Page 65 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
I scoff. “You can’t afford me. Even if you can, you couldn’t handle me.”
“One Rolex,” blurts the Businessman and drops his watch onto the table. “Limited edition.”
The Shiekh gasps, suddenly having fun. I see now why he’s in the papers for risky behavior. “Two weeks on my private yacht! Clothing optional.”
“How about an entire cattle farm,” says the Southern gentleman, surprising me. I thought he was annoyed with me all night. Maybe all he needed was a little liquid courage.
“Now, now,” Zeke raises his palms, his tone sharpening. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
I glare at him. “Don’t you trust me?”
He takes in my hard stare and licks his lips nervously. “You’ll spend the night with one of them in return for a cattle farm?”
“Have you forgotten who makes the decisions in this relationship? I’ll sleep where I want, fuck who I want.” I reach down and grab his cock, snarling into his face, “Touch who I want. Understood?”
Just play along, Zeke.I can feel Ludovic virtually busting from his skin watching us.
Zeke’s eyes say he’s almost done with this game, but he nods.
I face the table and pretend I’m bored again. “But you’re right, pet. Nothing they’ve offered is worth a night with me.”
“I might have something.” Ludovic slaps the table. His Romanian accent is thicker now that he’s inebriated. “It’s so rare and old that it was lost for hundreds of years.”
“What, like a Viking horn or something?” I act unimpressed.
“A helmet said to have been crafted from the true nails that killed Christ himself.”
Zeke barks a round of harsh words in Romanian at Ludovic. I twist to look at him, surprised to see fury on his face. I’m equally surprised that he speaks fluent Romanian. My gaze darts between Ludovic and Zeke. Andrei and Petrov follow the conversation with amusement.
Zeke has completely slipped from the role we’re supposed to be playing.
I can’t understand the argument, but it seems like they’re discussing the validity of such a claim. Zeke rolls his eyes and then says in English, “You’re wasting her time.”
Ludovic slams his hands down with outrage and stands. “I am telling the truth. I know where it is.”
Zeke dismisses him with a gesture, shares a look with Andrei and then tells the others, “We use the chips.”
He pinches me surreptitiously beneath the table. It feels like a signal. Did he get the information we need? But before I can feel an ounce of triumph, the ceiling lights flicker. It hits everywhere, from the kitchen to the lamps, to the chandelier over the poker table.
The light on the Mustang’s radio had flickered.
Goosebumps break out on my skin, and I hear a faint whistling that’s steadily getting louder. Where is it coming from? I recognize the song as the tune becomes clearer and the elevator dings.
It’s “The Gambler”by Kenny Rogers.
Twenty-Seven
Leila
Ialways thought that if I stared true evil in the face, I’d see the tortured souls straight from hell. But as Asmodeus steps out of the elevator, all handsome charm and debonair suaveness, I look into his black eyes and see nothing but emptiness. The yawning chasm is at odds with his charisma. I feel a strange sense of pity. What kind of creature has nothing inside? How lonely would that be?
Am I seeing his lack of soul?
He prowls into the penthouse with an eerie sense of delight, as though it can fill that emptiness or distract us from the truth.
It’s everything I feel sometimes, but suddenly, seeing it before me, I realize I don’t want to end up the same way. I don’t want that empty look in my eyes forever. I don’t want Madam Mina to be the most character I have. I want to figure out who I am without all this Sisterhood business.
“Puck?” Zeke mumbles in surprise.
