Page 15 of Inside the Wicked

“Is that so?”

I notice the lights dim below, and the music tapers off. The front stage is dark as a silhouette walks on. There are three poles, but no one joins her.

“When we’re born into a name that tries to define us, I think it’s inevitable we search for fulfillment in something we created ourselves,” I say, but I’m not looking at him—I’m attracted to this performance.

I realize why when the spotlight hits her, and I don’t react as I see Kenna posed on the stage. She’s changed into black tights with embellished high-waisted black shorts and a full-black diamond crop top, but she’s wearing the same platform heels.

When I remember who I’m sitting with, I snap my sight away from her, but Silas is watching her too, forearms leaning on his thighs.

“Why are you really here, Anastasia?” he asks, but his words are as vacant as I felt a moment ago as he seems to lose himself to Kenna’s dance.

“Rebellion, boredom ... Do I really need a reason?” I pick up the cigarette he set down, taking a long inhale. I’m not used to it, and it without any alcohol I decide it’s foul-tasting and not something I want to try again.

Silas says, to seemingly no one, “Miss Kinsley will have a French martini.”

He stands, heading over to the balcony and leaning his forearms on the rail.Shit.I’m failing already, and Kenna’s refusal to be with me so asnotto distract him is only backfiring with her alternative plan. He’s fully engrossed, and as I stand, following him to watch, I can see why.

So she’s an assassin, a spy, and a masterful dancer.

Even I’m entranced by the way she moves.

Silas sees these women dancing likely every night—he’s got a taste for it—and I try to soothe my faltering confidence bybelieving he would have been drawn to watch any of his main performers.

But Kenna ... she’s got a form and elegance that stands out. I feel the answer nagging in my mind, but I can’t catch it. The dance is seductive, like modern burlesque, but there’s something different about the way Kenna performs it. The point of her toes, the arch of her back, the full split of her legs.

Then it hits me, so obvious now.

She’s a ballet dancer. Or at least she was once. For enough years that her skill will always be imbedded in the way she moves.

“Time is money, Anastasia, and I do hope you haven’t come to waste mine,” Silas says absentmindedly.

I’m pulled from my trance too. “Do you require all your guests to offer you something?”

“Like you said, we’re all searching for our purpose. I don’t come here every night to merely smoke and drink and watch the pretty dancers.”

I look around the venue again, seeing every polished individual as a business transaction.Is he trafficking women through this setup like Jacob?The thought turns me nauseous. I don’t know what I’ll do if I discover that to be true.

The French martini is brought to me, while Silas is handed a short glass of an amber liquor that could be whiskey or scotch. I take a sip, hoping it’ll help calm me.

“How did you know I’d want this drink?” I ask.

“You seem like a sweet girl, with just the right hint of bitterness.”

I hook a brow. “What do you base your assumptions on?”

“I make it my business to know every person who comes through these doors.”

That enlightenment coils in my stomach and I find myself scrambling through my past, which is boringly innocent for themost part, as if some skeleton I’ve forgotten I’m hiding will unveil itself to Silas Balenheizer.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Rhett Kaiser, wasn’t it?”

Fuck.He has no reason to look deeper into Rhett. He isn’t here.

My silence must last too long as he forces his fixed gaze from Kenna to me.

“I came here to forget about it.”

Silas smiles, but it’s not the kind of smile that curls fully on his mouth. It dances in his eyes like he’s playing a game I don’t know I’m part of.

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