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And I think Rhea is drunk.
We were barely 5 minutes in when she sidled up beside me and handed me a shot glass full of tequila. “Take a shot every time someone says, ‘he’s in a better place’?”
I laughed and took the one she offered me, but my sister apparently took the challenge seriously. She stumbles on her high heels and takes a moment longer than usual to withdraw from strangers’ hugs. I don't even care to know how many shots she's had, because I think that for me, every person in here has told me that my father’s in a better place. And there are a lot of people here. I've never seen so many people packed inside of my house, not even before it belonged to me. I don't even know which ones are on my payroll and which ones had a chance encounter with my father twenty years ago and just came out to feel like they were part of the charade. I can't name half of the people here, and I highly doubt my father could have either. If any of them truly knew him, they wouldn't say he was in a better place. I have my doubts about heaven, but about hell I am absolutely certain.
Dimitri has distributed the information that the security reinforcement needs, which is primarily to keep a close watch on the girls. The problem is, Claire hasn't shown up yet and I can't tell who is trying to keep tabs on my sister for me from a random fuck who sees a drunk girl ‘mourning’ the loss of her father. It's why I’m extra irritated with Dimitri for being late even though I told him to be, and also relieved when he finally shows up thirty minutes after I told him to be there.
They don’t come straight to me, so I politely thank Mr. and Mrs. Whatever-their-name-is for coming, and then make my way to them. “You’re late.”
“Yeah,” Dimitri says drily. “I had a hard time getting the bleeding to stop.”
I don’t immediately understand what he means until I glance down and see the white bandage wrapped around Wes’ hand. I raise an eyebrow in silent question, but Dimitri shakes his head. “It wasn't me.”
“Brother,” Wes winks in greeting. He leans closer so that no one will overhear us when he asks, “Where’s your whore?”
I assume he’s talking about Claire, and while I’d love to know the answer as well, I’m not about to entertain him. “That hurt?” I tip my head toward the hand he’s favoring, pressed slightly higher against his stomach to prevent any accidental injury.
“Actually, it was so fucking erotic when she did it, I came in my pants. That’s the real reason we’re late.” His slow smirk spreads across his face at my confusion. “Oh, there she is.”
I glance up to see Claire approaching Rhea, her slender neck accentuated by a diamond necklace that my sister must have lent her. It suits her. I make a mental note to get her more of them.
Aside from the jewels glittering on her skin, she's radiant. I notice more than a few men turn their heads as she strides to my sister. Her hair is swept back in a clip and the dainty straps of a black dress that kisses her every last curve cling to her collarbone.
She looks expensive.
And dangerous.
I glance at Wes, finding him watching her like a starving man eyeballing his last meal from across the table. He looks torn between wanting to savor her and devour her, and it sends fury flooding through my veins. “Have a drink,” I tell him, pressing a rocks glass into the bandaged hand, which fails to close around the glass, sending it shattering on the floor.
Bourbon sloshes all down his pants and he growls in pain as he lifts his hand higher, like a dog with a hurt paw.
Interesting.
I can’t help but turn my attention back to Claire again. Did she really do this to him? Honestly, she looks capable of it, holding her head high with a confidence I've never seen on her. It is erotic. But I need to know more about what happened. Did he somehow slip free from Dimitri long enough to corner her? Or did she seek him out?
Claire must sense us watching because she glances up in our direction and smiles, though it's not the sweet and innocent look I've come to recognize from her. “I like you, Remy.” Dimitri says. “And I like the paychecks you sign. But if you cross that woman and she comes for you, I'm not getting in the way.”
“What the hell happened?” I demand, looking between the two of them.
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Claire hasn't dropped my eye contact, even as Rhea pulls on her arm, attempting to drag her in a different direction. I don't know what she says to my sister, but whatever it is, she convinces Rhea to come our way. Dimitri delivers a quick slap to the back of Wes’ head, reminding him to avert his eyes, and like a scolded puppy, he does. I shoot Dimitri a look that says I expect answers later, and then turn my attention to the girls, who’ve stopped before us.
I can tell that Rhea didn’t want to come over here, and I'm fairly certain it's because this is the first time she's seeing Wes as the piece of shit that he is… and the first time she is seeing him as our brother. Her sending me away earlier is forgotten along with any animosity I felt at that moment, because all I can think about is the blood rushing to my cock and the feeble hope that it's not immediately noticeable to all of our guests. And if it is, I doubt that any of them would blame me.
She presses a shot glass into my hand, smirking knowingly. “I'm so sorry for your loss. This world is so cruel… at least you can take comfort in knowing that your father is in a better place.”
When I watch her red lips pull into a deeper smirk, I know Rhea has already told her the game she invented. She watches me expectantly as she lifts her shot to her lips and parts them just enough to toss the liquor back. I’m too busy watching her to take mine until she points at it, and then I knock it down quickly.
“You look…” I don’t have a word for it. I've just run through every word in Spanish and English that might serve a little bit of justice to how she looks in this moment, but every single one comes up short, so I laugh instead.
“Get a room,” Wes says. “Ooh, better yet, don't get a room. You can fuck right here on your dining room table. Start a massive orgie. Your father would be proud.”
“Would your father be proud of me, Wes, if I cut your hand off entirely and mailed it right to his front door?” Claire smiles brightly.
My spine stiffens at the words, spoken in just above a whisper. I want to be horrified that this beautiful woman in front of me has the capacity to say something so violent, let alone to do it without batting an eyelash. But the way her voice lilts over the words sends need straight to my dick.
It’s wildly erotic, and I’m not sure I can even look at her right now. I also can’t take my eyes off of her.
