Page 47 of Dirty Play

I fight back a grin, letting the silence stretch.

Damien’s jaw drops. Ares doesn’t react at first, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Come on,” Damien says, laughing now. “You’re seriously not gonna tell us what happened?”

“No.” I shake my head again. When it comes to Livia, I’m not sharing anything. These two are like brothers to me, but I won’t give them visuals of my hellcat touching herself for me.

“Not even a little bit?” Damien asks, leaning in like we’re swapping war stories.

I run a hand through my hair, the memory of Livia’s voice still fresh in my mind.

“Not even a little bit. Especially with the press around.” I nod toward the group of reporters moving through the ballroom. “But rest assured that the plan’s definitely in motion.” I clap Damien on the back, hoping that’ll be enough to shut him up for now.

Ares doesn’t say anything, but there’s a knowing look in his eye like he already sees that what I did wasn’t for theplan’ssake but for my own.

“Man,” Damien says, grinning, “you’ve got to keep us updated. This is better than a soap opera.”

“Mhm,” I hum through the smirk pulling at my lips.

“So, I wasn’t the only one who had a good time after the club.” Damien chuckles.

I whip my head toward him, my smirk draining from my face like a busted pipe. It’s one thing to know he’s with Avery, but if he starts giving me details, I swear to God—

“Careful, Damien,” Ares cuts in as he steps up beside us, the ice in his glass clinking softly. “Rowan’s liable to deck you in front of half the city.”

“Relax.” Damien raises his hands, all innocence. “I’m not about to give you visuals. Jesus.”

“That’s good, 'cause the last thing I need is a visual of is your hairy biscuits near my sister,” I growl, tapping the bar as the bartender hurries to pour me another drink.

“Fine, fine,” Damien says, turning his attention to Ares. “What about you, man? You take someone home after I left?”

Ares doesn’t even flinch. He takes another sip of whiskey, letting the silence hang long enough to get Damien’s curiosity going. Ares is the pickiest son of a bitch I know. My guess would be that he went straight home after, but looking at him now…

“You fuckingdid,didn’t you?” Damien grins at him. “Come on, who was it?”

“Club’s owner,” Ares says, setting his glass down.

I blink at him. Damien chokes on his drink.

“Anna Becker?” Damien wheezes, eyes wide. “You fucked Anna Becker?”

Ares doesn’t answer; he just looks at Damien with a half-shrug. He’s never been one to talk about the women he brings home. But I’ve heard them. Ares takes pleasing his woman very seriously, judging by the sounds he rips out of them.

“Shit.” Damien bursts out laughing, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

“Poor Anna. Should we send ice packs and flowers over to her house?”

Damien and I share a look before we both burst into laughter, with Ares shaking his head. But I don’t miss the way his lips twitch in amusement.

Five minutes later, I excuse myself from Damien’s relentless shit-talking and Ares’s knowing stares, needing a moment to clear my head. The ballroom’s energy is suffocating. The whiskey helped a little, but not enough. I can’t see my hellcat anywhere, and I know for a fact she came here before us to make sure everything’s exactly how she wants it.

I need to see her.

I make my way down one of the side halls, the noise fading with every step. The air here is cooler and quieter, meant for people who don’t want to be seen.

I glance over my shoulder, making sure no one’s following. The last thing I need is another reporter trying to trap me in some PR nightmare.

That’s when I spot the last person I want to talk to.

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