Page 14 of Judgment Day

“I didn’t mean you,” Leo told her.

She looked over at me as she slowly wiped the corner of her mouth.

His mouth curled up in a smirk. “I think she likes you.” He rubbed her hair. “I don’t mind sharing.”

I glanced at Chandler.

He held up a hand. “Don’t look at me. I won’t even share a straw with that fucker.”

The beat dropped low and a slower, more sultry song began to play. The lights around us blended from purple to red. The dancer leaned down, crooking her finger at Leo. He tipped his head up and she kissed him on the mouth while the other girl went back to sucking his cock.

It wasn’t the girls. Or Leo. But something about the act itself that sent blood rushing straight to my dick. My body’s response shocked me—and then again, it didn’t. This was who we were, who we were made to be—raw, primal, carnal beings. That didn’t mean I wanted to act on it. Not here, anyway.

“I’m good, thanks.”

How the fuck did Chandler deal with this every day?

Leo pulled his mouth from the girl’s. “You sure? I don’t think she has a gag reflex.” He held her head in place while he lifted his hips. His eyes rolled back, and he groaned again. Then he lowered back down and looked at me. “Nope. No reflex.”

And I thought I was a dick. I slid out of the booth and stood to leave. “Get me that information as soon as possible.”

NINE

Today was my thirty-first birthday.I didn’t celebrate birthdays. The last time I had a birthday party, my entire world was shaken to its core.

My father had found me in the woods, unable to run, unable to see, praying that Sadie had made it safely back to the house. When he’d told me what had happened—that she’d been chosen for Judgment Day—I fucking lost it. I knew what that day meant. It was when single men of the Brotherhood chose their wives. Ten girls stood before the men in the Sanctuary, waiting to be judged, praying to be chosen. Most of those girls had no idea they were ultimately selling their souls. My mother had gotten lucky with my father. It didn’t always end up that way.

I knew exactly who had chosen Sadie before my father told me it was Winston. Once a woman was chosen, she either submitted or she died. Those were the only options.

They’d taken Sadie to Ayelswick before I ever had a chance to stop it. I’d showed up on the palace steps, only to be beaten and carried away by the guards.

“She’s been chosen by someone in the bloodline. It can’t be undone, not even by me. If you ever want to claim your seat on the Tribunal, you have to accept it,” my father had said.

Bloodline members held more power than the others. Their words were law. Their decisions were final.

I was a Van Doren. We were part of the bloodline, too. And I didn’t give a shit about the law. I refused to obey. I would do whatever it took to get her back.

I’d ended up at a local pub, where I tried to come up with a plan while I drank until the bartender cut me off. So I gave him a bloody nose, then passed out in my car. When I woke up, the bartender was dead. I was surrounded by police and being accused of murder. I may have been drunk, but I was certain a dead guy wouldn’t have snatched me off the barstool, then hauled me out of the bar, threatening to call the cops if I didn’tgo the fuck home. I’d had no idea how that bartender ended up with the sharp end of a broken beer bottle in his throat, but I knew I didn’t do it. There were witnesses who saw the fight, then saw me passed out in my car. My hands—somehow—were covered in blood. And no one was around to prove I hadn’t gone back in after closing and done what they’d claimed I’d done. I’d never stood a chance. And I never celebrated another goddamn birthday.

Until today.

Mrs. McTavish insisted, and I was too wrapped up in my revenge to argue.

She’d brought in fresh flowers from the garden, placing them in tall vases on pedestals and hired a small ensemble to play music in the great hall. Servers waltzed through the sea of people, handing out champagne and hors d’oeuvres from silver trays. It was formal. Extravagant.

But all I wanted to do was sip scotch in my library.

Sadie was standing in a corner, holding a glass of champagne but not drinking it. Her blonde hair was braided and pulled into a knot at the back of her head. The soft ivory dress she wore clung to her curves, cupping her breasts and cinching her waist in silk, then fell loosely over her hips in a sea of tulle down to the floor.

Winston was off in another part of the room, chatting with a couple of members of the Brotherhood, probably plotting my death if I had to guess. He was a twit for leaving her alone.

I tugged on my sleeve, adjusted my cufflink, then headed toward her.

One of the guests, a producer at a local news channel, stopped me as I walked by. “This is quite the birthday party, Mr. Van Doren.” He snatched a smoked trout croquette from a passing server’s tray. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Van Doren yet. Is she here?”

He was talking about Lyric, and no, she wasn’t here. She was at a cabin in the woods somewhere helping young girls rehabilitate after being kidnapped for sex-trafficking. It had been weeks since I’d asked Leo for help. Chandler said he was working on it, but he’d been sucked into the dark web, busy tracking down traffickers. I needed my information, but I also understood the importance of what he was doing. I’d give him a little while longer, then pay him another visit. I was a patient man, but it only spread so thin.

I granted him a smile. “Mrs. Van Doren is out of town. She had some business back in America.”

---