Page 53 of Betrayed
Rory’s leaning back in a chair near the back, a girl half his age on his lap and another perched on the table. His knuckles are bruised. There’s a jagged scar running down his cheek now. He looks meaner. Hungrier.
His eyes land on me.
And his grin spreads.
“Well, well,” he drawls, standing slowly and pushing the girl aside. “If it isn’t the pretty little sister.”
I don’t flinch.
I walk straight toward him.
“You know who I’m looking for.”
Rory chuckles, eyes glittering as he strokes his busy red beard. “He’ll be here.”
“Tell him I want a word.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he gives a gruff, condescending laugh.
I turn away.
I walk toward the bar, my gorgeous, costly heels steady despite the dread twisting in my gut. The shoes were another gift from Lucian. It feels disloyal to wear them when I’m going against everything he wanted from me, but I can’t think about that now.
Act like you belong.
I order a vodka tonic. Force a smile at the bartender. God, I’m terrible at trying to be sexy.
I don’t think about how I marched into Lucian’s apartment that night, ready to sell him my virginity and take his soul along with his money.
Instead, for a much-needed boost of confidence, I think about all those words Lucian heats my ears with, the ones that make my skin flush, dark whispers about how beautiful I am, how ‘god damn gorgeous,’ he thinks I am.
I remember who I’m doing this for.
I lean against the rail just enough to give any man watching a full view of the line of my legs, the bare strip of skin leading to my pushed-up breasts.
God, Cass would laugh if she heard me think I had ‘ample cleavage,’ and then come back with some biting comment about how I’m barely a C cup even with the million-dollar bra my rich boyfriend bought me.
I hold the small black leather purse tight at my side and think of her.
Of Ryan.
Of vengeance.
Lucian would kill me if he saw me like this.
Actually, no.
He’d kill them for leering at me like they are.
I try not to think of the things he’s going to do to me when he finds out about tonight.
Instead, I plot. We can’t kill Caleb without starting a war. I told his father I needed a word with him.
I need to make that word count.
I may not leave with blood.
But I can leave with power.
