Page 11 of Dance of Ruin

Not great odds. But, hey, it works.

I turn to glance over at The Bull and chuckle silently. He’s the exact opposite of Carmine right now. Three women are winding themselves around him, draping their bodies over his broad, muscled shoulders and lap, whispering into his ear, tracing fingers over biceps that strain the physical limits of his white linen dress shirt.

And the motherfucker looksbored. Disinterested. His fingers idly trace over the exposed thigh of the blonde curled against his side, but he’s simultaneously scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

Typical. Dude hasissues.

My attention next turns to The Stag, who is currently doing a great job of mimicking Carmine’s aloof, emo sulky-boy aesthetic. He’s off by himself, which isn’t unusual. Same as The Bull, he’s got a small handful of female admirers half-crawling all over him.

Whom he’s pointedly ignoring. Not like The Bull, scrolling his fucking Instagram or whatever. No, The Stag is just sitting there looking straight ahead, shoulders squared, hands relaxed at his sides, like the fucker is meditating or something.

Okay, scratch that, we might actually havethreecertified looney-toons in our midst. But I don’t think The Stag is the same as The Wolf or my brother.

He’s genuinely something even more fucked up. I’m just not quite sure what.

“You look bored.”

I slowly pull my attention from The Stag and the rest of my friends to look up at the two women standing in front of me: masked, gorgeous, and wearing slinky dresses transparent enough to show both the shade of their nipples—one light pink, the other dusty rose—and their personal tastes in body grooming—one shaved, the other with a little heart on top.

How adorable.

“That would be because Iam,” I say lazily, not really looking at them.

“Well…” Pink Nips, Heart Bush blushes coyly. “Maybe we could help with that.”

I nod slowly, lifting a shoulder as I drag my attention back to them “Maybe.”

Hope glitters in their eyes.

“First, answer me this: you’re locked in a cell. The floor is dirt, and there’s just one window, but it’s too high to reach. You’ve got no food or water, but thereisa shovel. However, you’ve only got two days before you die of thirst, and you can’t dig a tunnel because you’ll die of dehydration before you ever get out. How do you escape?”

They both stare at me for a second.

“I’m…confused,” Dark Nips, Bare Pussy says. Her voice shows it. “You want to put us in a cage?”

My brows shoot up. “How thefuckdid you get that from what I said?”

“You said there was a cell?—”

“It’s ariddle. How do you get out.”

The first one taps a manicured finger against her filler-plumped lips. “Oh! You dig a tunnel!”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“He said there’s not enoughwaterto dig a tunnel,” the second one quietly admonishes.

“Why would you need water to dig?”

“Lightning round is over,” I grunt, standing and pushing past them. “I’d recommend The Bull, or if you don’t mind a little bruising, The Wolf or The Stag.”

I can feel their confused gazes on me as I head to the bar.

You use the shovel to dig up the dirt floor and make a pile of it to stand on, so you can reach the window.

I mean,fuck.

At the bar, I pour myself a drink. But I end up just staring into my glass, frowning, shaking my head.

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