“But I don’t have a mask,” Ava points out.
“Dagen is bringing us all one, apparently.” I move over to the bed and throw myself on it. “I, for one, am excited for the party tonight.”
Ava glances at me. “Why is that?”
I don’t answer. She knows why I’m excited. It’s our first big move against Old Ricky and I can’t wait to see his face when he’s brought down a peg or two. More than that, I’m excited for my role to change.
We haven’t discussed it with Ava yet. Dagen thinks it should be after the gala, but I think it doesn’t really matter either way. There’s no scenario where old Ricky doesn’t meet an unfortunate end by the time we’re through with him. Not only because men like him never stop coming after what they consider theirs, but also because of the scars I can pick out on Ava right now. The dress reveals many of them, and I can admire the way she doesn’t hide them anymore like she had when we first began this little rendezvous. I can make out the large, puckered scar on her collarbone, the long line along her shoulder, the small lines and raised bumps on her back. Her arms have faint white lines along them, barely perceivable unless you’re really looking. I also know there’s one behind her right ear that’s hidden by her hair right now, and plenty that riddle her stomach and her legs. I’ve taken note of every single one.
I can’t wait to make a mark on Old Ricky for each of hers.
“I like what you’re wearing,” Ava says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You look very handsome right now.”
“This old thing?” I preen, smoothing down the front of it. “I dug it out of the closet just for you.”
It’s a lie. I’d purchased it new yesterday. I can’t very well attend a gala with someone as beautiful as Ava and not look the part. I’m in all black, as is my preference, and while I’m technically wearing a suit, it’s my own version of one. Black studs trail along the collars of my jacket, little black chains at my hip making everything punk rock. I’d forgone dress shoes and instead wear my less scuffed up combat boots, but I’d tried to look more presentable otherwise. The only blip of color on me is the red handkerchief in my pocket that matches the exact shade of Ava’s dress. I’d requested it of Dagen and it had arrived barely an hour later, as if he’d already known I’d want it and had it waiting. It sticks properly out of my pocket now.
Like a drop of blood in the darkness.
My hair is still messy around my face, but it hardly matters. I’ll be wearing a mask anyways. No one will know who I am.
Something passes between us, an awareness perhaps, but we can’t act on it in front of Elsie. Not without raising questions or being highly inappropriate, so I bite back the words I want to say and flash a grin at her instead. Let her guess what I’m thinking as my eyes trail over her body, burning her into my memory.
When a knock comes at the front door downstairs and Ava’s phone beeps with the notification of movement from the cameras, I leap up from the bed.
“That’ll be the others I imagine. Maybe we can convince one of them to wear a tiara,” I say, winking at Elsie.
“Yes! Let’s go convince them!” Elsie laughs. She immediately runs to grab one from her bedroom.
I seize the opportunity to wrap my hand around Ava’s wrist and jerk her against me, my hand immediately dipping down to her ass. I don’t kiss her lips. I don’t want to mess up her lipstick. Instead, I press a kiss over her collarbone, my tongue trailing along her skin there, tracing the scar.
“I’m going to shove this dress up over your hips and fuck you in it later,” I whisper in her ear, drawing another deep red flush to her cheeks. This time it trails along her neck and down to the collarbone I’d just kissed. I smile against her skin. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
“How about this one?” Elsie shouts as she reappears in the hallway.
“Perfect!” I say, turning away from Ava like nothing had happened. “It’ll really bring out Dagen’s eyes.”
And then we flit down the stairs, laughing like the little heathens we are.
Thirty-Five
Ava
I’ve never been to a gala, and certainly not on the arm of someone like Dagen Fox. When I come downstairs after Elsie and Wylan, I blink in surprise at the brief look I get of the limo waiting out at the curb for us as Wylan lets them inside. Dagen’s eyes flash when he sees me coming down the stairs, desire flickering in his eyes that reminds me of what we’d done in the dressing chamber while this dress had been pooled on the floor. There are no wrinkles on it now, the tailor working wonders on it.
Beside Dagen, much to my surprise, is Felix, dressed in his best tuxedo rather than his t-shirt and jeans. Where Dagen wears a shirt matching the color of my dress and Wylan has the pocket square, Felix instead has a pair of matching Converse on his feet, bright red and squeaky clean. The fact they’re all matching me in some way makes my throat thick with emotion. I started this journey for safety and freedom, and a little bit for revenge, but I never expected to find these men in the process, to form this sort of bond. I never expected to fall so hard for them.
The thought of them leaving after this is all said and done nearly kills me. So, I do my best not to think about it. None of us have discussed what happens once Ric is somewhere, cowering and licking his wounds. I haven’t asked and I don’t want to, but it looms over our heads like a threat.
“I’m not sure the tiara will go with my outfit,” Dagen tells Elsie when she holds it up in front of him. “I have to wear a mask.”
Elsie pouts out her lip, giving him such good puppy dog eyes, it looks like she’s about to cry. “But you’d look so pretty.”
Dagen grimaces. “How about this? I wear it on the ride there, but take it off when I put my mask on?”
Elsie smiles brightly, the fake tears disappearing immediately. “Perfect.”
Dagen takes the tiara and Elsie high-fives Wylan like that had been their plan all along. I laugh at their antics and take in Dagen’s pressed suit. I watch as he lifts the mega sparkly tiara onto his head and settles it, careful not to mess up his hair.
