Page 19 of Room Seven

I lift my gaze and stare around the room, sick to my stomach.

Expensive flower arrangements and copious amounts of pink balloons line the entire formal dining room. Gleaming silver cutlery, fine china and a few bottles of chilled champagne fill the leftover spaces.

Overhead hangs a pretty mauve pink birthday banner with my name splashed on it in bone white. My mother’s handy work. All of this is my mother’s work, in fact. But it’s not for me. It’s for the guests set to arrive in an hour. The spectacle they’ll put on to show off their wealth and power. This level of glam took hours to set up and requires help.

Come to think of it…

I turn in a slow circle and find no one. Where is all the help? The family security team—my father’s personal team of hired thugs?

Something is wrong. Can feel it. On my way in, hadn’t I noticed the outside lights turned off? They are never off. Morning, noon and night, the twin sconces on either side of the front entrance are always shining.

Partly because no one can remember to turn them off. But mainly as a sign that everyone is welcome in the Constantine home if they can get past the security gate and armed guards.

Who are nowhere to be seen.

I walk through the downstairs, flicking on lights as I go. The sun will set soon and the long shadows feeding through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows creep me out.

My rushing heartbeat tries to tell my brain everything is cool, but the rush of adrenaline spilling into my blood isn’t helping.

“I’m just jumpy, that’s all.” My job has me jittery with all the bad guys and Russians wanting to play sex games with loaded guns. It’s probably a surprise party. My mother is always trying to come up with new ways to add some excitement to our lives. Mostly at the expense of others.

“Hellooo. Anyone here?”

Nothing.

My pulse hammers in my ears and every muscle in my body tenses.

Nothing. Not even hushed whispers. I walk from the empty dining to the large kitchen when I finally hear shuffling or maybe muffled talking coming from the direction of the living room. So that is where everyone is hiding. The soft leather of my soles masks my presence as I make my way to the rear of the mansion.

A long hall stretches out in front of me, ending in a large archway and a gorgeous living room my mother uses for receiving guests.

I am almost at the end of the hallway when a large shadow moves across the yawning gap.

Whoa. That is not one of my brothers or my father.

My feet turn to lead, and I stop in my tracks. It’s not the hulking mass of a man that has me going still. Don’t get me wrong. He’s scary as hell. It’s the chair he is dragging behind him and the body tied to it.

What the holy hell? Air seizes in my lungs. I don’t scare easily, but seeing my mother bleeding and defenseless has me questioning why I never carry a weapon.

Someone out of sight draws the large curtains and the shadows grow deeper in the living room. But where I stand, everything turns pitch black. It’s a design flaw my parents hate about this small space, but for once, I use the deep shadows to my benefit and melt against the wall.

Do they know I’m here? I parked on the south side, hoping for a fast getaway once I dropped the bomb of leaving town after I blow the birthday candles out.

I risk taking my phone out and pulling up my cousin’s number. I kill the brightness level. One ring and he picks up.

“What?” I hear my cousin’s muffled voice, but I can’t talk. I can’t say a word. My brain is frozen as I hear someone with a deep Russian accent speak just outside my line of sight.

I know that voice.

“Did you not like your cake?” Harlon sounds distant, like he’s put me on speaker.

“Someone’s in the house.”

“Quien?” Who?

Santi.

“Big fucking Russians and they don’t–”

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