Page 159 of Fractured Allegiance
Drazen’s laugh is the first thing I hear.
It's theatrical. Dismissive. The kind that people copy because they think it’ll make them sound dangerous.
I cross the room, and his eyes catch mine before anything else.
He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t reach for me. Just pats his thigh, summoning me to return to him.
And I do. I sit. Whether I want to or not isn’t important, isn’t even part of the equation. The fact is: his mood is easier to manage when I don’t challenge it too soon.
His arm drapes along the circumference of my waist, his fingers settling in the crease of my hip. My stomach lurches. “Don’t let the mirrors fool you, gentlemen,” he says to the group. “The most dangerous reflections are the ones you think are real.”
They murmur. Someone lifts a glass.
I pretend to smile.
I must not sell it. Because Drazen’s hand shifts, until the subtle curl of his fingers against my shoulder. His thumb traces a single line along the tendon at the base of my neck.
Possessive. Measured.
His voice dips just for me. “That little stunt back there…”
I don’t turn my head. “What stunt?”
He laughs again. “The way he looked at you. The way you let him. He is chasing after you like you’re dangling a carrot.”
My hand finds the edge of the table. I hold it so I don’t say something that’ll get me killed. “He’s one of yours,” I murmur. “Maybe you should train him better.”
Drazen’s grip tightens. Just for a second.
Enough to make a point.
Then he lets go, leans forward, elbows on the table.
The conversation picks up again, but I don’t hear it. Not really.
Because that’s when I notice Silas is not at the bar, he didn’t move back to where he should be.
No longer watching.
Drazen turns to me, speaking around the noise. “I need you to stay after this.”
“For what?”
“A delivery. You’ll ride along.”
“What kind of delivery?”
His smile doesn’t touch his eyes. “The kind that doesn’t need asking about.”
I nod, slow. Measured. Like I have a choice.
Not much time passes before the men are rising to their feet, trading handshakes, clinks of glasses, covert utterances about territory and trust and loyalty. The business has shifted somewhere I’m not invited. I’m just the set piece again, until I’m needed.
Drazen stands. Adjusts his cuffs. Fixes me with a look like I’m a chess piece that’s wandered off-script.
“I’ll send Dom to get you when it’s time.”
And then he’s gone, walking out with his crew like this was all foreplay for something bloodier.
