I felt a little better. A little more like myself. Until I saw Jake watching me from across the room, fury dancing in his eyes. He couldn’t have heard me, but he could see that I’d scared his guest of honor—disturbed him, at the very least—and he was pissed. Jake tossed his head toward an alcove mostly hidden by the curve in the staircase, and I had no choice but to obey the silent summons.
“Be right back …” I mumbled to Holt, and cursed myself silently all the way across the room. I’d known better. I’d fucking known better, and I gave in to temptation anyway. I couldn’t afford to scare off Holt or piss off Tower—Kenley couldn’t afford my mistakes—yet I’d managed to do both after less than five minutes alone with the man whose Skill Tower valued more than he valued my life.
“What the hell did you just do?” Jake growled, hauling me into the alcove by one arm. I tripped over the stupid stilettos Kenley had insisted I wear and would have gone down on my face if Tower wasn’t holding me up.
“He asked if I have any ‘special skills.’ He said it just like that.” Like special meant depraved or perverted.
“Was I not clear before?” Jake’s eyes flashed with anger. “I only pulled you out of the basement two weeks ago for this job. For him. I don’t care what he says, or what he does, or what he wants,” he growled into my ear, squeezing my arm hard enough to bruise, though I’d die before I complained. “You will answer him with a smile, and the answer is always yes. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I snapped, and it felt good to throw the word back in his face, even if it tasted bitter on my tongue.
He let go of my arm, but didn’t back down. “I’m not going to bother listing all the things you are not allowed to say or do, because I recognize that while unsophisticated and often crass, your mannerisms have a certain crude charm, and for all I know, Holt might actually want to play ‘tame the beast.’ That’s up to you to determine. But however this plays out, I swear on every beat of my wife’s heart that if you don’t have Ian Holt eating out of your hand in forty-eight hours, you will pay for it with your life. And your sister will pay for it with the balance of hers. Do you understand what I’m saying, Korinne?” he demanded, and I nodded, but that evidently wasn’t enough, because he repeated the question.
“Yes. I fucking understand,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Good.” He stepped back and eyed me from head to toe without a hint of desire. Tower, for all his faults, worshipped his wife like she shit gold and bled wine, and I’d never once seen him even glance at another woman with any real interest. “You look like a lady for once. Now go pretend to be one,” he said. “And try to remember that though a sledgehammer may be the most prominent weapon in your verbal arsenal, it is seldom the most appropriate.”
“Jake, please,” I whispered, swallowing the lump of bitter pride in my throat. “I’m not the best woman for this job. If you really want him, you need a recruiter.” Someone who was used to wining, and dining, and kissing arrogant ass. Someone who was good at it. “Don’t you think Monica would be better suited to this? Or Erica?”
Tower’s gaze went hard, and I knew I’d overstepped. Again. “Without a doubt. But he doesn’t want Monica or Erica. The only other person in my employ who fits Holt’s description of his ideal physical type is your sister, and even if you were willing to let her wander all over town alone with a man she just met, I am not. I need her here, doing her job, where I know no one else can get to her.”
I wanted to protect my sister from the realities of life in the syndicate. He wanted to protect a very valuable asset from being poached or exterminated. Still, in the end, our goals were the same, so I couldn’t argue.
“Now take the man a fresh drink and apologize like you mean it. And do not give me a reason to have to repeat this conversation. That’s an order.” With that, Tower stepped out of the alcove and back into his party, smiling at acquaintances like he’d never had a sour thought in his life.
I started to make my way back to Holt so I could publicly choke on the crow Jake had shoved down my throat, but when I scanned the crowd, checking on Kenley out of habit, I found her with Jonah Tower, who smirked at me silently while he rubbed her bare back with one hand, until she shrugged out from under his touch.
And suddenly I wanted to vomit.
I backed into the alcove again and stayed there for another minute, fighting the flashes of memory that played behind my eyelids—a montage of pain and humiliation, overlaid with the terrifying certainty that if I failed, it would all happen again, this time to my little sister.
I swallowed compulsively to keep my dinner down, breathing deeply, like Kenley had showed me. So far, when the basement resurfaced in my head, the only thing able to beat it back when I couldn’t take out my rage on the nearest boxing dummy was steady, measured breathing. Balancing each inhalation with an exhalation.
Kenley said I was imposing calm on everything else by instituting order in the most basic of involuntary functions. Or some shit like that.
I didn’t care how it worked. All I cared about was that it did work. Usually.
When I opened my eyes again, the buzz of conversation and laughter roared back into focus and the looming darkness of the basement was gone, at least for the moment.
Remember who you were before, Kori. I had to remember and become her again, or I might die without the chance to claim vengeance or reclaim the woman I’d been.
I straightened my dress—stupid fucking sequins—and squared my shoulders, then took one more deep breath and stepped back into the fray.
That was the only way I could think of this night and hope to succeed. The party was a battle to be fought, not with bullets, but with pointless social gestures and small talk. I could do this. Every polite smile would find its mark. Every swallowed curse would block a blow. And every bitter concession made to polite society would bring me one step closer to the goal. To signing Ian Holt and protecting my sister.
If the party was a brawl, then Holt was my enemy, but he couldn’t be beaten with fists or knives. He could only be lulled into submission—into lowering his guard—with subterfuge. With careful answers and gestures of compliance.
I could play that part. I’d have to play that part. Starting now.
I watched him as I closed in on my target, dodging hits from other combatants—Jake would call them guests—even as I armed myself with two fresh glasses of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter, an unwitting accomplice in my campaign.
Holt wasn’t bad-looking. In fact, he was actually kind of hot, blessed with broad shoulders, a strong chin, and the smooth, dark complexion only mixed parentage could give. Or maybe that was the champagne talking. I could toss back vodka all day long, but I’d never been able to think clearly on anything fancy. Probably from lack of practice.
While I was still several feet away, two familiar silhouettes stepped between me and my goal. They were both brunette and curvy, and less than two years bound, yet eager to make names for themselves. They were also on Jake’s shit list for refusing to believe after one crack at him that he could not be tempted to stray from his wife, even for a double dose of sin served hot and ready.
Within seconds of their arrival, Holt looked ready to flee the premises. I exhaled slowly and donned my mental armor, then stepped back onto the front lines, right between the two brash sluts, who gaped
