Page 105 of A Vicious Love

A word like that belonged to girls in society pages and women men forgot after a weekend.

Sienna was not that.

My fingers were locked around the glass. The crystal had not cracked.

Yet.

I released some pressure and took another drink. Sienna reached the deck. Emmie saw me first. Her face shifted, gentle warning in her eyes.

I ignored it.

Sienna looked over a second later. She gave me a small nod.

“Jamison.”

Not Jamjam. Still. It should not have hit every time.

“Sienna.”

Her eyes dropped to my glass. Then back to my face. She knew I had been drinking.

Emmie touched her arm. “Come with me. I want you to see the terrace flowers.”

Sienna smiled. “Okay.”

“Don’t ruin her night.” Marcel said once they were out of earshot.

I looked at him. “You’re making assumptions.”

“I’m using history.”

I did not answer.

Sienna stood near the lower rail with Emmie, black hair falling over one shoulder, gold dress fitted enough to be a public threat. A man from Corrigan looked at her too long, caught my stare, and abruptly found the harbour fascinating.

Smart.

Then Weston arrived.

The night went to shit.

He came in through the side entrance with St. Cross polish all over him. Smile easy enough to make stupid people feel safe.

I knew my blood.

All Crows had regions.

Villain. Harlan. St. Cross. Harrington. Malice. Torrance.

Different names. Different habits. Different rules for how to make people kneel.

The blood didn’t change.

Weston looked at Sienna the way Crow men looked at something they were considering taking. He was subtler than I was.

His gaze moved down her dress, not crude enough for anyone polite to call out, but I saw it. Every man with Crow blood would have seen it.

He saw waist. Thigh. Bare shoulder. Soft mouth. Black hair against gold silk.