Page 5 of Broomsticks and Bloodstains
She swallowed, hard. I could see it cost her not to glance away. Yet she lifted a single arched brow and replied, “Nothing that concerns me.”
Feisty little thing. I almost laughed.
But then she slipped past me, her perfume—something soft and citrus—floating in the air as she hurried down the hallway, clinging to my jacket. I didn’t stop her. I simply stood there, watching the sway of her retreating hips, noting the set of her shoulders. Afraid, yes. But not deterred.
I’d seen enough. After pulling out my phone, I shot off a text to an associate of mine. By morning, I’d have every public nuance of her life at my fingertips—and probably a few private ones too.
Something told me she was trouble.
And trouble had a way of coming back to bite you in the ass.
Chapter 6
Sofia
By the time I made it back to the bar, my hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the counter just to steady them. I forced my breathing to even out and pasted on a smile that felt like it might crack my face in two. I wouldn’t have been shocked if my jaw fell off and clattered to the floor.
Isabella popped up from the little stool she’d been stealing a break on, stretching her arms with a groan. “God, thank you for covering. I think my legs are about to fall off.” She slipped back behind the counter, already reaching for a bottle of champagne. Then she paused, eyes narrowing at me. “You okay? You look… I don’t know. Pale. You’re not getting sick too, are you?” Her eyes held horror by the end of her sentence.
“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice clipped too fast, too light—too false. “Just tired. Long night, you know?”
She gave me that look—half concern, half suspicion—but the next wave of guests surged toward the bar, and she didn’t press.
Which was good because I couldn’t really tell her what had just happened.
I couldn’t explain the way my chest still burned from his nearness or the way his voice had trailed down my spine like velvet and steel.
What’s your name?
The words looped through my head, over and over, as if saying them silently would make them less dangerous. Lying to myself, I said it was fear that kept my heart racing, my palms slick. But fear didn’t feel like this. Not sharp and electric. Not like a deep, dark secret I didn’t want to share.
So I smiled at the next customer, poured another martini, and pretended my world hadn’t just tilted on its axis in the space of a dimly lit hallway.
The night dragged on in a blur of loud, obnoxious laughter, drinks that were too sweet for my taste, and masks that made everyone look like predators circling the same prey. The extravagance was unreal.
Telling myself this was all about the tips, I kept my head down, poured with steady hands, and smiled when I had to. On the surface, I was fine.
But I felt him.
Every time I looked up from the bar, my gaze snagged on the same shadow at the far side of the ballroom. The black mask. The broad shoulders. The man who had followed me into the hallway and peeled me open with a single question.
He didn’t approach. He didn’t need to. He simply stood there, a glass in his hand, icy eyes locked on me like a hunter waiting for his moment.
I told myself to stop looking, to ignore him. But it was like gravity—the pull irresistible.
My mother didn’t raise an idiot. Yeah, I was fully aware that I had overheard things I probably shouldn’t have when I walked in that study. But not a chance in hell was I opening my mouth to anyone about what I’d heard.
Except the more time that passed, the more my brain was bombarded with what-ifs.
What if they were planning an attack on something here? What if what I overheard would fund something that caused innocent people to get hurt? Worry consumed me with each thought.
By the time the last champagne flute was drained and the last guest stumbled out into a waiting car, my nerves were strung so tight I could barely breathe. Isabella and I packed up what was left behind the bar, my smile so brittle it hurt.
“Finally,” she sighed, tugging off her heels. “If I have to carry one more tray, I’m going to pass out.”
With a weak laugh, I slipped off my own shoes. The cool marble under my throbbing bare feet was heaven. My toes ached, my calves screamed, but the ache was nothing compared to the tension in my chest.
The tips for the night were divvied up. “Thank you, Esteban,” I said to Isa’s supervisor when he handed me my envelope.
