Page 8 of Sinful Blaze

A hush falls over the crowd. All except for Daphne, who lets out a soft groan.

The auctioneer looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Five… million! Five million from the gentleman in the front. Do I hear five and a half?”

No one raises their cards.

“Anyone?”

I dare them to fucking try.

“Five million… going once… going twice… sold! To the gentleman in the front.”

The gavel clacks on the podium. The monstrosity belongs to me. Off to the side, Ewing smirks with pride.

The crowd shuffles to their feet with awed gasps in my direction. I stand up and stride across the room to Daphne, who looks like someone just sucker-punched her in the stomach.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s… it’s fine. I should have figured. And hey,” she adds with a forced smile, “you helped me look good for my bosses. So, y’know, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” I take her hand in mine and pull her after me. “Come on.”

“What? Where are we going?”

I don’t answer. I just take her with me to the table where sales are finalized so I can sign on the dotted line and clear the funds. She keeps glancing nervously over her shoulder, where her bosses are huddled and whispering in a dark corner.

I sign the paperwork, wait for the transfer to finalize, and nod solemnly when the agent gives me the all-clear.

“Wait here,” I order in Daphne’s ear. I lead her to the end of the front row, squeeze her hand once more, then stride to the front of the stage.

“Sir!” the auctioneer sputters at me in shock. “Sir! You cannot be up here! I must ask you to step down!”

“Take a fucking breath, my friend. This won’t take long.” I spot the painting I just bought and pluck it off the wall. It’s almost as wide as I am tall, and a thousand times uglier up close.

“What are you—SIR!”

Gasps echo through the room when I toss the painting off the stage and onto the floor. One part of the wood frame cracks. Music to my ears.

Ewing leaps to his feet. “What the fuck, man?!”

I hop off the stage right as Daphne rushes forward. “What are you doing? You just bought this!”

“I know.” I smirk at her with what I know must be a wild gleam in my eyes. “And now, I want to enjoy it.” I snatch up a shot of vodka from someone’s limp hand and fling it onto the canvas.

“What do you—oh my God! Stop it!”

Damn. Nowhere near as much liquor as I wanted for this, but it’ll have to suffice. I steal another glass and slosh it around the painting as best as I can.

Daphne grabs my wrist, eyes wide with panic. “You’re ruining five million dollars’ worth of art!”

I use my other hand to reach into my back pocket and pull out my lighter. Even more horrified gasps fill the air, including a yelp from Ewing himself.

The resounding click of the metal cap accompanies a satisfying flicker of flame. It dances in front of me, white-hot and beautiful.

“He ruined how many years of your life?” I ask Daphne softly. “How many hopes? How many dreams?”

It’s there. The temptation is there. I see it in her face, in the stunned quiver of her lip.

But Daphne hesitates, then shakes her head. “No! I can’t let you do it!”

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