Page 2 of Taboo Flames

“We had a deal,” the man spits out, grabbing a handful of her hair in a tight grip.

“Let her go,” I hiss at him, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Or what?” he sneers, his tone mocking.

“Let her go,” I say again, infusing as much hardness into my voice.

“Tell you what,” he spits, shooting me a leer that makes me shiver in disgust, “you and I have a little discussion behind that dumpster over there, and I'll let her go.”

My belly turns at the thought of the beady-eyed man laying his hands on me. “How about you let her go, or I’ll make sure you’ll be pissing blood for a week?”

His eyes drop down to the weapon in my hand, and he snorts. “Go back to your party. This is none of your business.”

As soon as he turns his attention back to the girl, I rush forward and swing my baton into the back of his knees as hard as I can, thwacking him. He lets out a loud howl and buckles to the ground.

“Run,” I urge the girl while digging into my purse. Pulling out a handful of hundred dollar bills, I shove them into her shaky hands and hiss, “Get out of here.”

“W—where am I s—supposed to go?” she stammers, her lips quivering.

“Anywhere but here. Take a cab or whatever,” I tell her before turning my attention back to the man, raising the baton, and hitting him over and over again until he finally goes still. I spy a tattoo of a spider on the back of his palm before I hurry away from his prone body.

“Are you freaking crazy?!” Kara screeches as I return to where she is standing beside the car. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“I had it under control,” I tell her while fixing my mask on my face. “Anyway, are we going in or what?”

She huffs and whirls around before stomping away toward the entrance of the building, leaving me to follow in her wake.

The ballroom is already littered with women in glittering dresses and men in fitted tuxedos. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, looking like diamonds dropping from the sky. In summary, it’s the usual high-class event.

I turn to say something to Kara just in time to see her disappearing into the crowd. I should have expected that she’d bail on me the minute we got in.

It's no surprise. She’s only here to bask in the Vitale spotlight, proving her association with me or my family. It’s a familiar scenario since returning from college in the States – friends who are more interested in my status than my company.

With a disappointed sigh, I head in the opposite direction, snagging a glass of champagne off a server’s tray as I make my way to the French doors on the second level. From there, I’ll have a vantage view of the whole room.

I recognize a few people even with their masks on, and I’m just deciding where to start to socialize when a dark, smoky voice speaks up beside me.

“Start from there,” the man drawls, gesturing at a well-dressed couple. “That’s Emilio Santos and his wife. They’ll draw a crowd in no time, and if you’re already with them, you don’t have to go looking for company. Company will find you.”

I startle, my heart skipping a beat as I spin around to find a figure cloaked in black standing beside me. The voice is awfully familiar, but I’m having difficulty placing it.

There’s not much I can make out in the dim lighting of the room other than his strikingly regal posture, highlighted by his impeccably designer-tailored suit. Little else about him is distinct.

It is a masked party. Each guest here has a mask with a unique design, but this somewhat intimidating and, I am assuming, handsome man chose a wolf?

Crafted from sleek black leather, it molds to his face, giving a snarling visage adorned with pointed ears protruding from the top. Almost his entire face remains hidden, but his eyes pierce through the darkness—I make them out to be a mesmerizing blend of deep brown with hints of green and gold. I find myself momentarily transfixed, unable to look away.

I can’t explain it, but there’s something about this man—a giant, towering figure standing over six feet tall. There’s something dark and mysterious but, at the same time, captivating about him.

Damn, it’s unsettling.

Gathering my wits, I pluck up the courage to speak, though my voice betrays the unease I feel in his presence.

“And how can you tell it's them?” I ask, trying to maintain an impression of composure despite the tremor in my words.

“I don’t see anyone else fawning obsessively all over their partner.” His tone is tinged with a hint of amusement, almost like he’s enjoying this little gossip liaison we are having.

“And why do you assume I’m looking for company?”

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