Page 17 of They Will Burn

I open my mouth to tell him he can keep his judgments to himself, but quickly snap it shut a second later. Meek and afraid. Those are the only things I can show these men. I need them to underestimate me.

Instead, I brush my gaze over him, sizing him up. His dark hair is long and starting to turn gray around his broad shoulders, and his stocky build stands around six two. It’s not that I couldn’t take him down, but it would definitely be a struggle, and that’s a fight I don’t need to be getting into right before whatever Charles has planned for me tonight.

“Not overly chatty,” he comments, and I flick my eyes up to meet his. There’s something about the color that seems familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Hell, he probably did business with my father at some point or was in the book of our enemies my dad had me memorize before I finished elementary school.

“Are you attending Charles’s bachelor party?” I ask softly. It’s the only thing I can think to ask that isn’t outright rude.

“Unfortunately not.” He frowns and takes a step toward me, but I force my feet to remain rooted in place. He reaches up, his fingers brushing over my cheek in a move that seems almost caring, but I know better than to expect kindness when I’ve found myself in the belly of the beast. “But I’ll be sure to visit again real soon, Camilla.”

I can’t quite force out a response as he takes a step back and retreats from the room without another word.

What the hell was that? And will I be looking forward to more of the same tonight?

I stare at the sign for long seconds, my stomach churning uncomfortably.

When Charles told me he was bringing me to one of his clubs to celebrate his bachelor party, I thought he meant a nightclub.

But I certainly hadn’t prepared myself for a strip club.

Bile climbs up the back of my throat as Charles wraps an arm around my waist and steers me toward the front doors, smiling like the cat that got the fucking cream as every man we pass stares at my barely-covered tits and ass.

If I didn’t already know he was a fucking asshole, I sure as hell know now. I also need to start considering my escape plan more seriously, because if this is his idea of fun, there’s no way I’m sticking around for more of the same.

“Billy.” Charles greets an older man with a receding hairline and more gray hair than his original black. I recognize him from the book as an older member of the Davenport organization and someone you definitely do not want to get on the bad side of. If I recall correctly, he has a penance for cutting off limbs and mailing them to his victims’ families. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” But he doesn’t take his eyes off my breasts for long enough to look at the man of the hour. “And this must be your blushing bride?”

Charles tugs me closer to him, his hand on my hip digging in so hard I’m certain I’ll have bruises in the morning. “This is Camilla,” he confirms, but there’s an edge of possession in his tone that makes my skin crawl. The feel of his body pressed against mine makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.

“I was sad to hear you won’t be having a big wedding, but I understand why you have chosen to go the more intimate route.”

I chance a look up at Charles, who looks down at me expectantly. Is he wanting me to respond? I guess that makes sense. As the wife of a mafia boss, my role is to plan parties and look pretty, and isn’t a wedding the biggest and most meaningful party a woman ever gets to throw? It’s probably irrelevant that I haven’t and likely won’t have a say in anything that happens on Sunday. “It’s more us,” I say politely.

Billy gives me a knowing look before I’m pulled further into the club, and I finally take a look around. There’s a stage in the middle of the huge space, with two smaller stages on each side, each one with a pole in the center. The back of the room is lined with black booths, a few filled with men I don’t recognize, but who watch my every move with hunger.

On the stage furthest from where we’re standing, a thin, blonde woman grinds on the shiny metal while three men stare at her like she was made to entertain them. Usually, I’m all for women using what God gave them to make money. It’s the least we can do considering all the other shit we have to deal with that men don’t, but the dejection in her gaze makes my stomach revolt. Does she want to be here? Or is this part of Charles’s business that he tries to hide from the other families?

He skates the line of sex trafficking but never seems to step over it. Or has he, and we just don’t know about it?

That’s the question I’m asking myself when Charles steers me toward the large chairs in front of the center stage, and I’m so distracted by it that I don’t realize until it’s too late that there are people here I recognize.

My eyes meet Noah Thorne, his ice blue eyes looking me over in a way that’s totally different from the other men, and I realize quickly that he’s looking for any signs of injury. We don’t know each other well, but we did go to high school together, and he understands better than most the pressure of being the heir of a mafia organization.

Beside him is Knox Davenport. His cold eyes meet mine, and I try desperately to suck in a breath as he assesses me. I haven’t seen him since we left the warehouse they kept me in the first night, but his jet-black suit and shirt are the exact same as the ones he wore that day. Does he have anything else in his wardrobe?

“Camilla,” he greets me, and this time Charles doesn’t hold me against him like I’m a piece of property. Perhaps he’s stupid enough to believe the notion that family doesn’t betray one another.

“Knox,” I say, keeping my voice firm to hide the uncertainty that is beginning to wash over me.

Why the hell would Charles bring me here?

To rub my face in the fact he’ll still be fucking around once we’re married?

Or does he have something more sinister planned?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BISHOP

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