Page 28 of Into the Woods

It’s foolish and misguided, considering I told her just yesterday that she’s going to stand on the auction block for sick shits like my uncle to bid on, but here we are.

“No.” I don’t manage to keep all of the venom from that single word. And though I’m the one lacing my response withpoison, I don’t doubt for an instant Alain’s bite will be anything less than fatal.

He makes that decidedly French noise, the one that conveys disgust, disappointment, or derision depending on what the situation calls for. He pulls his chair from under the table and shoots a glare my way.

“You have a lot of your father in you,” he says, settling into the chair.

It should be a compliment.

From anyone else, that statement would be, but his tone is woven through with sharp, sinister threads.

Cold slides down my spine in warning, ice spreading through my veins.

He wraps his meaty hand around the delicate wine glass, the one that was supposed to be pressed against Winnie’s plump, painted lips, not his. But there’s not one fucking thing going according to plan tonight. “What are we eating, Christo? I’m famished.” His implication is clear as his gaze drops to the apex of Winnie’s thighs.

I drop into the seat at the head of the table, a position I’m sure it killed Alain not to claim, and spread my legs. Without even a glance in her direction, I pat my thigh and hold my hand out to Winnie.

For the beat of a heart, she hesitates, but then with a shaky swing of her hips, she closes the distance between us and perches her lush ass on my knee.

“Have dinner brought in, Garrick.” My order is lazy and dismissive, as though I don’t have a care in the world. But my hand is firm and possessive as I reach for Winnie’s hip and pull her closer to me.

Alain watches the claim intently, a satisfied smile slashed across his face, interrupted only when he stuffs that fuckingcigar between his yellow-stained teeth. He chuckles again and repeats his previous comment. “A lot of your father in you, boy.”

We eat the dinner I had prepared for Winnie and me, my uncle ignoring the fact that I have a woman sitting on my lap through the meal.

I feed her in between my own bites. I’d insisted she come to dinner hungry. I won’t make her stay that way.

Alain talks of nothing important, nothing that can’t be overheard by someone outside the family. But his mind is working the entire time. I can practically see the gears turning as he ponders and sorts through the evening.

It’s not until dessert that he takes visible notice of Winnie again. As I slide a spoonful of honey-sweetened galette past her luscious lips, Alain drops his spoon, sending it clattering against the plate.

His head pops up, gaze darting from Winnie to me and back again as recognition settles in. Whatever he’s been ruminating over through the meal, it’s finally clicked together for him.

He nods silently and pushes away from the table. Standing, he walks to the door without a word.

The silence is far more ominous than any threat he can issue. Though I know—I know—I haven’t said Winnie’s name, haven’t alluded to who she is, Alain figured it out. Fuck me.

Winnie goes rigid and my fingers press hard into her hip, warning her not to react. She might be innocent in the most enticing way, but she’s seen evil in the world. Hell, a rock could feel the danger hanging heavy in the air around us.

“Debts need to be collected; they cannot be allowed to stand. Took a long time for your father to learn that lesson. Don’t make the same mistakes he did, Christo. It won’t end any better for you.” Alain stalks out of my dining room, tossing a final comment over his shoulder. “I’ll see you both at the auction. Good evening, Miss L’Ourson.”

Time ticks by in reverse, expanding to fill the void left by Alain’s departure, as dread fights with fury. I hold my breath, my grip tightening even further on Winnie’s hip as I wait to hear the click of my front door. Voices drift back, Uncle Alain and Teague, though neither speak loud enough for me to follow their conversation.

When the door finally clicks and footsteps drift away, I push to my feet, bringing Winnie with me.

“What the fuck were you thinking walking in here in that?” I grind out, tension electrifying me.

“Who was that? Why does he know who I am?”

Ignoring her rapid fire questions, I demand, “I sent a dress to your suite. Where the fuck is it?”

“You never said it. How does he know my name?” Her voice is sure though she’s shaking so hard, her tits are quivering.

“Do you have any idea what you just fucking did?”

“What does he want with me?”

Each question is answered with another, rising in volume until our voices echo off the high ceilings. And with every non-answer I stalk away from the damn table, backing Winnie up until her trembling body is pressed between mine and the window.

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