Page 83 of By Sin To Atone

Ezekiel

I slip out of the ballroom after the Councilors do. The three men head toward a private room at the end of the corridor where another of their guard stands waiting at the door.

“Are you back for good?” a woman asks, stepping into my line of vision.

I turn toward the sound to find Vivien whatever the fuck her last name is. At least she’s on her own. Her minions aren’t flanking her.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Are you back home for good?” she asks, trying to sound flirtatious but clearly irritated likely at my earlier dismissal of her.

“Why?” I ask, shifting my gaze around her when the door opens to glimpse the backs of two men. The Councilors disappear inside. Hoxton and another of the men stand guard outside.

She takes a step to the right, placing herself squarely between me and my line of vision to the door.

“Just wanted to know if you were back so we could pick up where we left off.”

I furrow my brows. “I didn’t realize we’d left off anywhere.”

“I mean,” she starts, tilting her head to one side, pushing her hip out in the opposite. She licks her lips suggestively and I have a vague memory of her kneeling before me, but that’s where it ends. Like I told Blue, I was drunk. Very drunk. That or maybe she just wasn’t very good.

Vivien reaches out to adjust my bowtie. I raise an eyebrow.

“You know, Ezekiel, we were getting to know each other and?—”

I take her hands and move them off my person. “You’re wasting your time, Vivien. I’ll be very clear. I’m not interested.”

She seems stunned by this, and I imagine it’s not often she’s turned down. I suppose technically, she’s beautiful but like I told Blue, she’s a viper. I assume most men tuck tail when she approaches.

“You can’t be interested in that girl you brought.” She snorts. “I mean, that hair. And is she even Society? I’ve never seen her around.”

A gong chimes and from behind her, the door opens, and the Councilors emerge. In my periphery, I see Vivien’s posse approaching, pointing. I guess she’d slipped away.

“Your friends are coming,” I tell her. “If you don’t want to be humiliated, I suggest you walk away and don’t approach me again. Not interested. Never was. Never will be. Not sure how to make that any clearer.”

“Viv! You sneaky thing! Did you steal her away again, Ezekiel St. James?” One of the women giggles, giving me a flirtatious poke on the chest.

“She’s all yours,” I say and extricate myself.

Wyatt Hoxton separates himself from the other two guards and turns down a staff corridor. The gong chimes once more, the halls thinning out. I follow Hoxton, watch him slip through the last door. I think about him on top of Blue.

Think about him putting his hands on her.

Touching her.

I push the door open and enter. It’s a staff men’s room with lockers along one wall, stalls along another, and a long, mirrored counter with sinks opposite the door I just entered through. Apart from the occupied stall where I can hear a man taking a piss, the room is empty.

I lock the door.

A toilet flushes and Hoxton steps out of the stall. He does a double take.

“You can’t be in here,” he says.

I glance down as he finishes tucking himself back into his pants. For a big guy, he has a small dick. But most men like him do. It’s why they’re such assholes.

“This is a staff room.” He walks to the counter, and rather than washing his hands, he picks up a comb and runs it through his hair.

“You should wash your hands, you know. Says so, right there. Employees must wash hands.” I point to the sign.

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