Page 94 of A Little Naughty

A performer in a black top hat and a vest blows fire in the open grassy area, and we pass a woman in a black mask and sequined bodysuit balancing on a cylinder juggling hoops.

“Wow,” Jemima clutches my arm. “Britt’s mom lined up a few of her friends to perform. I was expecting carnival stuff, but they’re more like Cirque du Soleil.”

“They’re pretty badass.”

“It’s all so beautiful.” Jemima sighs, taking a sip of champagne. She points to my tumbler of bourbon. “Did Alex give you that?”

“Yeah.” I tilt it to the side.

“Then it’s his special reserve, very expensive.”

“It tastes like whiskey.” I reach for her waist and pull her close. She’s the one person in this whole damn place who I can relax around. “Dance with me.”

Her hands slide up my shoulders, and in her heels, our faces are almost cheek to cheek. I don’t recognize the slow song, but it has a steady beat.

“It’s the first time we’ve danced since that night on the beach.” She looks up at me.

Lowering my face, I kiss the top of her shoulder. “We can always dance in the kitchen.”

“I’d like that.” Her sweet voice is soft in my ear, and I want to be lost in this moment.

This is what I crave—her in my arms. I’d like to put her on the back of my bike and ride out of here at top speed, away from the heavy task hanging over my head to a place where it’s just us and peace, safety.

The music fades, and we step apart, threading our fingers and walking to where we left her drink on the table. As we get closer, I notice a fellow sitting in one of the spindly metal chairs. His face is covered in white paint with black lines that make it look like a skull. His suit is not the standard white-tie and tails. He’s dressed in black with pinstripes and purple, like the shadow man.

“That’s fun.” A smile is in her voice, but her fingers tighten on my arm as we get closer. “Oh…”

Her voice dies away as the man stands, placing a black top hat on his head. “Good evening, Jemima. This is quite the event you’re hosting.”

“Bill.” Her voice is a hush. “What are you doing here?”

“I bought a ticket, of course.” He whips out the paper stub like it’s a rabbit from a hat. “I want to be sure you know that I know where you are. Always.”

Protection surges in my chest, and my voice is a growl. “You’re Bill?”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” His eyes are black. “Bill Wolf, and you are?”

He smiles, extending a confident hand as if he’ll intimidate me. Only I’m not scared.

“Raif Jones.” I grip his hand firmly, jerking him closer to me, so he can feel my strength. “I heard last time you were here you put your hands on mywife.”

“Wife?” His eyebrow arches, and he attempts to look past my shoulder at Jemima.

I step to the side, blocking him. “That’s right. So you’d better back up, because I’m ready to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“I’m not looking for a fight.” He releases my grip, holding up his hands. “Just checking on my girls.”

“Which girls are those?” My tone is ice, and it’s my turn to give a menacing smile.

“Jemima and Nikki, of course. I don’t want them to think I’ve forgotten about them.” His eyes are on mine, but his voice rises to meet Jemima’s ears.

Bill Wolf is slim and not quite as tall as I am, but I can tell he’s the type who’d shank you in a dark alley without thinking twice. Jemima’s fingers are on my arm, and the way she’s clinging to me has me ready to grab him by the neck and beat him to a bloody pulp.

“They’re not your girls.” My voice is a low growl. “And you’d better forget them, or I’ll have to erase your memory.”

A smile curls his lips. “I consider myself warned.”

“You’re not warned. You’re guaranteed.”

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