Something strange slithers through my insides, but I ignore it and pad out of the room just as something glass smashes. I jump, startled by the crash, while the group of them are cheering and laughing, some guy hollering aboutswallowing the worm.
Shaking my head, I wander into the hall, making sure no one’s paying attention before slipping down to the first-floor. The rest of the mansion is so quiet, and dark. The only sounds are those of the party happening upstairs, muffled like background static.
I’m curious and eager to snoop as I scamper into the den. Sidling up to the bar by the atrium, I run my fingers over the bottles of fancy booze. Plucking one off the rack, I read the label.
Scotch. Forty years old… Probably super expensive.
This must be his stuff.
Uncapping it, I take a sip, wincing and coughing from the burn.
Yea, scotch isn’t my thing.
Grinning, I spit into the bottle and shake it around, screwing the cap back on and putting it back.
Take that, asshole.
As I’m tiptoeing through the library, voices up the hall give me pause. Interestingly enough, the two libraries are separated by an adjoining corridor. Technically, this means they’re connected, and the hushed words I’m hearing are coming fromhisside.
I have to investigate. Way too engrossed not to.
Taking the lightest steps possible, I creep down the hallway until I reach his library. I peek around the corner, holding my breath as I do.
Unsurprisingly, his library is much bigger; more space, more ornate furniture, and more bookshelves. Because of that, I’m far enough away that I can’t really make out the conversation.But I don’t need to. My body’s physical reaction tells me who’s speaking.
El Diablo… He’s in there.
My heart is instantly racing, hair on the back of my neck standing up. My hands are clammy, my throat is dry, and for some unknown reason, I’m aching where I’m tucked into place.
Jaw tense, I scold myself internally.
Why am I so affected by his presence?? It’s fully fucking ridiculous.
The rage, sure. That makes sense. But the other stuff? The intense bodily response to his proximity… I’ll never understand it.
Fucking moronic.
Determining that he’s far enough away for me to make my move, I slip into the room and immediately duck behind the far bookshelf. It’s dark as hell in here, only the dreary orange gestures coming from the fireplace’s embers. They always seem to be sparsely lit down here, in both libraries.
Yes, the ambiance is sexy as hell, but I’m trying not to think about it right now.
I’m struggling to make out who he’s speaking to…Who else is in the room with him?
He’s having a rumbling conversation with someone by the entryway, where his study meets his library. But there’s someone else in here, too… A body on the other side of the shelf. So close, I can hear them breathing.
They seem tense, deliberately keeping themselves out of view of whoever The Ivory is talking to. Like they’re…hiding. But it also seems as if The Ivory is hiding them in return; using his body to block view of the library while grumbling at the person neither of them wants seeing inside.
I can only make out every few words, but I hear him mentioning somedoctorwith adegree from Johns Hopkins,then an inmate I’vedefinitelyheard brought up more than once, named Warren Xavier—who goes by Ren.
Apparently, he’s afavoriteof the guards due to his willingness to take dick in just about every way imaginable.
The person hiding on the other side of the shelf is fidgeting, biting his fingernails. He’s a large man—aren’t they all?Still, this guy is huge, which has me contemplating…
Just as he turns slightly, and I catch the glint of a metal stud in his eyebrow.
My lips part in surprise when the dark, chin-length hair tied back comes into view.
Holy shit, it’s Velle.
