Page 31 of Avidian
“Worry about your own date tonight,” Orin snaps, puffing up like a peacock. “Trust me, I know how to show mine a good time. I can teach you a lesson or two if you’d like, brother.”
Malachi leans back in his seat, entirely too composed, while Lana sips her martini like this kind of vile brotherly bickering is as offensive as talking about the weather.
“Maybe later,” Malachi says, lifting his glass to his lips.
The bartender gives me an apologetic look as he refills my glass before moving down the bar to tend to other guests.Great, I think bitterly, staring down at the drink. If I keep playing along, I’ll be drunk within the hour. If I resist, Orin will only make a scene, and that’s the last thing I need.
Lana leans over, whispering something in Malachi’s ear, and he smiles, that damn dimple on his left cheek making its unwelcome appearance. When his eyes flick toward me, I grab the glass in front of me and down it willingly this time.
“There she is,” Orin sings, all too pleased with himself as I slam the empty glass onto the bar with more force than necessary.
“I need to find the ladies’ room. If you’ll all excuse me,” I say, pushing away from Orin’s possessive grip.
“Don’t get lost on your way back, baby,” Orin calls snidely.
There is no fucking way I’m going back to that bar.
I weave through the crowd, crossing into the study and heading down one of the quieter, darker hallways. I’m searching for the bathroom I spotted a couple days ago when I was on my way to meet with Viktor. The further I move from the party, the quieter it gets, the dull hum of conversation fading behind me.
I reach the door, push it open, and flip on the light, relieved to find the bathroom empty. Closing the door behindme, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Despite feeling a little wobbly from the alcohol, I still look flawless on the outside. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. The dress still daring and distracting. At least I have that going for me.
I reach to lock the door, but the handle turns suddenly, the door flying open and nearly hitting me in the face. I stumble back, startled, but a hand grabs my arm to steady me before the door slams shut and the lock clicks into place.
Malachi.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he says, his voice sharp, and the nerve of this man has me seeing red.
“What do you mean?” I glare at him, crossing my arms.
“You think getting drunk will make you of any use to me tonight? You’re supposed to be working the room, finding someone useful to talk to, eavesdropping on something we can actually use.”
He’s scolding me, and I shove him in the chest.
“Did it look like I had a fucking choice when your brother was literally pouring the shit down my throat?” I spit back, my cheeks flushing hot with anger.
“That last drink didn’t need any help,” he says.
I roll my eyes so hard I almost give myself a headache. “Go back to your date, Malachi,” I say, dragging out his name.
“If I weren’t mistaken,” he starts, a slow, infuriating smirk spreading across his face, “I’d say you sound jealous.”
His arrogance ignites something primal in me, a fire burning hot and unchecked. “Get the fuck out,” I snap, shoving him again. But he’s unmovable, solid as a damn brick wall, and the action does more to hurt my hands than to faze him.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says, which only annoys me further. “I know how Orin can be. You need to be careful.”
I take a slow, steady inhale to keep from exploding. “You think I don’t know how Orin can be? Who do you think has lived with him for the last eight years while you were off doing god knows what on the other side of the country? I know precisely what kind of evil Orin is, and I don’t need you to tell me how to handle him.”
His features darken, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that looks almost like guilt. “Has he hurt you before?”
The question sends a fresh wave of anger crashing over me. His concern feels misplaced, patronizing. “I’m sorry, where’s your shiny armor, Malachi? You’re not a fucking knight, and you sure as hell aren’t my savior. So get out and let me do my job. I’ve survived fine thus far.”
I can feel the alcohol coursing through me now, heating my blood, mixing with my temper in a dangerous cocktail. I need cold water. I need air. I need him gone.
“This isn’t over,” he grumbles and steps back, unlocking the door and slipping out.
The second he’s gone, I lock the door again and turn to the sink, flipping the cold water on full blast. I lean down, cupping my hands to take a few sips, the icy chill grounding me. I want to splash it all over my face but stop myself. I can’t afford to ruin my makeup.
I take a few long, deep breaths, forcing myself to steady the chaos inside me. Once I’ve gathered enough composure to face the room again, I straighten up and head back toward the party.
