A light and airy voice spoke from behind me like a midsummer breeze, and I peered over my shoulder to find a petite young brunette, wearing a silky black floor-length strapless evening gown, trying to get my attention.
“You’ve been—”
“No time for talk. Come now, follow me. Mustn’t keep the Madame waiting. She can be quite…unforgivingwhen inconvenienced…” She sure was pushy for her size, I’ll give her that. But also,what the fuck?
“Madam?” I questioned, my brows knitting together.
“Yes. Second floor boardroom.” Her dainty fingers dug their way into my back like tiny needles as she shoved me in the direction of the grand staircase, evidently not giving a fuck that I was twice her size, and I fought off every subtle urge to snap at the woman.
Approaching the top of the stairs, my escort skirted around me and took the lead toward the left side of the mansion, away from the party happening downstairs. Moonlight filtered in through thetall windows, illuminating our path and casting shadows along the walls that reminded me of several horror movies involving murder; none of them ending well.
The woman paused at the first ornate door on the right, giving a purposeful knock before turning the handle and stepping inside. I followed, of course, because what other option did I have? Run? No.
The study was bare and nearly empty, as if they’d just moved in, or someone was in the process of moving out. A dark hardwood desk was centered along the back wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows, similar to those we’d passed in the hallway, offered a clear view of the front lawn and circular driveway.
Like the hallway, the lighting was dim; a tall lamp sat in the furthest corner, and a second, smaller one had been placed on the desk.
There were brown shipping boxes in every corner of the room, some with random crap spilling out, like dusty books and trophies. They were packed carelessly, as if the owner didn’t give a shit about what was in them.
Seated in a dark brown leather office chair right behind the desk was a woman wearing a black silk dress, sleek and fitted against her slender frame; matching heels were visible through the slit that started mid-thigh. Her long, dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing her face with wild curls; a pair of bright red lips stood out against the dark tones. She gave the term ‘lady of the night’ a whole new meaning.
“Madame Laurent. Your guest has arrived.”
“Merci, Natalie, you’re dismissed for the rest of the evening. Enjoy the soirée.” This mystery woman’s tone was refined…French,with a domineering edge that sent a shiver up my spine.
“Guest? Now hold on a goddamn second—” My gaze turned as Natalie gave a gentle curtsy before backing out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her, the click of the lock deafening over the awkward silence that followed in her absence.Shit.
“Are you not here on behalf of Monsieur Slate? Please, have a seat. I insist.”Dustin...She held a hand out, elegantly gesturing to the leather-padded chair in front of her.
“That—” I lifted a finger before curling it back into a fist, considering my next words.The truth, a lie? How the fuck do I respond to that?“…is none of your fuckin’ business.” I finished with a smug smile.Probably could have left out the F-bomb on that one…
“Fine, I suppose we can do this the old-fashioned way.” The woman sighed, her expression clearly bored, as she rose from her seat. “I'd thought a boy like you would've been more inclined to brag about his esteemed employer rather than keep his mouth shut.” She slowly rounded the corner of the table, dragging her pointy red nails along the wood’s surface, making a scraping noise as she approached me with calculated steps.
“Boy?Now listen here, you—whoever the fuck you are—I’m not a boy, I’m a fuckin’ man—”
“You come into my mansion with a baseball bat strapped to your thigh like a teenager exaggerating his length. You are no man; not here.” The woman’s eyes dropped to my jeans before flicking back to meet mine with an arched brow, her head cocked to theside like a predator assessing its prey. “Let me guess… duct tape, I presume? I hope you shaved beforehand… No?” She tsked with pursed lips, her question rhetorical. “Pity. That’s going to… what is it you Americans always say—hurt like a bitch?”
“Yourmansion? I was sent here for Devon—”
“Laurent. Oui. Andsheis me.” Devon pressed light fingertips to her chest. “Devon Eloise Laurent. Madame of this estate. Although I’m afraid you won’t find Monsieur Laurent around anymore…Irreconcilable differences.”
I am so fucking confused…
My target was a woman?Thiswoman?
I had the sudden urge to call Trent and ask him what the fuck I was supposed to do. I expected all of our targets to be men. But, then again, women were capable of being just as despicable.
A wisp of air blew past the side of my head, snapping me from thought, and I turned to see a letter opener embedded in the door.
“I know why you’re here. So stop feigning ignorance and let’s get this over with, oui? While I enjoy playing with my prey, you’re failing to entertain me past your good looks and southern charm.” Devon whipped a second knife, this one landing between my legs, severing a hole in my jeans a few inches below the crotch.She was going for my fucking balls!
“Hey, I fuckin’ need those,” I growled, attempting to remove Louie from my leg before she actually managed to take my manhood, cringing as the tape tore at my hair. She was right, this hurt like a bitch. “And for the record, I don’t hit women.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn't have brought a bat to a knife fight, pretty boy. Oh, how I relish making boys like you scream for me.”
Within seconds, I found myself pinned with my back against the wall, Devon’s hand wrapped in my shirt, and a third knife digging into my groin.Jesus Christ, where were all these tiny daggers coming from?
Cowboy up, Rhy… Do or die. It was obvious that Devon wasn’t going to let me leave this mansion with my dick intact, or alive, so… to hell with it. Fuck morals.
