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I turn around at the last moment to avoid a collision with the dean, who is engaged in animate conversation with a group of very rich people. All my muscles ache with tension, my ears buzzing with the worry that I might have to engage in conversation, when I finally meet Romano’s gaze.
It’s just for a few moments, while the man with the cane is greeting a woman whose incredibly smooth brown skin stands in sharp contrast with her full head of silver hair. The all-black, yet clearly expensive outfit she is wearing and everything else about her tells me she must be one of the Elders, too. Micah doesn’t talk much about them, but he did tell me there are three Elders overlooking their circle of Kings. There are a number of Heathen Kings circles in the country, all of them with a trio of Elders at the helm.
Romano’s gesture is so slight that no one would notice unless they knew what they were looking for. He tips his head just a little in the direction of two men standing by the buffet.
I gasp, wondering how I’ve missed them thus far. Probably because all the cells in my body are obsessed with Micah Royales, and because it’s been impossible to get my mind off the butt plug he slid up my ass a few hours ago no matter how hard I’ve tried. Only when he disappeared into the hallway that leads to the study with his brother and a clutch of his men did I focus on Romano, and here we are.
One of the men is seriously large, even larger than Carlton Wilde, but even through his suit one can tell that his muscles are packaged in a thick layer of fat. He looks more like a strongman than a bodybuilder, sporting a bald head and a mean scowl. No one has seen Rufus and Raphael before, but from the intel that Micah got out of the scout that he and the other Kings caught, the larger one is Rufus.
Raphael is supposed to be the pretty one, and he might actually pass as such, if it weren’t for the scar slashing down one side of his face, and the murderous look in his eyes. My instinct is to call him Jack the Pretty Ripper but, as a professor, I’ve become a decent judge of character, and this one doesn’t look like a woman beater. In fact, as those murderous eyes scan the place, they rest with extra aggression on the larger guys like he’s ready to take them on as soon as push comes to shove.
Romano raises his eyebrows in their direction, signaling me to approach them, just as the two Elders—the man with the long white hair and the cane, and the woman with the elegant silver chignon—return their attention to him. The moment he breaks eye contact, I’m on my own.
I keep swallowing against the knot in my throat, but it still grows with every step I take in the direction of the two men. And with every step I wonder how come no one here realizes who they are despite the lack of intel. The closer I get, the more obvious it is that they're not at home in those expensive suits, and they don’t feel friendly about anyone here. They’re used to money, yes. They’re used to power too, so much of it that they can look with disdain at this entire overcrowd of billionaires. Ninety-nine percent of the population hasn’t seen so much money and influence concentrated in one place in their entire lives, yet these two aren’t in the least impressed.
When I’m close enough, they fix their predatory eyes on me. The big one, Rufus, does it like I’m a piece of meat. His disdain for the rich and powerful here seems to be matched only by his loathing of women, which is probably why I’m not allowed to speak in his presence. According to Romano’s instructions from the Vanguard, I’m supposed to just stand in front of them for a few seconds, and slowly open my mouth like I’m waiting to have a dick put in it.
It takes dissociating from myself to do as instructed. Rufus gives out a disapproving grunt before he turns his back and starts toward a secluded hallway behind the bar. It’s my cue to follow him, but not before I cast a look around to make sure neither the girls nor the guys see me. I’m here to make Romano think I’m still working in his favor, but if Micah actually knew what the first stage of my mission was, he’d barge right in and ruin it all.
My heart drums like crazy as I follow Rufus down the narrow hallway, Raphael at the rear, the light dimming the farther away we go from the ballroom. Romano made sure there is no staff around this wing of the house, and the tape behind the bar that Raphael slid away and then clicked back into place after I stepped through marked the area as closed off for guests, too.
So, the chance of salvation if things go south is about as low as the risk of discovery.
By the time Rufus opens the door to a wood-paneled and bookshelf-covered study lounge, my pulse is so high that I’m choking on my own breath. I can barely keep my balance as I step through the door, my palms cold and clammy. It’s a struggle to refrain from wringing them, but Romano made it very clear how important it is to keep up appearances. I am to show no emotion as I lower myself down to my knees, my ass tightening around the butt plug in the process. I don’t want to think about what these two men would do if they knew I was wearing it. If they knew a man already prepared me to be his whore tonight.
Again, slowly, I open my mouth. The two brothers stare down at me with those cruel eyes before Rufus finally steps forward and unbuckles his belt.
***
Micah
OUR MEN KEEP BRINGING more of these armed assholes down to the basement. Until now, none of Romano’s people has tried to get in, so they still don’t know the access code has been changed. That would be good news on any other occasion, but tonight, it means he and his people are focused on the main stuff upstairs—and Eva is trapped with them.
“You’re distracted,” Sade mutters under his breath while Grime rams his fists into the tied-up guy’s face, throwing splashes of blood onto his white shirt. “We can’t afford to have you distracted.”
“Grime will make him sing in a minute.”
“We still need you sharp and ready. In weapon mode. We’re Kings, Micah, do I need to remind you what Kings do?”
“Easy for you to blurt out that shit,” I bite out through my teeth. “You’ve got an emergency squad in place to extract Justine if shit hits the fan, but Eva is right in the line of fire.” Then, rubbing the back of my head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you, but it’s fucking killing me that she’s up there.”
My brother draws closer. “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you. If Justine were in her place, I’d go fucking ballistic.”
“I am going ballistic.” Even though I know full fucking well that I need my senses sharp and ready if we are to stop a war tonight.
But ever since she and I got together, I started caring less and less about the war, even though I’m an essential weapon the Kings need to win it. So much is at stake, yet all I care about is her. She got under my skin like a disease, and now all I want is to find out what the hell Romano has on her to keep her so terrified. I dug deep, but found that all my leads were under wraps. I’ll rip them open eventually, but it might be too late.
I rake a hand through my hair. Fuck, I need to pull myself together.
My phone dings and, if I can hear it, it’s a message from the Kings or Eva. All the others are blocked for the night. Pulling the device out of my pocket, I see it’s a text from Carlton.
I thought you should see this.
Then a link follows. My eyes flash into slits when I realize it’s one of the security cameras inside the mansion—we changed the codes to those too, just half an hour ago, so Romano still thinks he’s got everything under control. If he manipulated the cameras before we changed the codes, those settings are already gone.
The display switches to a corner camera in the small study, the one we call the study lounge. We rarely ever use it and, during events, some of the guests take prostitutes there for a quick blow job. Which is what seems to be happening now, too, only this area was supposed to be off limits for guests tonight. It was basically locked up tight.
Sweat breaks out all over my skin as the image makes sense. It’s Eva, on her knees with her mouth open, looking like she’s waiting for two guys to take turns shoving their cocks inside. Heat shoots up my collar, all my killer instincts firing up.
