Page 83 of The Kiss Of Death
My black stare hit him, but Kay didn’t waver.
“I don’t like her, and I never will. Now…” Kay grabbed another flute. “Go get blow jobs instead of standing like a bunch of losers without a date. That’s what I’m about to do. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in the bathroom.”
“Sure, because sleeping around to attract someone’s attention works so well for you,” I deadpanned. I was in the mood for chaos.
Kay frowned, but he didn’t dare come back with a nasty comment. Not this time.
“Well, I’m leaving. This looks like one of my mother’s charity parties,” Cillian said, smoothing down his black Armani suit. “Are you coming?”
We were never ones to linger at parties. Me because of my general disdain for people, and Cillian because he avoided them like the plague, barely engaging. I couldn’t blame him; his eccentric mother fancied herself as something out of Gatsby, while her own son was a nerdy introvert.
“No, I’m going to keep torturing myself.” Meaning, watching Dalia dance with that asshole.
“It’s nice to know you’re not as dead inside as we all thought.” Cillian chuckled, and he left.
Dalia’s eyes danced between Sylas and me as if she was enjoying the display of power and teasing. My body was set on fire, and I was pained to remain in control of myself. Every clueless person here thought she belonged to him.
I had gone to great lengths for her that evening. Dealing with her colleague Maria—who didn’t have 1 percent of Dalia’s talent—by giving her a golden opportunity was painful. I could have blackmailed her the old-fashioned way instead. I’d had mytailored suit made twice because it didn’t match the exact shade of black in Dalia’s dress, and I’d let Kay convince me to paint my fucking nails black because it was the latest fashion. Not that she ever noticed those details.
“Enough playing, Dalia.” I readjusted this excuse of a tie, ended my insanity, and paced toward her.
With a few strides, I infiltrated the core of the grand salon, pushing aside the dancing couples until I reached my target.
I placed my hand firmly on Sylas’s shoulder, a spasm shooting through my tensing fingers. “Leave.”
“Why don’t you leave me alone?” Sylas stole the answer I knew Dalia had on her lips.
“Correction. I’m not leaving her alone; you, on the contrary—you’re free to go.”
“You don’t know what you want, dude,” Sylas quipped back.
Neither do you, asshole.
“I do now.” I pushed him out of my way. “You’ll find something interesting in the bathroom.”
He clenched his jaw and stormed away. There I was, playing Cupid. I needed to find myself again ASAP.
“Dance with me,” I requested, extending my hand to Dalia.
It was met with a blunt “No.”
Why did I even bother with politeness? I seized her hand anyway and pulled her into a forced spin, pressing our bodies together. “That wasn’t a question.”
“I said no.”
“And I’m tired of it.”
She gave in, letting me lead the dance. She was trying to break my bones, digging her nails hard into my hand as if she wanted to tear my skin apart. It was delightful. My grip tightened on hers, and she narrowed her eyes back at me. I smirked, and she purposely stepped on my foot.
“You’re jealous,” she accused.
“I thought you knew by now that I’m always jealous when it comes to you. But so are you, don’t deny it.”
“I—” She clasped her lips. “You have to stop interfering in my life and with my music. I need to show what I’m capable of without your help. I want to be proud of myself for doing it, not owing it to someone else. What you did tonight was wrong. I didn’t need your help, so don’t do that ever again or—”
“Okay,” I said, making her twirl.
She didn’t need my help, but that teacher of hers was blind and neededmy helpto make him recover his sight.
