Page 63 of Hearts Held
She faces me, grabbing my wrists as she tries to make me sway to the music alongside her. I peer around, trying to find Biscuit, but Seraphina carefully grabs my face. “Don’t look athim, look atme.” Her face reveals a devilish smile that causes my skin to crawl.
“You’re acting a bit off,” I state, proud of myself for speaking up.
Seraphina exhales and states, “Oh, I had relations with Biscuit the other night and he is just so infatuated with me. It always makes for an awkward encounter,” she remarks, though I find her statement hard to believe, for Biscuit has more than once mentioned he adores the baker down the street from the hospital. He had never mentioned Seraphina before.
I furrow my brow, not wanting to cause any confrontation, and decide to brush off her weird behavior. I settle into the music and sway my hips.
After a couple songs, Seraphina says, “I’m going to go get us some drinks. You stay here.” Then she leaves me on the dance floor by myself. I take this time of solitude to peer around the room, looking at the beautiful decorations and festive lights hung from the ceiling, garland draped from the walls with outstretched red poinsettias perched within the greenery. As I look around, my eyes lock onto a pair of angry amber eyes. Their glare sears my soul. We stand staring at each other from across the room as people beside him try to speak to him, but his attention is on me.
Stuck in his crosshairs.
He doesn’t want me here.
This was a terrible idea.
Though I’ve become elated with excitement as it dances across my nerves. I want him to confront me.
Before I know it, I’m watching him take a slow swallow of his whiskey, watching his throat bob.
His eyes never leave me as he takes one last drink of his glass and takes long strides toward me.
Chapter 17: Everett
Don’t Blame Me, Taylor Swift
My mind is not here.
Not here at this godforsaken party, with these godforsaken people.
Michael Sabini’s low voice drawls out in the background along with the energetic band and gathering of people. He desperately attempts to speak business with me but I just can’t focus. I’m walking through my metaphorical mind forest, settled on Brielle.
Her soft lips.
The curve of her body.
How my fingers twitch beside me; they long to trace her supple skin.
The horrible things I want to do to her.
Calculating the next time until I can next see her.
Maybe I’ll just go to her home after this and wrap my arms around her. Draw her close and begin etching myself into her scars. I shall seep into her soul, all consumed by me until she remembers nothing of her past.
“The next shipment of spirits may be late, alongside the shotguns.” Michael’s voice cuts through my all-consuming thoughts. I’m finally staring at him as his slick smile etches across his face.
His eyebrow raises. “I see that got your attention. I was contemplating how long you were going to disrespect me for. I will not tolerate it.” He places a large cigar within his hands and cuts the end, then begins to light it.
I shoot an icy glare at him. “Is that why my shipments will be late? Because your ego can’t stand not having undivided attention for four minutes like a toddler? Jesus, you’re almost as bad as a fucking Kraut.”
A large funnel of smoke billows in my direction as Michael obnoxiously exhales in my direction.
Before I can retort with a sarcastic expression, my eyes deceive me, for I see a gorgeous woman dressed in a black-and-red sequined flapper dress. The dress hugsher in a seductive fashion. My heart begins to race as I scan her face.
She looks just like Brielle, but I’m hoping it is just a delusion, for shecannotbehere.
“Excuse me,” I curtly state and move away from Michael. Kenneth moves in to take charge of the conversation and hopefully talk sense about this shipment dilemma and question the missing merchandise.
Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the waiter crossing me, I down the liquid, never taking my eyes off her.
