Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I grip the door handle. “What’s going on?”
“Some sort of party.” Ivan waves off a pair of valets in red velvet jackets and pulls into a reserved spot between topiaries in pots as tall as me. “So what now?” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You want to sit here awhile? Or do you want me to gas up to drive you home?”
“No.” I turn my head to glare at him and meet his grin. He’s teasing me. My lips tug up in a reluctant smile. He knew what to say to calm my nerves. My anger turns to fuel, powering me. I push open the door and climb out before he can come around to open my door for me.
“Thanks for the ride. You can consider yourself off duty. I’ll find my own way home from here.”
“Tell you what. I’ll wait around for a bit. Hamish is a good guy. Staff gets first stab at whatever the chef makes for the guests.” He makes a show of looking around for spies and then cranes his head closer. “Don’t tell the missus, but I eat better here than at home.”
I want to protest but can only exhale. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” We both look at the grand entrance filled with golden light. “You gonna be okay in there?”
I take a step onto the red carpet. My scuffed boots and worn leather jacket look shabby compared to all these glittering guests, but that only strengthens my resolve. Just because someone has money to hire a stylist doesn’t mean they’re better than me. “I’ll be fine.”
“’Atta girl.” He raps the side of his car. “Go get ’em.”
I straighten, feeling the lights like a weight on my face. Above the mansion, I sense a dense cloud of darkness. A creature of the night is hovering, drawing me close, waiting to pounce.
There’s also a sense of inevitability in the air like I was always going to end up here. I’ve always been at Rex’s mercy. I just wasn’t aware of how completely he was controlling me and everyone in the city.
Now I know. And tonight will be different.
Tonight, I’m a willing victim. I’m the only one in the world who can get close enough to Rex. I have to bait the trap with something he wants. And I don’t know why, but Rex wants me. I’ll let him have me for a price.
I’ll get close enough to him to build my case. I’ll seduce him.
I’ll have to give myself to him, let him take me. Let the dark waters close over my head.
I only hope I don’t drown.
25
Inara
I whirl on my boots and, before I can second guess my method of attack, walk into the Roy mansion.
The foyer has a chandelier bigger than Ivan’s car. The place is all marble and gilt woodwork and smells like the lobby of an expensive hotel. There’s no one around, but the laughter of guests drifts to me from the right.
I move deeper into the cavernous space. A part of me wants to run up the massive staircase and start to explore. Rex is hiding any number of things in the endless rooms of this place. Maybe I can find something and slip away before even having to talk to him.
“Can I help you, miss?” A ruddy-faced gentleman appears. He’s in a tuxedo with a red cummerbund that exactly matches the red carpet. Age has turned his thick mustache and the fringe at the back of his head pure white, and he’s half a foot taller than I am with a broad barrel chest. The way he stands, ramrod straight, reminds me that there was military service in his background.
Guess I have to do this the official way. I pull out my badge. “Detective Ramos, here to see Mr. Roy.”
He takes my badge and examines it carefully. “Ah, yes, Detective. He’s been expecting you. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hamish Hitchcock.”
I nod in lieu of responding. “We spoke on the phone.” This is the man who manages this massive palace. He’s also the one who raised Rex. I scrutinize him but can tell very little information. His face is bright red in contrast with his hair, and his shoes are polished to a mirror shine.
He could be the one who taught Rex how to present a pretty facade to the world. Society loves to trust and follow a tall, white cis man in a nice suit.
As if making a point, Hamish waits silently for my study of him to end. He returns my badge and pivots on his heel. “Right this way.”
He leads me in the direction I do not want to go—straight into the party. I brace myself and stride after him down a marbled hall into a vast ballroom. People—mostly unbelievably gorgeous women—mill about, holding glasses of champagne. Hamish walks down the center, parting the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea.