This is going to be pure hell.
I adjusted my cufflinks, trying to mentally prepare myself to walk through the double, gold ornate doors in front of me.
It was the last place I wanted to be, locked in a room with a bunch of pretentious people who were so used to having things done for them that I doubted they even wiped their own asses.
Despite knowing what could come from the night—a possible location on Talon—I was tempted to turn the fuck around and go home. Events like that just made me want to drive a spike through my head,
Allistair Vanderbuilt was a seventy-two year-old, uber-privileged man who had a slight obsession with the eighteenth century. He held a ball at his residence, Eaghton Castle, once a year to feed that obsession, inviting all his aristocratic friends and anyone rich and famous enough to bring attention to him and his ball.
Criminals like myself were good for that. We brought a certain flair to those kinds of events that excited the guests. The thrill of being in the same room as a murderer was something all those bored housewives liked to experience. Plus, if we were being honest, the majority of us were richer than everyone there put together.
We, of course, didn’t advertise exactly what it was that made us criminals. But, rumours travelled fast in those types of circles.
I was known to the outside world as a ruthless businessman who’d done nefarious things to get to the position I was in.
Which, in part, was true.
Allistair took old traditions from back in the 1800s and incorporated them into his events, like the extravagant outfits and the dancing. But he also modernised it in other ways, insisting each year there be some sort of theme to make the night more memorable.
The year’s theme was masquerade, which was why I was dressed in a $600,000, all-black Stuart Hughes Diamond suit and holding a stupid mask that only covered the top half of my face in my hands.
“Tell me again why we can’t just kidnap this guy after the ball?” I grumbled, looking at Mikhail. “That way we don’t have to actually attend.”
He rolled his eyes, coming to stand at my side. We were alone in the hall, having arrived over an hour after the ball had officially started. “You’ve been such a grouch, lately. You know exactly why. You want to risk this guy slipping away again, and with him, any chance of finding Talon. Huh? Huh?”
“No,” I muttered under my breath.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” he said, snapping his mask onto his face. It only covered his eyes. It was black in colour, with an intricate design of lines and swirls similar to mine.
Anyone who actually knew Mikhail would know it was him in an instant. It did shit all to conceal his identity.
“We’ll go in. We’ll mingle a little. If we haven’t found Anthony by the time dinner is served, we’ll stay—”
“We are not staying for dinner,” I cut in firmly, straightening my spine. “It’s bad enough that I have to suffer through the formalities of this stupid thing. I’m not being subjected to sitting down and conversing with these people. I’ll end up shooting someone. We find Anthony and we get out. End of story. No fucking around.” With a frustrated grumble, I put on my mask and gestured to the door with a flick of my head. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mikhail placed his hands on the golden door handles and turned his head to smirk at me. “Remember, big smiles.”
I glared. “Just open the fucking door.”
He barked out a quick laugh before opening the double doors with a great, big flourish.
The ballroom was a sea of people, all dressed eloquently in fashionable ball gowns and expensive suits. Classical music played lightly in the air from the string quartet sitting up high on the balcony overhead. It was a beautiful, wide open space, grand and opulent in its design with crystal chandeliers and ornate, gold fixtures. It was like stepping back in time, the outside world just completely fading away.
Mikhail and I stepped further into the room, the doors shutting behind us. One tradition I was glad Allistair didn’t carry over into the twenty-first century was the need to announce those who arrived. Mikhail and I were able to slip in completely undetected, the other guests already immersed in deep conversation and not noticing that another two patrons had entered.
Several waiters walked past with trays of champagne. Mikhail snatched one up quickly and leant into me to say, “Okay, you take the left side of the room, and I’ll take the right. If we find him, remember to play it cool. We need to get him alone so we can knock him out and slip away without drawing attention.”
“I remember the plan.” A waiter offered me a drink, and I shook my head. He moved on. “Call me when you find him.”
Mikhail nodded and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd of people.
Taking a deep breath in, I skirted the edges of the ballroom, my eyes constantly searching for my target. The masks everyone wore made it a little more difficult to find Anthony, but it wouldn’t make it impossible. I had his physical description memorised, down to every minute detail.
African American, 6’1, brown hair, brown eyes, small scar on his right cheek, slim nose, strong jaw, long sloping forehead.
I repeated it in my head as I moved, scanning everyone around me. Some of the people I recognised from previous events. Margaret DeShawn, a woman in her late sixties who liked to park herself in a corner of the room, surrounded by her minions and gossiping about the other guests without an ounce of subtlety. She was wearing a long-sleeved beige gown with a square neckline and luxury lace ruffles. Her mask matched her outfit, but instead of it being secured around her head, it was attached to a stick that she was holding up to her face.
Her husband, Micheal DeShawn, owned one of the biggest whiskey distillers in the world. He also had a propensity to sleep with his secretaries, who were usually on the younger side.
Dillion Newman, a well-known British politician, was talking with a few other men, a glass of champagne in his hands as he stared openly at the women in the room. Most likely trying to decide which one he was going to try and take home. I’d spoken to him once or twice. The conversation left much to be desired. He had the personality of a walnut.
So did Rafahel Van Burek, an auburn-haired man who owned several tobacco manufacturers. He inherited his fortune and businesses from his father, who was one of the most leading men in the world when it came to the manufacture and distribution of tobacco in the 1940s.
Jin Park and Minjun Han were also there. Half brothers who I knew for their illegal activities in counterfeiting luxury goods and money. I’d met them several times at various events. You had to be careful around them. They liked to steal from other guests—usually expensive jewelry—and use that to create near-identical fake pieces that they would sell for ten times what they were worth.
As I moved, skating through the sea of people around me, I spotted Allistair sitting on a gold ornate chair on a raised dais. It was were he always sat, like he was the king of fucking England and we were all his subjects. Another reason why I hated the man. He rarely mingled, always preferring to sit up there on his throne and have everyone come to him.
I would not be doing that.
Some people tried to converse with me. A few even recognised me and called me by name. I had zero desire to talk with anyone, so I merely gave a slight head nod in greeting and continued on my way, never slowing in stride. Several women attempted to approach me. They saw the suit—a suit that screamed money—and thought I would be easy pickings for them. They were beautiful women, gorgeous by society standards, and were most likely used to getting any men they set their sights on.
It happened every time I came to one of those stupid things, and it would always get on my fucking nerves. They would give me what I was sure they thought was a dazzling smile. A smile that had gotten men to fall at their feet in the past, and therefore, they expected me to do the same.
I wasn’t the least bit interested, and I made that clear by glaring at every woman who threw me a seductive smirk, making them shrivel and back up the way they’d come.
Where the fuck are you, Anthony? Where are you—
My whole body stiffened when my eyes landed on a woman in the crowd, dressed in a floor-length, silk green gown that hugged her body perfectly, accentuating luscious curves. She had her back to me, long, thick tendrils of vibrant red hair running down her spine. I couldn’t see her face, but recognition sparked regardless, excitement exploding in my veins.
It can’t be.
She was talking to a man I did not know. Average height, Dr Phil haircut, pointy nose, her hand on his shoulder in an intimate gesture as if they knew each other well. I was locked in place, unable to look away, my eyes running the length of her body. Up and down, up and down, that recognition just flaring to life. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see her face. My body screamed at me that I knew her, so much exhilaration running through me that I started to shake. She whispered something into his ear and then began to walk away, her back still to me.
My feet moved to follow without any conscious thought, like I was possessed, unable to stop myself from going after her. From seeing if she was the woman who’d been haunting me day and night for the past two weeks. I tracked her, my eyes never leaving her as I slipped in and around the other guests, determination in my steps.
She walked with grace, her movements unhurried as she made her way out of the crowd and down one of the many corridors at the edge of the room. I sped up, slipping into the hallway behind her. If she sensed my presence, she didn’t let on, continuing to walk at the same pace as she turned down another corridor, then another.
My heart slammed into my chest, pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears. My skin buzzed with anticipation, every part of me almost trembling, my mind going into overdrive.
I was almost on her. Almost there. Only a few more steps—
She spun, quick as fucking lightening, and shoved me up against the wall with a knife to my throat.
Fiery green eyes locked with mine, and I couldn’t help but smile as she whispered in a soft, silky voice, “Hello, Butcher.”
I traced every inch of her face, my eyes running over her soft smooth skin, her nose, those plump, rosy lips. Excitement soured within me.
Like myself, she was wearing a mask that only covered the top half of her face, hers black and lacy, the design beautifully intricate. It added a certain mysterious flair to her persona, her red hair a stunning contrast around it.
My smile morphed into a playful smirk. “Hello, malen’kaya d’yavolitsa, little devil.”
Her eyes narrowed. She pushed the blade deeper into my skin, and I had to suppress a groan as a slice of pain cut through me.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just slit your throat right fucking now,” she growled low.
“As bloodthirsty as always, I see.” I tapped the blade I had pressed against her ribs in warning. She might be fast, but so was I.
Her gaze flicked down and back up again quickly. Challenge shone on her face.
“It’ll take me less than a second to drive this knife straight through your ribcage. You might get me, but I’ll definitely get you.” I leant closer, my lips mere inches from hers as I whispered, “Do you want to play, Autumn?”
Her body shifted even closer, pressing right up against mine. “Oh, I want to play.” Something dark flashed in her eyes. “I want to play with your head like it’s a goddamn soccer ball.”
Fuck, I’ve missed that fire.
I had no idea what the fuck had come over me. All I did know was all those emotions I’d been battling for the past few weeks were taking over, a dark, ravenous beast pushing its way to the surface, demanding not to let her slip through our grasp again.
But, as usual, when that beast tried to rise, I pushed it back into its cage with one thought.
Yekaterina.
And with that thought came the guilt. The anger. The despair. Guilt over thinking of another woman in a way that should only be reserved for my wife. Anger at Autumn for causing those unwanted feelings. And despair for realizing that I could never have her.
I shook off the lust burning in my veins and glared her down. “What are you doing here, anyway? I highly doubt you were invited.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, affronted.
I shrugged lazily. The knife to my throat remained, but I wasn’t scared. Wasn’t worried she would kill me. The only thing that worried me was how excited I was that she was the one holding it there. “This is a pretty exclusive party,” I commented.
“And my net worth isn’t high enough to receive an invitation?” she implied, referring back to something I’d said to her when we were trapped on Talon’s island.
“I didn’t say that.” A smug smile tugged at my lips. “You did.”
She made an adorable, frustrated little growl that shot straight to my cock.
Cut it out! We hate her, remember? I mentally told the appendage, but the fucker didn’t listen to me, growing harder and harder the longer she glared at me like that. The longer she kept that damn knife pressed to my skin.
“I see you’re just as big of an asshole as I remember. Here I was thinking maybe it was the island that brought out that dickish personality of yours.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be wrong. And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here, woman?”
“I’d tell you, but it’s none of your goddamn business,” she hissed.
Our glaring battle continued. Could she feel it? All that tension just blazing between us, hot enough to set the air on fucking fire? She had to. It couldn’t just be one-sided.
Footsteps echoed from up the hallway. Autumn and I looked in the direction they came from and back at each other. We both scowled. At the same time, we put our weapons away, me tucking it back into the sheath at my waist and Autumn stepping back to put hers in the sheath strapped to the inside of her upper thigh.
I missed the feel of her body instantly.
My eyes ran down the length of her smooth, tanned legs. What would they feel like wrapped around my head?
“Just stay the fuck out of my way, Butcher,” she said, manoeuvring her dress back into place to hide her knife. “I’ve got a job to do, and I don’t need you screwing it up.”
She’s here on a job?
As she marched away without even a simple goodbye—again—Mikhail came around the corner. He walked past her, stopped, turned his upper body around to check out her ass, turned back, pulled a face as if to say “not bad” and then continued on.
“Okay, so, little update,” he began, stopping in front of me. “I found Anthony, and—” He frowned, pointing to my neck. “What happened there?”
I touched my throat. Blood coated my fingers.
Huh. Must be from Autumn.
“Cut myself shaving,” I said, sucking the blood away, my gaze still locked firmly on where Autumn disappeared around the corner.
Fuck. Why was I so disappointed she walked away? The image of me pushing her up against the wall, my knife to her throat as I fucked her raw soared into my brain. The beast thrashed in its cage. Guilt hit me again at the realization that there was a part of me that wanted to have sex with another woman, but it didn’t help quell the beast. It beat at the bars of its prison, and it was getting harder and harder to keep it locked away.
Mikhail’s frown deepened. “But you didn’t have that when we walked in—”
“I said I cut myself shaving,” I snapped. “What about Anthony?”
He gave me a cross, haughty look, propping his hands on his hips. “You know, one of these days you’re going to snap at me, and I’m going to lose it and punch you in the face.”
Exhaling a sigh, I rolled my eyes, pushing off the wall. “And when that day comes, I’ll most likely deserve it. Now, what about Anthony?”
“Well, I found him. Problem is, it’s proving more difficult than I thought to get him alone. I know you don’t want to stay for the dinner, but—”
“We’re staying for the dinner.”
“Now, just hear me out for a second because—wait, what?”
“We’re staying for the dinner,” I repeated more sternly, straightening the lapels of my suit jacket.
He looked at me as if I’d grown a second head or something. “I—wha—” he spluttered, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
“So say nothing.” I ran a hand through my hair and rolled my shoulders back, determination settling deep into my bones. I let Autumn get away from me once. It wasn’t happening again. “Let’s go.”
