Page 11
Fucking weird
Something gold glimmers on the other side of Roman. A flash, then she appears like a star born from cosmic dust.
A petite woman—thin, too thin—stops short, dripping in yellow. She’s sunlight incarnate, a beacon in this depressing sea of wealth, and I’m captivated. She comes up to Roman’s shoulder, her soft, chocolate locks pinned to her skull. Curls cascade down her exposed back, and my eyes sweep downward, taking in the small belly and the high slit. From that slit slides out a long, muscular leg. Her arched foot is wrapped in gold string, with the deadliest spike.
Fuck. Me.
I take her in again. And again, unsure if what I’m seeing is real. I’m completely mesmerized by her—her grace, her chin lifted in defiance, and the delicate curve of her half-smile. Gold stretches over her torso, and with every breath, her breasts push out. Around her ankle is a simple chain with a tiny sun. My teeth ache to bite it.
What the fuck?
We lock gazes, and my mind blanks, air pulled from my lungs. It’s commanded by her presence, no longer mine, but hers. The air sizzles with tension, and it hums inside me. It’s alive, seeking something I won’t name, and I’m afraid if I let it out, it’ll kill me.
She crinkles her eyes, and the mask that drapes over her high cheekbones moves. It’s a delicate thing, much like her. Her lips quirk before she looks away.
The temptress takes all the air with her. My chest deflates, and I crumple against the column, unable to stand. With her gaze, she sustains me—but once gone, I’m merely a husk.
What the fuck is happening?
A man, dressed in some double-breasted garbage, saddles up next to her. He’s tall, thick, with a swagger I realize is from New York. I can’t explain it—won’t explain it. A long arm wraps around her hips, almost circling her twice. She’s so small, he could snap her in half.
Anger boils in my gut, percolating like hot tar, tainting my tongue.
I’ve spent my life keeping the anger down, and one simple moment has me seeing red. I don’t know this girl—woman—and yet, the idea of this asshat touching her makes me want to find the closest knife and cut his arm off.
Startled, I exhale. That’s new. Murderous rage happens, but over a stranger? Good to know my O’Brien genes are still intact.
As a unit, the four of them walk into the main room. Ben leans against the wall, a female waitstaff on his arm. Look at that—he charmed one of the few women in attendance and got her to latch on. Proud of him.
My eyes don’t leave the goddess in gold, though. She’s sunlight incarnate, a beacon in this depressing sea of wealth, and I’m captivated. She sways, graceful even as the brute anchors her to his side. When we meet eyes again, I inhale.
A slip of her tongue darts out, licking her lower lip. I bite back a groan, wishing to know what it tastes like.
Fuck, my groin tightens. That’s really new.
I like women. They’re otherworldly and beautiful. But I’ve always been pulled toward men. This one, with her haunting allure, excites me in ways others haven’t. In ways that not even the prettiest of men have done.
She’s enough to make me abandon my plan. I’d take her into a bedroom and find out who she is behind the mask. Maybe see if that mouth can moan my name.
Shit.
“Friends,” Roman purrs, and my jaw clenches, thoughts dashed. Not even the siren song of this temptress can drown out his pretentious voice. “Thank you for coming to my annual event. One night. Full offerings. Whatever you want—whoever you want. Completely free.”
Ben shifts and I catch his gaze. Offering? He’s not…
A door down the hall opens, and the click-clack of heels tittering closer draws the group’s attention. They look, but I keep my head forward.
My gaze slides to the woman in gold, transfixed by the depth of her gaze.
Rimmed in kohl, wide with thick lashes, they’re every color in one. Brown, green, gold, they’re a kaleidoscope, as captivating as the black sky. I’m immediately lost, thoughts vanishing like smoke in the night.
A hand drifts down my arm, and I jerk. A blonde, dressed in pale pink baby doll lingerie, stands there, smiling softly. More women descend, the air swirling with need.
These women are from Roman’s personal stock. His girls. The ones he owns.
The hate I have for my father is only rivaled by the disgust I feel for Bruno’s family business. They built their lives on the backs of imprisoned women.
He’s a deplorable man—and God, it’ll look so good when he chokes on his spit.
