Page 109 of Savage Daddies

I shrug. “Nothing. Just want to know where my sister is.”

“Hmph,” he says.

And that’s the end of the conversation.

Cheering crescendoes as we draw closer to the event that takes place inside Caesar’s Palace. The wines brought in are all red—that would explain the color of my getup, and they’re apparently some of the most expensive in the world.

Felix hands me a card listing all of the different types. Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1923 from a vintage vineyard in Bordeaux, France, appears to be the most expensive on the menu tonight.

“They’re all one-of-a-kind,” says Felix. “And I’m hoping to shake a few hands tonight and seal some deals, so I don’t want you causing a fuss.”

Felix currently can’t locate Fiona, so that releases the tension some, but he will. That man can find anyone. He’ll somehow sniff her out and find her hidden away at Wrangler’s.

The car rolls to a stop and the back door opens. A man in a suit holds open the door as I clamber out. Camera flashes blind my vision, and it takes a moment to adjust. A bodyguard—I don’t know his name—escorts Felix and me to the red carpet. It’s a gated-off area, but people push and shove to get closer to the railings for the perfect shot. I smile and widen my eyes, and loop my arm around Felix, our sides pressed together.

I focus on the cameras, but my ears can’t help but pick up the questions.

“What about your other men?”

“Have you and Felix kissed and made up?”

“Where’s Warren? Is he still mad?”

“Is it true? Did the bikers try to rape you?”

I dismiss them all with an even wider smile, and flick my hair. Thankfully, I can use it to shield my eyes a little. It’s the only protection I have tonight.

Other notable people stroll down the carpet with us, including other successful businessmen I can’t remember the names of, and their wives. A young French woman, the daughter of a winemaker, twirls for the cameras in a pink velvet dress. To the naked eye, the downturned mouth goes unnoticed by most, but as an expert in all things camera-acting, I know fake happiness when I see it.

That’s the trouble. Everything’s curated.

The general public assumes truth in everything they see.

Tonight is important.

The truth must come out.

“In memory of Paul Royal”posters decorate the walls around the place, and as Felix and I walk down the red carpet, conversations float into my ear about how devastating the suicide was. Felix continues holding the same expression. There’s not even a glimpse of knowing on his face. That pretty much sums up how seamlessly he kills.

We make it to the end of the red carpet. A young woman, short and slender, greets us, and holds the microphone under Felix’s chin as she asks, “What wine are you most excited to test tonight?”

Felix smiles. “It will have to be the Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1923 from Bordeaux.”

“Expensive taste,” says the woman. She directs the microphone to me, and keeps up with the grinning. C’mon. Drop the act. We both know there are more exciting things in life than wine…or maybe not. “You look dazzling tonight, Zoe. Truly wonderful. Felix is very lucky to have you.”

Subtly, I turn my head his way.

He smiles.

And god, I fucking hate him. In public, he’s so smiley and innocent and modest about his ventures, but behind the scene when the curtain drops, he morphs into a wolf. There is no difference. Anxiety has been riddling my stomach all of today, but anger kills it in an instant. It’s not fair how easily he gets away with stuff. How he can kill Paul and the next day waltz around pretending to be devastated.

There’s no time to be anxious about taking him down anymore.

My entire life rests on this moment.

“That’s very kind of you to say.” I slap Felix’s shoulder. “But I’m also verylucky.”

“Adorable.” The interviewer admires us for a moment, then directs the next question at me. “I have something important to ask you.”

---