Page 74 of Death Game: Supernatural Battle

The assistant who’d dressed or maybe violated me gripped the curtain rope. Francesca stood just behind the woman, determination lining her face.

The assistant counted down softly. “Ten, nine, eight.”

The beat picked up, and the crowd hushed.

Fuck.

I was nervous.

What a time to decide that because Kyros was in the crowd. I needed to smash this out of the park. Usually, I didn’t give walking in heels a second thought. Now, I couldn’t remember how I managed walking on mini stilts. Should I put more swing in my hips? I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.

“… five, four….”

“Think of Kyros,” Francesca snarled.

Ooh,good idea.

Drawing up that morning’s activities, I smiled as heat filled me, the current under my skin skyrocketing.

I blinked a few times as the curtain was drawn back and didn’t need Francesca’s hiss to start my walk.

The stage was straight and had no steps.Thank fuck.I kept my chin high while walking, clinging to the current moving just under my skin. What did I usually do with my arms when I walked? They felt so awkward right now.

Reaching the end, Francesca’s hissed words echoed in my ears. Cocking a hip, I drew a finger along the top of my breasts, following the top of the bustier. I pushed the same hand down my side accentuating my narrow waist, scanning the front row for Kyros.

Ew. Henry Gregorian was there—Harriet’s asshole dad.

His beady eyes drank me in.

Through our bond, I focused on Kyros’s rampant appreciation and slight anger as I sauntered back up the runway, passing a brunette woman in a sheer black leotard.

I passed the curtain and hurried to my rack, grabbing the white negligee.

The assistant came in and helped me out of the first outfit and into the next, grabbing handfuls of my boobs to position them.

More than I got this morning.

Not that Kyros had received anything since the fourth exchange except my sleep grope. I had blue nipples, but his balls must be shrivelled and fallen off at this point.

“White negligee,” Harriet sneered, changing into a siren-red number beside me. “How cute.”

She actually looked pretty good.

“Don’t steal that,” I said. “I hear you have a theft problem.”

Her face paled.

Thank you, Gina.

I rejoined the line, a bolt of adrenaline racing through me now I’d walked once. Harriet slipped in front of me just before I started my second run.

“Watch and learn.” Harriet sauntered out, swinging her hips for all she was worth.

If Shakira was right and hips didn’t lie, then Harriet Gregorian was a porn star.

“Go,” Francesca grunted, ushering me out.

Kyros would be in knots over this number. One, he loved white. Two, anything that made me look vaguely innocent—like my glasses—turned him on big time.

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