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Suspicion sparks in his eyes. “How much of a head start?”
“Um, let’s say, one glass?”
He considers it for a few seconds, then shrugs. “Seems fair. Rules?”
“Just one: no touching each other’s glasses—you know, knocking them over or removing them. Ready for me to start?”
Watching me carefully, he nods.
I gulp my first glass of water in quick, easy chugs. I love this game for two reasons. The first is that slamming all this water is a great way to dodge a hangover. The second is that it’s such a simple trick, yet nobody ever figures it out.
The head-start frees up one of my glasses, and the second Raphael starts drinking, I’ll put the glass upside down on one of his shots. He won’t be allowed to move my glass as per the no-touching rule, and I’ll happily sip the second glass of water with a smug smirk on my lips and a new six-figure timepiece on my wrist.
Wiping my hand over the back of my mouth, I set down the empty glass and turn to Raphael. “Thanks for the head start,” I say sweetly.
“Anytime.”
“Ready?”
His gaze sparks. Staring at my wet bottom lip, he nods slowly.
But what he does next is much faster. It’s so smooth and efficient that my liquor-fueled brain takes a while to catch up. He pushes all three of his shot glasses together, so their combined circumference is bigger than the rim of my empty glass. Before I can reach for my water in a last-ditch attempt to win this game fairly—impossible, of course—there’s a flash of metal, a clunk and a plop, and then I’m staring at a gun submerged in water.
My water. His gun.
My pulse leaps in my throat and I stagger backward. As I stare at the weapon, with its barrel bobbing among the ice cubes and its grip resting on the rim I was about to put my lips on, everything in my peripheral dims.
I’ve been this close to a gun twice in my life. The first time, it was lifting up the hem of my dress in a dark alleyway, and the second, it was pressed against my temple.
Hiss. Click.
Do you know how lucky you are, kid? You’re one in a million.
The jaunty sound of the orchestra fades and my heart grows louder. Its beat resonates in the hollow of my chest under a cloak of numbness.
I couldn’t move if I tried.
The gun moves in a flash of citrine and silk. I regain enough composure to follow the weapon as Raphael pulls it out of the glass and wipes it down with his pocket square. His suit jacket swishes open, and, just like that, the threat is gone, disappearing behind the velvet-clad curtain.
He rests a forearm against the bar and diverts his attention to something on the horizon.
When he speaks, there’s a calmness in his voice that does little to thaw the ice in my blood.
“You see the issue with luck, Penelope, is that it has an awful habit of disappearing when you lean on it.” His dice cufflink winks at me as he sinks a shot. “You should consider relying on something a little sturdier.” Another shot, another thud. “Like intelligence, or knowledge.” His gaze drops to my lips. “Or, if you don’t have either of those, perhaps that beautiful face of yours.” He slams the last shot glass onto the bar and wipes his smirk away with the back of his hand, before sauntering forward until he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with me.
I try to ignore how the heat of his arm burns through my coat, or how the fiery licorice scent of his breath taunts my loss. Instead, I focus on the liquor wall behind the bar, trying to control my breathing.
He stoops low, his sharp, cold cheek caressing mine. “The exit is to your right.” Then he slides a large hand around my wrist. It’s hot and dominant and, I swear, I can practically hear my skin sizzle where he grips me.
I swap trying to control my breathing in favor of not breathing at all.
“Be careful in the woods, Penelope.” His grip slips from my wrist, and his fingertips burn a slow trail down the length of my palm, before releasing me. “Bad things hide where you can’t see them.”
And then he’s gone, camouflaging himself among the sea of suits.
I don’t hang around. Although struggling to remain calm, autopilot takes control of my body, and I spin on my heels and snatch my purse up from the table. I can’t bring myself to look at Matt, and I hope he doesn’t notice me leaving, either.
Breaking into a half-run, I disappear between the trees and into the shadows. The security thins and the brush thickens, until the darkness is all-consuming. The lively timbre of the orchestra finally melts away, and the silence is an eerie reminder I’m all alone.
