I step into his space.
His hands slide to my hips—warm, firm, deliberate—guiding me onto the dance floor. He pulls me close, my chest brushing his as the heat of him wraps around me. His breath touches the curve of my throat every time he exhales, and he steadies me with a slow, controlled pressure at my lower back.
We start to move, bodies syncing to the bass that thrums low and steady beneath our feet. His hands tighten slightly, pulling me against him, fitting the shape of me to the shape of him with unhurried precision. The leather of my skirt slides against his jeans when I move, sending tiny sparks of friction up my legs.
A tremor works its way through my stomach as he leans closer, his lips brushing near my ear but not touching. “You feelunbelievable,” he murmurs, each word a hot stroke along my skin. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
My breath wavers, my body melting into his. “Maybe I do,” I whisper, though the boldness surprises even me.
He lets out a quiet, strained sound—half groan, half laugh—as if he’s trying to smother something feral. “If I didn’t know better,” he says, voice rough, “I’d think you were trying to get me in trouble.”
“With who?” I tease softly.
His fingers flex on my hips, pulling me tighter to him. “Everyone.”
His thigh shifts between mine as we turn, and the warmth of him, the presence of him, floods my senses. He’s aroused; he’s trying not to show it; he’s failing. My heart thuds in my chest, heat pooling low in my belly.
If Xavier walked in right now—if he saw Asher’s hands on me, saw Isaiah staring from across the room like he could swallow me whole—he’d either tear the walls down or drag me over his shoulder and disappear with me. The thought sends a shiver through my bloodstream.
Asher feels it. “Tell me what that was,” he whispers, tightening his grip.
“Nothing,” I breathe, though we both know it’s a lie.
Before he can press further, before the tension between us can snap into something irreversible, a warm hand glides across my arm.
Isaiah.
He walks past slowly, his body brushing mine just enough to jolt Asher’s hands on my hips. Zay throws us a knowing smirk, his dark eyes dropping to where Asher’s hands are holding me like a secret he wants to steal.
“Showtime,” he murmurs, letting the word roll off his tongue with a promise and a warning as he moves past us and disappears into the throng of people.
9
ISAIAH
The thingabout acting like a traitor is that you have to let a piece of the rot sit inside you long enough for the worms to gather. You have to smile when you want to spit, laugh when you want to break someone’s teeth, offer your throat like you’re begging for the bite. It feels wrong in my mouth, tastes worse in my chest, but the only way to find the moles is to let them believe they found one in me.
So I lean against the railing outside the main room, posture loose, a beer dangling between my fingers like I’ve got nothing in my skull but carbonation. Johnson stands beside me, his nose still pulsating a nice purple from the broken nose Valentina gave him like two weeks ago. He’s always been a problem, but a quiet one. A corner-whisperer. A man who only raises his voice when he wants it heard by the wrong person.
Perfect.
He takes a long drink from his bottle and gives me a look that says he’s gauging me, weighing me, seeing what he can cut away. The party behind us is still loud, music pulsing through thewalls, Valentina at the center of it like a bright flame people can’t decide whether to gather around or back away from.
I force a lazy smirk into place and shake my head. “I’m telling you,” I say, pitching my voice low enough for only Johnson to hear, “this whole situation is a fucking gold mine if you know how to use it.”
Johnson snorts, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “You mean her? The princess?” He says it like it’s a joke, but I don’t miss the sharpness tucked inside the syllables.
“Princess, queen, whatever she wants to call herself.” I shrug, pretending like I don’t want to punch him for the tone. “She doesn’t get it yet. She thinks wearing Xavier’s chain and sitting at his desk means something. But she listens. Too much. That’s her weakness.”
Johnson laughs, a low sound like gravel dragged across concrete. “And you think you’re the one she listens to most?”
“I know I am,” I lie smoothly, letting the arrogance coat my voice. “Asher scares her. Jackie annoys her. The council doesn’t trust her. She’s got no one to lean on but me.”
He gives me a sidelong look, a flicker of skepticism softened by the bait I’m dangling. “And you’re what? Going to guide her? Keep her from stepping on the wrong toes?”
“I’m going to step on them for her,” I say, lifting the bottle to my lips. “If she thinks I’m keeping her safe, she’ll let me steer. That’s all she’ll need to do. Sit and look pretty. Let the men handle the actual business.”
Johnson barks a laugh loud enough to draw attention from the doorway before lowering his voice again. “You’re saying she’s the perfect puppet?”
