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Like I gave a fuck what music these leeches liked to listen to?
Did they really think this was how they’d get into Ransom’s good graces? Or perhaps they just hoped he would finally turn up tonight.
He’d hate this more than I did.
Thank God it was impossible to ignore the way Shatter was now bending her miniature umbrella through the gaps in her fork. More so, when her gripslipped and the tip snapped off, flying through the air and stabbing me in the cheek.
She winced, eyes wide as Eric’s ramble about R&B came to a blessed fucking halt.
Shatter dropped the fork instantly, cheeks bright red. “I’m… sorry.”
The Lincoln pack were gawking at her, then their eyes slid to me, clearly waiting for my response.
I didn’t react, instead brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like nothing had happened at all.
Shatter placed her hands on her lap, her eyes fixed on the table, expression tight, though not before she shot a panicked glance at Eric. It wasthatmask again: absolute discipline that radiated shame. I’d only ever seen it when she was truly upset, and right now she looked on the verge of tears.
So I took the lime from my drink before the waitress swept it away. Then, right as Flynn launched into a pompous tirade about politics, I set the lime on the table, fixing Flynn with an interested stare as I lined my hand up. With a perfectly preciseflick, I sent the lime zipping past right into the side of Shatter’s nose.
She snapped her attention to me in shock, but I’d spared her only a glance, already fixing my gaze back on Flynn, who had trailed off.
This was probably a stupid idea if I wanted them to like me, but I felt the slightest curve of a smile on my lips. “An issue with the wrong sort of media attention?” I prodded, conjuring up the last dull thing he’d been rattling on about. “I agree. Especially since Channel Five has gone to shit.”
“I…” His gaze drifted between me and Shatter again, though he seemed taken aback by my response. “Yes. Actually, I’ve been saying the same thing myself…”
Yup.
I knew that because Decebal had been feeding me their boring political hot takes, too.
Fucking idiots.
That, it seemed, was all it took to sweep him away into more self important drivel, Shatter incident already forgotten.
Christ.
I hated, more than anything else in the world, that these were the lowlives I was forced to hunt. As stupid as they were greedy. Absolute parasites.
My smile grew more and more rigid as the evening dragged on, more so as I caught their occasional lingering glances at Shatter.
Was it anormalamount of looks from alphas?
Gareth was droning on now, and his voice grated at my sanity. For a moment, those words whispered something different than what was spoken over a club table on a Sunday evening.
“Don’t tell me it’s over,” Gareth groaned. “What about that drug you mentioned?”
“Atropa’s poison?”
“Yes.” That was Flynn. “Try it. See what happens. If they’re still standing, then you can’t convince us to stop.”
I swallowed, forcing myself calm.
Last night I’d offered Shatter Kingsman a pill while she’d been going into heat. If I had that kind of discipline, I could do anything—including surviving tonight.
Still, in my head, I picked up Shatter’s broken umbrella pieces and jammed them right into Gareth’s eye sockets.
He was the worst tonight, sneaking glances at her more subtly than the others as if he knew they were wrong, eyes tracing down to the neckline of the dressI’dchosen…
It was good I’d chosen to wear scent blockers tonight. They’d sense the murder rolling from me in waves if I hadn’t.
