Page 3 of Vicious Addictions

She plays with the end of her long, raven-black hair while eyeing me up and down as if I were a rare artifact locked away in a glass display case of a museum for her to admire. Like everyone else in the crowd, she is dressed in high couture. However, her youthful features stand out among Victor’s over-forty-something guests list.

“Oh yeah? Maybe I could say the same about you,” I accuse with a firm voice, trying to mask my discomfort at being caught in her unwavering gaze. “This doesn’t seem like your crowd, kid. How can I be sure you’re not the one who’s here uninvited?”

Instead of annoyance, the brat’s smile just grows wider.

“Because all of this…is supposed to be for me. You just crashed my sweet sixteen birthday party, cowboy.”

Damn it.

“You’re Victor Crane’s daughter,” I state gruffly, more as a declaration than a question.

“Lady Mina Crane, at your service.” She smiles teasingly as she takes a tiny bow for dramatic effect. “Now that you know who I am, how about you tell me who you are before I call the dogs?”

“Dogs?” I echo, doubting she would call for such fierce animals to disrupt her party or harm her guests.

“Yes, dogs,” she says confidently, her gaze darting toward the various well-armed security guards dressed in black.

Fuck.

Making a scene and ruining Crane’s only daughter’s birthday party will not go down well with the Firm’s boss. All my chances of learning under him would go out the window if I did anything to ruin this lavish affair.

“No need for that,” I retort, hating that I’m being blackballed. “We wouldn’t want to ruin your party, now would we?”

To this, Mina lets out a little self-deprecating laugh.

“Does it look like I care? This party is for Daddy. Not me. Honestly, kicking anyone out would be the highlight of my night.”

My brows furrow at her reply.

Not only does she talk like a grownup, but she sounds bitter like one, too.

If this party is any indication, Mina Crane—orLadyMina Crane, as she made a point to emphasize—likely spends most of her time with adults, which would explain why she talks like one.

But she’s still a kid.

Is it any wonder that she doesn’t seem thrilled to be celebrating her birthday with this stuffy crowd instead of teenagers her own age?

It almost makes me feel sorry for her.

Almost being the keyword here since I can’t forget she wants to ruin her party by throwing my ass out on the curb.

I can’t let that happen.

“I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m Jude,” I finally announce. “I’m a friend of your father’s.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” I tilt my head slightly, lifting one brow.

“Indeed, I am.”

My jaw clenches at the smug grin on her face.

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m not a liar.”

“Fair enough. Let’s put it to the test, shall we?”

And before I know it, she slides her hand into mine and pulls me into the crowd. The importunate girl is quick on her feet, and before I can ask where the hell she is taking me, we stop behind a larger-than-life man who is laughing away at something one of his friends said.

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