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I glance down and grimace at the freckled dress. Not the best choice of fashion to be kidnapped in. It provides no warmth. No advantage whatsoever. As a matter of fact, it’s slutty and provocative. Not something anyone would want to wear for their potential rapist.
The thought sends a shudder down my spine, and I wrap my arms around my waist.
Snap out of it, Mae. Don’t go there. Your escape is more important.
My inner logic pulls me from the heinous images. I stand, stance wide.
Successful people draw their own fates.
I’ll be damned if I leave mine at the mercy of a heartless monster.
Chapter Seven
Aaron
“I know you killed my father!” Hampton’s son hisses and glances left then right. Probably afraid one of the community’s guests would hear him making a fool out of himself.
His dull eyes are sunken, seeming to be sucked by the banquet hall’s energy. The bright chandeliers highlight the murderous shadow on his stubbed face. His frame is slim, unnoticeable, forbidding him to stand out amongst other guests. A constant tremble travels his fingers like a drug addict on withdrawal.
What an entertaining disintegration. Should I spike it a bit?
I smile. “Why would I do such a terrible thing?”
He narrows his eyes to slits. What was his name anyway? Sam, or something unimportant. His face reddens as he spits each word in a hiss. “I’ll get you, Rhodes! Don’t ever think that your power will stop me from digging up the truth! I’ll make you pay!”
I stifle a yawn at his cheesiness. The pig’s not even worth killing. And that says something. Not only I’m forced to come to this closed Noble Community banquet for the family’s name, but I also have to talk to the likes of him.
Slipping one hand in my pocket, I lean close, and whisper, “When you were begging me to renew the contract, someone was being cleaned out.” My smile grows when his lips part. “Do you wish to know how your father spat his last breaths? It was—”
“Aaron.” A low reprimanding voice calls from my side. I sway back to take the flute of champagne thrust in my face.
Fucking Dylan.
He’s about my height and built – though he likes to think he weighs more than me ever since we were in The Pit. His eyes appear kind, the rare case of central heterochromia makes them swim in both green and dark grey. Probably the only distinctive feature about his dull existence.
“I am sorry for interrupting you, gentlemen.” Dylan offers Sam-or-something his signature diplomatic
smile. “I need to discuss a few things with my partner. I’m sure you understand that business matters can’t wait.”
“I’m well aware that you’re involved in the murder with them, Hart!” Hampton’s pig son points a finger at Dylan. “You can’t fool me.”
The radiant smile never leaves Dylan’s face. “Those are dangerous accusations, Lord Hampton. I will pretend I didn’t hear them considering your turbulent state and our families’ history.” He nods. “If you shall excuse us.”
The pig blocks our way. “I’m not done—”
My champagne flute spills on Sam-or-something’s waistcoat and dress shirt. The expensive material soaks in yellowish stains. I needed the prick to shut up. No matter how much I want to, I can’t punch him in the face in a place like this.
Face reddening, his jaw tightens and his fists clench by his side.
“Do it.” I mouth. “Hit. Me.”
Although he proved to be a failure of a noble, let’s see if he can at least control his reactions in public.
Dylan elbows me. Hard. His Olecranon a sharp stick to my side muscles.
Fucker.
“Miss,” Dylan calls the nearest waitress. “Please help Lord Hampton.”
