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William “Wheeler” Davies is a wanna-be bad guy, more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Riley Barker doesn’t hide that he’s a wolf, and the sheep in his flock appreciate his honesty.
I lean over, whispering, “When we get back, I’m going to suck your dick until I pull your soul from your body. And then I’m going to ride you until the sun comes with us.”
His eyes close as he licks his lower lip. “Sometimes I wonder if I turn you on or if it’s the threat of being caught.”
It’s him.
But it started out as the threat, the idea of biting into the forbidden fruit and dancing with the devil. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with the sins he offered me. I’d finally found a worthy partner, one who didn’t flinch when I showed up covered in blood, who didn’t cower at the mention of my name.
“Tonight, it’s the adrenaline rush of escaping before all the pipe bombs explode. That doesn’t mean we should miss out on the opportunity, though.”
I pass Riot a matte black mask, and he quirks a brow.
“Everyone is keen on hiding their identities. We can’t get in without an invitation and masquerade attire, hence the tux, gown, and need for a ritzy entrance.”
“Butter me up with the promise of a killer blowjob so you can get me in a mask, huh? I hope we’re using these later.”
I snicker at his pissy expression. “Your priorities are incredibly skewed. Mad about hiding your face, but not about bombs and murder?”
“There are no strings on this mask,” he points out, avoiding my question. “How am I supposed to put it on?”
“Double-sided tape. It’s the same stuff I use to—”
“Is this the tape you use to keep your tits covered?” He tilts his head, eyes wide.
A smile creeps across my face as I drawl, “Why, yes, it is. The sticky residue comes off with makeup remover, so relax. If it doesn’t, then we’ll just toss some glitter on you and call it a Flaming Cherry night.”
I press a black lace mask to my face, applying pressure to my cheekbones, temples, and forehead. Riot does the same, except he growls his way through the task.
A valet opens the car door for us, and my begrudging date steps out first. He reaches back to offer me his hand, and I quickly adjust the top of my dress, checking to make sure the makeup on my boob hasn’t smeared onto my dress and revealed my tattoo. I’m extra cautious as I climb out of the sedan, partially because of how high the slit in my gown is.
But mostly because of the knives strapped to my thighs.
I’d rather not stab myself by accident.
Riot leans down, murmuring in my ear, “Who are all these people?”
“Old money assholes, billionaire businessmen, secret society members…” I smile politely as we move inside. “Your guess is as good as mine. I have no way to track the buyers; I just want them out of my city.”
Masked attendants stop us at the door, and Riot removes the deep plum colored paper from his suit pocket. They held the invitation under a black light, showcasing our special auction number, before they hand us a thin wooden paddle with a matching number and wave us through the curtains hiding the interior.
Estrada is a shitty cartel leader, but he does know how to throw a lavish party. As badly as I hate to admit it, the warehouse is glamorous. It’s as though we’ve been portaled to a gothic world filled with mysterious beings.
Everything is black, gray, or the signature Estrada purple. From the table clothes to the waitresses’ attire, there isn’t a single thing in the venue that doesn’t match. Except the patrons.
While Riot and I blend into the shadows, the other people stick out in a variety of colors, ranging from gold to burgundy to forest green. This isn’t the type of event you wear neons or white to.
“There he is,” Riot says, casting a quick glance over my shoulder.
“Let’s grab something to drink and pretend to mingle.”
“This is a disgusting number of buyers.”
I nod in agreement as we reach the bar. Two champagne flutes are served to us before the scantily dressed bartender prances to the next couple. I twist into Riot’s side, leaning against him to keep my eyes on Estrada as the repulsive vermin greets his guests.
“Estrada runs his auctions like a wholesale market,” I explain, pulling him away from the bar. “The more they buy, the less they spend, so they can turn around and make a sizable profit from resale. It brings in droves of scum, the worst of the worst.”
