Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Fair point.” Pulling back, I turn and look out the window at the large Mediterranean estate. Palm trees line the entrance, and beyond them a fountain pisses water into the sky. I’m a ridiculously wealthy man, but I still find this sort of excess pathetic. It’s all a show, one intended to impress other rich assholes. Well, from one rich asshole to another, I’m not fucking impressed.
“Shit.” I flex my aching fists.
“What is it?”
“I forgot to get a shot in for Tyrone.”
“Who?”
“Just an associate of mine I suspect that Hitler Youth motherfucker killed.” He got in some decent face shots on me, and I can tell the left side of my face is a touch swollen.
I reach into the back window and pull out my mask.
“Plague doctor?” She frowns at it. “You don’t think that’s a bit much?” She pulls hers from her bag. It’s a lacy black mask with sapphires along the top edge.
“I think it’ll be a hit.” I reach for the door handle, but pause and ask, “Are you ready?”
She laughs, but it’s tight and dark. “Ready to go to a party with people who might want to kill me, with a man they definitely want to kill, and with no idea what sort of terrors await? Sure. Why not?”
“That’s the spirit, darlin’.” I open the car door and stand, then help her out.
She’s unsteady on her injured foot at first, but she keeps a hold on my arm as we walk up the front steps and past two armed sentries by the fountain.
At the front door, there’s an arbor full of sweetly-scented jasmine overhead, along with a man ushering guests. Three people enter ahead of us, and then we’re greeted by the man in the lime green half-face mask.
“Welcome. Unfortunately, after some recent events, the Sovereign isn’t allowing weapons into this particular evening’s revelries. Are either of you armed?”
“I beg your pardon.” The tone in Evie’s voice crackles like a cattle prod. “Do you think I could conceal a weapon in this dress? Or are you threatening to search me like I’m some sort of common criminal? Is that it?”
The lime green dodo stammers a few times, then closes his mouth before trying again. “Of course not. My apologies, Miss …” He pulls out an iPad and opens a document.
“Evie Witherington.” She says it with cold confidence, as if she owns this place and everyone in it.
If my cock wasn’t already hard for her, it certainly would be now.
“The guest of honor, top of the list. Welcome, mademoiselle. And your escort?” He peers at me as he makes a note in his document.
Without missing a beat, she scoffs. “Don’t you know Charles? Honestly. The Sovereign should hire better help.”
The man snaps his gaze back to her, and I don’t even try to hide my grin.
“Yes, yes of course. My apologies. Please, right this way.” He turns and leads us past the open courtyard with yet another fountain and into the main house.
“Quite impressive,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re practically a dominatrix, aren’t you? I think you made him cream his pants.”
“Focus,” she hisses.
Classical music plays softly somewhere farther in, and people chat with each other in various spots throughout the ornate foyer. The crowd is large yet sparser than I remember. The new Sovereign doesn’t have anywhere near the adherents as in years past. I like to think my family has everything to do with the thinning numbers.
“—haven’t seen him in weeks. His wife is worried.” A conversation floats across the marble-tiled room. “Leonard doesn’t do things like this. And he certainly wouldn’t have missed this event.”
I smile. They’ll only find Leonard if they don scuba gear and have hands-on experience in gutting swamp gators.
“Beau said not to worry about it. So I think we should be more careful, but Leonard will probably turn up and …” The conversation fades as we enter the main ballroom. More people mingle in here, some of them along the shadowy corners or bunched up in alcoves along the wall.
Pressing my lips to Evie’s ear, I whisper. “This is where we part ways. For now.”
She lets go of my arm, then grabs it again. “Be careful.”
“Worried about me?” I run my fingers along her wrist.
“Worried someone will kill you before I get the chance.” She pulls her hand away, but not before I catch her glancing at my lips again.
I slip back and move into a group of people having a conversation about the latest short sell fiasco in the markets. But I keep my eye on Evie, on the woman who catches everyone’s eye the moment she passes.
The crowd here seems to be a curious combination of the rather old and the quite young. Makes sense, I suppose, given that the ones in the prime of their lives five years ago are all dust now.