Page 32 of Avidian
Avoid Orin like the plague. Find someone worth talking to. This place is practically swimming with powerful men, and every single one of them has secrets. Let’s see which one I can get to spill them.
Chapter Ten
RULE 10 OF THE NEW ORDER: CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION—NEVER UNDERESTIMATE HOW QUICKLY ONE SPARK CAN IGNITE CHAOS AND UNRAVEL EVERYTHING.
I endup back in the sitting room, scanning the space for Orin and feeling relieved when I don’t see him anywhere. Thank God. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Marco or Viktor yet either. They’re likely doing what men like them do—arriving fashionably late or holding court in some other room teeming with their guests.
I chose this room for its exclusivity, and because there isn’t a single woman here. It’s filled with tall tables where men stand chatting, a lower table with a group engrossed in a card game, and several oversized leather chairs occupied by gentlemen lounging with cigars.
It’s the perfect place to eavesdrop. I stick out, of course, but I’m counting on that. A woman in a room like this will be seen as ornamental, not threatening. A pretty thing in a dress, I think bitterly. Far too delicate to possess a brain.
I keep my ears open, scanning the room while pretending to admire the card game, though I take no real interest. I’m about ready to move on when a conversation pulls me back.
“I was told there will be a silent auction at the end of the night,” a middle-aged man says, lounging in one of the leather chairs to my right. He swirls a glass of brandy lazily in one hand. “Viktor himself gave me a preview earlier today.”
“He’s keeping the Avids here? In his house?” the younger man across from him asks, aghast, as if keeping us here were the equivalent of housing livestock.
“Only two of them,” the older man replies, running a hand over his neatly combed black hair. “One male and one female, but he wouldn’t tell me their abilities. Said it’s a surprise for later.”
The younger man sits forward, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “I need to get in on this. I better find Viktor and reserve a spot.” He stands abruptly, leaving his drink on the side table before hurrying out of the room like a man on a mission.
Gross.
No wonder Viktor doesn’t want anyone knowing what I am. It would cause a frenzy. To men like this, I’m not a person. I’m a prize. A status symbol to parade around.
Fucking pigs.
At least Marco—however manipulative—has always treated us with a sliver of respect, enough to acknowledge we’re human beings. But these people? They’d line up like vultures for a chance to own me.
I grit my teeth, trying to control the sudden wave of rage. I need to know where Viktor’s keeping them—the two Avids they spoke of. If they’re here, tonight, maybe I could free them. No, I can’t think like that. Not yet. I’d need Malachi, and this house is too massive to find them quickly. It’s too risky to search blindly.
Instead, I turn my focus to the older man with graying hair at his temples and the slightest lines marking his face. He’s my best chance at getting more information. But I can’t simply approach him—I need him to think it’s his idea to talk to me.
As I pass him, I make my move, letting one of my earrings fall to the floor with a soft clink. I stop, bending over slowly to retrieve it. “Oh my,” I murmur, watching from the corner of my eye as he perks up and moves toward me.
“Allow me, miss—” He stoops to grab the earring before I do.
“Miss Sinclair,” I say with a polite smile. “But please call me Kat.” I give him my sweetest, most innocent look, and it works like a charm. His deep-blue eyes light up and then drop lower to the neckline of my dress.
“Kat,” he says warmly. “I’m Eduard. Please, let me get you a drink.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “I’ll have a vodka soda, please.”
He looks delighted, taking my hand like a gentleman and guiding me to one of the leather chairs. He snaps his fingers at a passing busboy, not even glancing his way. “Vodka soda for the lady, and another for me,” he orders, lifting his glass of amber liquid.
I settle into the chair gracefully, my mind racing behind the poised mask of politeness.Let’s see what secrets you’ll spill, Eduard.
I keepEduard talking far long enough to get him through two more drinks. I’m hoping the alcohol loosens his lips, makes him sloppy enough to spill his secrets, but it also means I’ve had to force my way through a couple more drinks as well. And to say I’m feeling it would be an understatement.
Eduard, it turns out, loves to talk about himself. He’s divorced—hates his ex-wife with a passion, and complains endlessly about the “obscene” amount of money he had to pay tobe rid of her. He loves golf but hasn’t played in months because of the snow.
It’s mind-numbing but perfect. The more he talks, the less I have to lie, and all it takes to keep him going is a lot of smiling, nodding, and fake laughing.
“Do you want to go talk somewhere more private?” he asks, leaning closer, his hand brushing over my leg. “I’m friends with the owner. I know a few spots that would be more comfortable.”
I give him my most charming smile. “Please, lead the way,” I say, taking the hand he offers to help me up.
When I stand, I’m glad for the support of his elbow because I’m not entirely sure I could walk straight without it. For the first time tonight, I’m worried I might be losing control.
