Chapter 14 The Wrecking Ball #2
Hungry eyes. Licking lips. Their energy was palpable and as dangerous as a tempting flame. The applause grew in intensity, vibrating the floors and walls. The more tributes presented, the more the hunters wanted.
“Tribute 1922.”
Daisy’s legs refused to move.
Aunt Vanessa looked back, her insistent eyes urging her to move. “Tribute 1922.”
Someone nudged Daisy from behind, and she stumbled forward, catching herself on the banister as she stared over the ledge as if looking out at her death. Heat flooded her cheeks as her knees shook beneath her dress.
Slick hands. Cold skin. And that damn ringing in her ears. They roared and clapped, calling her like a dog.
The staircase stretched before her like a gauntlet.
Aunt V smiled and reached out a hand, too far to touch her, but somehow coaxing her down. She descended, one step at a time, into the pit of rabid masked men.
The applause erupted when she reached the landing, crashing like a cold wave over her chilled skin. Too loud. Too eager. Masks turned, eyes glittering behind elaborate disguises. Hands slammed together with deliberate force. They were all looking at her.
One man, in a plum tuxedo, clapped slower than all the rest, his gaze fixed deliberately on her, like a hook sinking into her skin.
The roar was unbearable. A physical force, a current, that beat her back like a boat against the shore.
When she reached the ballroom floor, it was like stepping onto water.
Her eyes played tricks on her, and her legs were unsure.
Heart hammering hard enough to make her molars rattle, she rushed toward the growing line of tributes along the wall.
Only then did their heads turn back to the landing. All but one. The man in the purple suit continued to stare at her, his mouth slowly curving in a promising grin.
Daisy dropped her gaze, but breaking eye contact did nothing to shake the feeling that she’d just been marked.
Maggie arrived moments later, taking her place along the wall. She wished they were next to each other. Wished she could take her hand.
When the final tribute descended, Aunt Vanessa reclaimed the center of the landing, radiant and commanding. “Hunters!” She drew their attention like a sorceress casting a spell. “As is tradition and your privileged right, you may now select your partner for the opening dance.”
Are we dancing?
The hunters moved, pouring toward the tributes like a tide, some striding with purpose toward specific targets, others prowling the selection with predatory consideration.
The first contact came like a crash of power over stillness, unmooring any sense of safety and order as tributes were hurled out of line in a swirl of dark suits and desperate gowns.
Daisy instinctively stepped back, pressing herself against the wall, hoping to make herself small. But he never lost sight of her. Closer and closer, spreading like a dark bruise, the man in the plum suit materialized like smoke.
“Hello.”
She couldn’t talk. Up close, he was tall and polished, every inch of him curated for intimidation.
Late thirties, maybe early forties. Gym-trained but not rugged.
Manicured hands. Perfect posture. His mask was silver and elaborate, but it couldn’t hide the cold calculation in his eyes.
The scent of danger clung to him like cologne.
“I said hello, 1922.” His voice was smooth, his words methodical, his cadence educated. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He chose words like currency.
He didn’t ask. He simply took. Clasping her hand and pulling her toward the black dance floor.
The orchestra hummed, then dropped into a darker, more urgent beat. A tango.
Daisy dragged her feet. “I don’t—”
“You must follow along.” His arm enveloped her waist, cinching her close enough that the heat of his chest seeped through her gown. His other hand captured hers, positioning her like a doll arranged for display.
Already moving, he gave her no choice.
The music swept them into motion as much as the crowd. Daisy stumbled, her feet tangling with his in a graceless collision. He corrected her with a sharp tug, pulling her back into position with more force than necessary.
“Relax,” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and unwelcome. “Fighting only makes it worse.”
His steps were foreign and impossibly fast, the pace punishing and pulling her in directions she had no way of anticipating.
“Surrender to it. Let me lead.”
Every time she found her footing, he changed direction, tugging her off balance and spinning her until she was dizzy and breathless. When he dipped her, she gasped, certain he’d let her fall, but instead, he yanked her back up, clutching her tighter than before.
“You’re trembling.” His hand slid lower on her back, fingers pressing into the curve of her spine. “I like that.”
His smile held no warmth. When he brought her wrist to his lips, her eyes went wide behind her mask.
“Your pulse is racing. I can feel it right here.” His tongue swept over her throbbing veins as his thumb pressed against the soft skin.
When she tried to pull back, his grip tightened.
“Name’s Hadrian.” He dipped her quickly, yanking her back with a flourish. “Hadrian Welles.” They twirled. “You’ll want to remember that.”
“Why?”
“Because by morning, it will be the only name that matters. The one that claimed your innocence.”
Her lips parted as he spun her out, snapping her back to him like a whip. Her back collided with his chest, and she gasped when his fingers trailed down her exposed belly. But before she could respond, he was twirling her again, bringing her right back to his chest, once again face to face.
He marched her backwards. “I read your file.” He walked her backwards around the perimeter of the room, voice dropping to a lover’s whisper, intimate and obscene. “Responsive. Shy.” His laugh was soft and private. “A virgin.”
She angled her head away, his words a secret she didn’t want to hear.
“We’ll see about that.”
Daisy’s heart raced as if inside a cornered rabbit. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to disappear. But his hands were everywhere, controlling her movement. Her direction. Even her breath.
And if not by him, she’d be seized by another. Every tribute had been snatched up. Handed over. In the grip of giants.
Hadrian Welles was everything fairytales warned little girls to avoid. He was the wolf in the woods and the dragon in the thorns. They all were. Monsters dressed in silk. Trained to speak in eloquent words that rained like poetry while telling scary stories that kept little girls up all night.
They were the shadows that triggered nightmares. By dawn, they would devour everything soft and good in this room.
“You’re not breathing,” he smirked, eyes narrowing as a Cheshire grin curved under his mask.
“Careful. You’ll faint before I’ve even begun—not that I mind, of course.
Nothing you do can deter me from my plans.
” A clipped, peculiar laugh escaped his throat.
“And it could be fun, plucking your cherry as you lie limp and helpless at my mercy.”
She scoffed in horror, finally drawing in a breath.
“Better.” His thumb stroked her hip, then yanked her close so not a speck of light could pass between them. Every touch burned like a brand.
“I’m going to enjoy breaking you in, 1922. Slowly. Thoroughly.” He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. “By the time the sun rises, you’ll be begging me to—”
A hand closed around Hadrian’s shoulder from behind, and he turned with a scowl at whoever was interrupting.
“Pardon me,” came a deep, masculine voice, polite on the surface, possessive underneath. “The set has changed.”
Only then did Daisy realize the music had shifted. Another tango, but this one slower and moodier.
Hadrian’s hand tightened at her hip. “I’m not finished.” His tone dripped with barely concealed irritation.
“You are now.” The man in the dark mask spoke with a smooth edge of authority that brooked no argument.
Hadrian’s jaw stiffened, his grip on Daisy tightening enough to cause her to gasp before he physically turned away from her. “I’ll find you later,” he warned, before disappearing into the swirling sea of gowns and tuxedos.
The second Daisy was released from his arms, she stepped back only to be pulled into another set.
“Breathe,” he said quietly. Not a command, but an invitation.
The difference was immediate.
Where Hadrian had been all sharp angles and aggressive possession, this man moved like water. His hand settled on the small of her back, firm but not constraining. His other hand cradled fingers, rather than gripping or clutching.
Daisy looked up, but his face was disguised by the mask. At first, she thought it was black, but now that she was closer, she could see it was deep emerald like his tux.
Her hand rested on his broad shoulder. He was taller than Hadrian. Lean muscle wrapped in luxury. They stood close enough for her to see the slight stubble on his strong jaw. His lips were full but far from kind as they set in an unbending line.
When he moved her backwards over the floor, gracefully dipping her, she finally had a clear view of his eyes. Storm-grey and utterly unreadable. He watched her with an intensity that should have terrified her. But it didn’t. Not like before.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said, and those haunting eyes pinned her like a thrown blade. Accusatory in a way she didn’t understand.
He moved, and she followed without thinking. The tango transformed beneath his lead. No longer a battle, but a silent conversation. He guided her with subtle pressure, giving her time to find her footing, adjusting when she faltered.
His hand shifted on her back, drawing her closer. Not grabbing, but supporting. The heat from his body seeped through her gown, reminding her how exposed her chest was beneath that plunging neckline.
But his hold didn’t feel invasive. It felt like shelter.
“You’re shaking,” he observed.