Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
She pushes dark hair over her shoulder. It tumbles in thick waves down her back, the black satin dress hugging her, fitting like a glove. It drapes to the floor, dragging a little as she moves. The light catches the pale, perfect skin exposed along her collarbones, the split of the dress giving me a glimpse of thigh high stockings. She’s quick to cover herself though, and I notice how modest the gown is by the standards of the others here—similar to the lace dress she’d worn to prom had been. She isn’t dressing to draw attention, but she does all the same. I see it in how the men around the room glance her way, their gazes lingering just a little longer than I like.
But no man approaches her. That’s because of me, I know. Word is out that she is mine. None of the women do either, though, and I remember my discussion with the idiot boy from prom. Remember her isolation. It explains her fight. She’s like a cornered cat with her claws out. Always claws out.
As I look on, Madelena rubs a spot on her hip, and when I follow her gaze, it leads to her father standing in a circle of men. He’s drinking, probably already drunk. I return my gaze to her to see her walk quickly, a little clumsily even, toward the curtained off exit at her back. Just as she reaches it, someone pushes the curtain aside to enter. She crashes right into him, and the collision sends the contents of her glass all over the man’s shirt. Of course it’s red wine, and he’s clearly not happy about it.
He grabs her arm and forcefully yanks her back toward himself so hard that she stumbles. Fury makes my blood boil. My hand clenches around my glass and I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. I take a step, feeling the eyes of every person present follow me as I cross the room in silent fury.
7
Madelena
I don’t have to attend too many of these events, but the ones I do are excruciatingly painful. My father drinks. I guess he and I have that in common tonight. My brother disappears into the flock of women looking to land a De Léon. Someone should tell them they’re out of luck.
Me? With the news of my impending engagement, I’m usually left to my own devices. I guess that’s a win. No man comes near me because they know I’ll be engaged to the Augustine heir, and no one in their right mind wants to fuck with the Augustine family.
But tonight is different. Tonight, it seems someone does want to fuck with them —because the man I just bumped into has a vise-grip on my arm.
“It was an accident, and I apologized. What more can I do? I tell you what, I’ll give you my address so you can send me your dry-cleaning bill,” I tell him, teetering on my heels, the room spinning a little. A consequence of the drinks and pills I’ve had tonight. In my defense, I needed them after what happened. Odin wasn’t home when our father went on his rampage. He can usually calm him down, not always, but often enough. Me not so much.
As much as it hurts, though, I’m glad it was me and not Odin to take it.
Odin’s empty flask is in my clutch, plus a couple of painkillers. It’s nothing too strong, but the combination is what’s amplifying everything.
The man who has hold of me looks me over—my face, my mouth, then the swell of my breasts. What is it with men and boobs?
“I’m not sure that apology was heartfelt. Did you think so, Leo?” he asks his friend, the grinning jackal flanking him.
“I’m thinking it could definitely be more heartfelt,” Leo Cummings says. The two walk me backward. I look to where I just saw Odin, but my view is blocked by the throngs of people. Although we’re in a public place, although there are hundreds of people here, I feel the aggression of these two, and it’s a little worrying.
I breathe deeply, remind myself I can handle men like this. I have before. I will again.
“Why don’t we go up to my place, and she can make things right,” Leo says suggestively, producing a key.
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him when hell freezes over, but before I can get a single word out, a hand lands on each of their shoulders. Hands I know. In fact, I’d know them even without the ring bearing the Augustine insignia of a heart pierced by two swords.
“Is there a problem here?” Santos Augustine’s voice sends a familiar chill along my spine, making me shudder. It’s been a full year since I’ve seen him—a full year, and even so, just the sound of his voice has my body reacting.