It was great learning all of the skills needed to be the perfect omega because even if I hated my role now, those skills had saved me many a broken bone during my marriage. But I’d brushed aside acquiring the ability to act, something I learned very early on was going to be my downfall if I didn’t figure it out.
My job at these events was to be the perfect omega in all ways. I’d stand by my husband’s side, saying the perfect words, doing the right things, looking the part of a powerful man’s trophy. Nothing could be out of place. One misstep, and I’d pay.
My voice was to be calm and demure, but also educated enough that I was worthy of such a man. I was to bring up important talking points, but nothing that might upset my husband or expose any weakness he might have. I was to eat and drink enough that I looked like I was enjoying myself, but not to the extent that I might I’d gain an ounce or get a little woozy. The most difficult task of all was covering all of that with myhappy I want to be here, I’m living the dream lifepersona.
Some events were harder than others. Tonight’s, for example.
I’d already pissed Mark off when I came out dressed in my long-sleeved, floor-length, high-necked gown. It hadn’t been approved, was technically out of season, and anybody in the room who’d ever been abused would instantly understand its purpose. I’d pay for it later. But what choice did I have? Showing the world what he did to me? If I revealed a bruise or lump and someone made a comment, my current hell would feel like a trip to the amusement park.
The party was in full swing. Really, it should be called a gathering. No one was having fun. Everyone was doing their part, trying to make connections, attempting not to piss off the bosses present, trying to prove that they were whatever status they deemed themselves. Awful. Horrible. Nobody’s idea of a good time. Except maybe Mark’s. I never could read him.
I had my arm woven through Mark’s, a glass of champagne in my other hand, being a dutiful wife and listening to conversation after conversation. Currently, one of the fellow bosses was talking to Mark about some futures he’d been eyeing. I didn’t understand the point of the discussion. Mark wasn’t going to take a competitor’s advice. He was going to use his own men, ones he trusted, not because they were particularly worthy but because they, like me, knew that if you didn’t live up to expectations, it might be your last day above ground.
And then the don did something I instantly knew was going to ruin my already weak position with Mark for the night. He asked my opinion. “What do you think, Isabella? Is that something you’d want to learn more about?”
There was absolutely no right answer. If I said I wanted to learn more, I was overstepping. If not, then I was being disrespectful to the don. No matter how this played out, I was screwed. A total trap.
“I don’t know if I have time. It’s a busy season, after all,” I said, keeping my smile slapped firmly in place. For a split second, I thought I’d said something that would keep me from Mark’s wrath.
But then his hand slipped from my arm, and he ran it down the center of my back and over to my right hip. To anyone else, he would appear touchy, affectionate, a little bit naughty, but I knew better. My blood chilled. That was his way of telling me I’d fucked up and I was going to pay. Some days, with lesser people, he’d reveal his wrath for me as a warning to them, but tonightwas about show. He used his secret code to remind me the hell I faced earlier was only the beginning.
A man I’d never met came over and cut in, asking to speak with Mark alone. It took a lot of audacity to interrupt Mark when he was with another don, but this man must’ve been important. Mark excused himself, making sure to pinch that spot on my hip, so I fully understood what was coming. He kissed my cheek like a sweet, dutiful husband and crooned, “Sorry, I need to leave. Wait here and I’ll see you in a few minutes, darling.”
Darling, my ass. I didn’t know who he thought he was fooling. Everyone knew what a shit he was. They might not know that he was angry, but they knew he stepped out on me, and, in some circles, that was perceived as worse. If I’d been the one stepping out, the ultimate worst…because omega.
