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We park the car and walk inside. There’s already a line of similarly dressed people to follow, and a man who looks like an honest to god butler is standing outside the ballroom, checking invitations.
“Keeping out the riffraff,” I mutter under my breath to River, who snorts.
“And yet somehow they’re letting you guys in. They need to do a better job with this shit.”
I stifle my laugh in time to nod to the butler dude, who takes the tickets from Gage and waves us through.
The lobby of the hotel was fancy enough. Everything was all gilded and marble in light colors. But the ballroom is a whole other story. There’s more than one delicately carved ice sculpture, big glittering swans on either side of the room. Waitstaff circle the area with trays balanced on their hands, offering glasses of champagne and little canapés that probably cost more than a week’s worth of food. There’s an orchestra in one corner, playing light music, and the rich and corrupt of Detroit all mingle amongst themselves.
The invite said it was “masquerade optional,” which apparently means some people are wearing gold masks and some have decided to sayfuck thatand want to show off their faces. Judging by how much work a lot of them have had done, it makes sense to want to display that investment, I guess.
Everything looks fake and overly primped, and it’s just a good reminder how much I hate shit like this. It’s why the other Kings and I opened a nightclub with the money we got from our first few big deals, instead of doing something fancy and shitty. Loud music, flashing lights, and hot dancers in cages are much more my scene than this stuffy display of assholes all trying their hardest to one-up each other and come out on top of a pile of fancy garbage.
We all walk in together, checking everything out. I can tell River’s never really been to something like this before, and she scopes it all out, making an amused face at the ice swans and the people who are half in masks and half not. None of it makes a lot of sense, which is what makes it so ridiculous that they’re all so proud of it.
As we stand near the entryway, a tall guy carrying a tray comes over. He bows at the waist, managing not to spill any of the champagne on his tray, which is actually pretty impressive. River just arches an eyebrow at him.
“Welcome,” he says, in a voice that makes it clear he’s given this speech or some version of it about a hundred times already tonight. “The hosts of tonight’s extravaganza do hope you enjoy your time. Please know that there is fine quality champagne that we hope will be to your satisfaction, as well as an open bar and a selection of fine canapés on offer. If you need anything, please find me or one of my fellow servers, and we’ll be happy to assist you.”
“At ease,” I say, giving the dude a look. “I’m sure we can manage.”
He just nods, acting like he didn’t hear the first part. “Please also know that there is a silent auction happening later in the evening. The prominent artist David Gleason has a new piece, and it will be unveiled before the bidding begins.”
“Thank you,” Gage says.
The waiter nods again and whisks himself away to go give the spiel to someone else.
“What do you even do at things like this?” River asks. She eyes the bar in the corner, where there’s already a group of people gathered, sipping scotch and whatever the fuck else.
“Mingle,” Priest says, speaking for the first time since we picked River up. He says it like it’s a dirty word, and I can’t imagine something more anti-Priest than mingling with a bunch of rich strangers. Except maybe an orgy or something, but if we were at an orgy, at least I’d be having a good time.
“Ugh. No thank you,” River says, shaking her head. “I’ll be at the bar.”
She goes to walk away, but Gage catches her wrist before she can. She turns around to look at him, her gaze dropping down at his fingers wrapped around her wrist and then back up to his face.
“What?”
“If you’re going to be here, then you’re sticking with us,” he says in a low, insistent tone. “I don’t want you wandering off.”
“I’m not a child,” she snaps back.
“I never said you were. But you came with us, so you’re staying with us.”
And for someone who didn’t even want her here in the first place, he seems pretty damn set on that. I don’t point that out because I don’t want to start shit in the middle of this room full of fancy, corrupt people.
Knox, true to form, just laughs. He slings an arm over River’s shoulder and pulls her in close, tugging her out of Gage’s hold.
“It won’t be so bad,” he promises. “We’ll schmooze for a bit and then get drunk.”
That seems to placate her a bit. Enough that when Gage leads the way into the throng, she doesn’t immediately book it to the bar anyway.
I get why Gage wants to move as a group. There’s safety and strength in numbers, and any deal that these people want to make has to be made with all of us. For all intents and purposes, River is one of us for the night.
We’re barely into the thick of the crowd before someone comes up to us. I don’t recognize him at first, but rich criminals are a dime a dozen in this part of Detroit. Hell, some of them are probably from out of town, visiting with friends and business partners for the social event of the season.
“You’re the owners of that club, aren’t you? Sin and Salvation?” he says, looking each of us over. His gaze lingers on River and Knox’s arm around her shoulders.
“We are,” Gage says. “And you are?”
