Chapter 6 6

“Where is he? I heard he might be watching in from the security cameras. Do I look okay?”

“I haven’t seen Ivan once since I got here. I doubt he’s even here. Men like him never come to their own parties.”

“Portia got her boobs done. As if that is why Ivan has never looked twice at her. Forget her horse teeth and beige personality; she thinks it was the boobs. Get fucking real.”

The Ivan talk is really blowing my mind. It’s like he could snap his fingers and give every female on the property an instant G-spot orgasm. I’ve been around plenty of pompous, overstuffed peacocks in my time, but none of them have ever drawn this kind of devotion.

Maybe I should stick around and find out who this guy is.

No sooner does the thought cross my mind than do I see a man separate from the crowd below. He steps out, then cranes his neck to look up at the string lights hanging overhead.

“Boris must be hoping he can liquor Ivan up enough to convince him to marry. Why else would there be endless trays of champagne without a bite to eat in sight?”

I duck back out of sight and hold my breath. I hope to God I hid in time. Saying my heart is in my throat isn’t a metaphor. I can taste the blood. The iron tang of fear.

Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

And if my monster of a stepfather sees me here, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

“Either that,” he drawls, “or he’s hoping a respectable woman will get drunk enough to forget that Ivan is a fucking sadist.”

My stepfather’s voice fades away as he moves through the crowd, but I stay put. I can’t move. I can barely breathe.

It’s been years since I’ve been that close to him. Could he sense how near I was? Did his skin crawl with disgust like mine did?

I doubt that very much. Why would it?

Monsters never run from their prey.

7

CORA

“You look spooked.”

The voice behind me upsets the delicate balance I’m striking in these heels. I fall forward, catch myself on the railing, and then jerk myself right back to make sure my stepfather doesn’t catch sight of me. The breeze is cold in all the wrong places.

I sort myself into something resembling stability. “Huh?”

“That look on your face. Like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m fine. No ghosts. I’m just having second thoughts about that drink.” I’ve already had a bit more than my usual night out allowance, but I’ll do anything to spend a few more minutes in this room, safe from the boogeyman of my past.

I need time to come up with an escape plan.

“Alcohol is not going to improve your situation,” he remarks as he turns to the bar to pour me a second drink anyway.

“What situation is that?”

He looks back over his shoulder, dark eyebrow arched. “Do you actually need me to explain it?”

I grit my teeth. “You wanna know something? You play the hero type—saving me from a drunk man downstairs and offering your jacket—but you’re kind of an asshole.”

“Only ‘kind of’?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather be a full-blown asshole?”

He walks over with a smirk and a fresh drink. “If you’re going to do something, you might as well commit.”

I grimace, but I take the drink and throw half of it back. The alcohol burns going down. It still tastes terrible, but I’m not in this for the flavor profile. If I’m going to walk out of this room with my bits and bobs hanging out of a borrowed suit jacket, I need a little liquid courage.

“Now,” he continues, “are you going to keep trading barbs or are you going to tell me why you looked so scared just now?”

I shake my head. “I’m not scared.”

Not anymore, at least.

I have no desire at all to see my stepfather or relive any portion of my past, but I’m not scared of him. I escaped and he hasn’t caught me yet. As far as I’m concerned, that means I’ve won.

“You saw something. Or someone. I want to know who it was.”

“No one. It was nothing. I just, uh…tripped.” I lift one leg to show off my heels. “It’s what I get for wearing impractical footwear. I should always remember to wear shoes I can run in.”

“You say that as if you’re always getting ready to run.”

I turn. He is so much closer than he was a second ago. The world fades away as he shifts into stark focus.

His lips are curved and gorgeous. I didn’t notice it before, but black ink marks swirl out of the collar of his shirt, whirling around his thick neck. “You have tattoos.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“So did you. Earlier. It makes me think you’re hiding something.”

“I am,” he admits freely. “But I’m not lying to you. Are you lying to me, Francia?”

The false name lands with an awkward clunk between us. “No.”

He moves even closer. “Did you see your boyfriend down there in the crowd? Maybe a husband? You have a guilty look about you.”

“You recognize that look, hm? Maybe that’s why you know so much about everyone else’s affairs—because you’re the one causing them.”

“I don’t know a thing about you or yours.” His gaze drips down my face like honey, slow and sweet. “Who are you?”

I bite my lip and turn back to the doorway. I take a slow step forward. Then another. My stepfather is gone, so I can let myself relax against the doorframe like I don’t have anything to hide. “I’m no one’s wife or girlfriend, I can promise you that. And unlike everyone else here, I have no desire to be. I’m okay on my own.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I snap my attention to him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t believe you. You saw someone in the crowd. But if you don’t want to tell me, so be it. I don’t care who it was.”

I should deny it, but he can see straight through me. “Why not?”

“Because there’s not a single person at this party who can stop me from doing what I want.”

The thrill that races down my spine is reason enough on its own to get the hell out of here. I’m supposed to be having fun, not falling into devastating lust with a handsome stranger.

But I can’t leave. Because for the first time in…well, maybe forever, I feel safe. I feel like, if my stepfather walked through this door, this man would put himself between him and me without hesitation.

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

He drums his finger on the side of his glass. “I saw you try to fend off Stefanos downstairs. You did your best, but it wasn’t quite enough, was it?”

“I don’t like to whip my kung-fu out on civilians,” I joke lamely. “I prefer to handle things nonviolently.”