Chapter 1
Anita
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F ive hours earlier
Operation: Get ready for the asinine gala
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I groan and roll over in the bed to shield my eyes from the radiant rays beaming into the room past the parted curtains. A blistering throb invades my brain; my mouth is dry with the after-taste of tequila. I stuff my head into the pillows and curl up into the thick covers, ignoring my aching muscles and foggy mind.
Gala.
Victor.
Revenge.
Kids.
The words circulate in my mind, snapping me from my fatigued state. I can’t sleep in and stew away in my hangover, although I would like that. But this is too important to me, too close to the end to let my last night of ‘fun’ get in the way.
I’m never drinking this much with Wicked Mal again. I shift in the covers until I notice a sticky residue between my thighs.
What the hell?
I moan again, stretching my body upward and flipping the covers away from me. I’m naked from the shoulders down, and my thong is twisted to the left side of my pussy lips.
“What the shit?” I mumble, looking around as if someone would spot me with my boobs out and crooked panties. I fix myself and take notice of how soaked they are. My cheeks flame as the memory of my fingers deep in my cunt flash before me.
I wasn't just playing with myself...I was envisioning my fingers were his cock, fucking me until I came all over him, even going as far as lathering my wetness on my fingers, pretending he came inside of me.
“Dammit.” I toss my legs over the bed, resting my feet on the cold hardwood floor. That was a weak moment. I would never, ever let a man ejaculate inside of me, and two, I wouldn't dare cross that line with him.
It was a normal, weak moment. That's all. Nothing more.
I shut my eyes, picturing the entire thing, all of it so vivid and clear, that it's tempting to lie back down and do it all again. Goosebumps pop up on my skin, thinking about how it all felt. How even in my drunken state, I could’ve sworn someone was watching me.
And that only made me keep going until my body burst with euphoria. Of course, that could’ve just been my desperate desire for him . My filthy imagination.
With that conclusion, I stand up, discard the panties into the wastebasket beside the bed, and stroll past the balcony doors.
I halt. Looking back at them, giving them a once over. I don't remember closing the balcony doors. Then again, I was drunk and high off that explosive orgasm. Yes. That must’ve been it.
But...again...I chew on the side of my lip. It could only just confirm my previous suspicions of someone watching me, and 99% of the time, my gut is never wrong.
Three hours later
I lift the strap over my shoulder while peering into the long mirror.
This is it.
The moment I’ve been craving; that last kill. Of course, I have to look my best when I’m ending the life of the man who tortured my brother, the filthy human who has something to do with those kids being targeted. So, I chose to wear a black dress, and not the red one I packed. I need to look the part, but I also don't want to stand out too much, making it obvious I wasn’t the invitee to the ball. Carefully lifting the other strap to not smudge the white polish I painted after doing my hair. I realize it’s becoming repetitive. Every mission I accept, my nails need to be a different shade. White is purity and new beginnings, and that's what tonight is. I'm making the world pure again, free of an evil man.
Wicked Mal came over asking to get her nails painted as well. I can see she’s never indulged herself in that kind of thing with the way she eyes the polish like it was acid on her fingers instead of nail polish. She chose red. A similar color to what Eve said she would wear. Maybe that’s why I've grown almost fond of Wicked? She reminds me a lot of Eve. Evil grin, deadly eyes, the walk of a cat ready to prowl. Just much more feminine.
Besides that, I ignored the urge to ask if she saw Ronan this morning, but I decided against it. He already texted the plan, and we went over the pinpoints and our roles for tonight. So why would I ask her that? She’ll want to know my sudden curiosity, and I can't have her thinking too much about my ‘asking.’
I let out a sigh, raking my eyes over my figure. It’s simple but shows every bit of curve that I have. It’s a thin-strap satin dress that hugs my waist and exposes my back. The bottom flows down to my feet and shows off my entire snake tattoo.
I wonder how Ronan is going to look tonight. Probably something basic. I’m telling myself this to get over the unruly jitter in my chest that causes my stomach to do backflips. I head to the dresser and add on my earrings, bracelet, and necklace. Time to look fancy for a bunch of slithering, soulless people.
After applying my matte lipstick, I prepare for the most frustrating part of getting ready. The back. I lift my hand behind me, reaching for the zipper. It caught on a little, but it doesn’t zip high enough to clamp shut. The position only causes my shoulder to ache and my palms to sweat. Shit.
Why do they make dresses like this? Where is the side zipper?
I release an annoyed moan. Walking back to the mirror, I try again, but it doesn’t work. No amount of stretching will help this impossible obstacle. Maybe I’ll just get Mal to do it.
“Need some help?”
My heart shoots into my throat from his deep, velvety voice, beating so fast it hurts.
Ronan.
I swallow, mustering the courage to turn the opposite direction because I’m not afraid to face the man. Liar.
I face him, and now I’m bursting with heat, my entire body ablaze. I wish I didn’t turn around . It's been a while since I looked at him, but it seems like centuries.
So, basic, my ass.
He stands at the adjacent door. Watching me like he always does. But this time the look is different. It’s not the usual way he watches me, like a simmer on the stove, warming the water but not setting it to a boil. No, this, this is something else. A scorching heat that causes the water to bubble over and splash on the burner. It's the feral look he gave me before he kissed me in the arena. My throat closes, sending ‘lost circulation’ alerts to my brain.
It felt like someone was watching me. Like that.
He’s leaning on the frame with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mask. Looking so devilishly handsome. He stares at me intensely, and I do the same, scoping out his outfit as I do. His black tuxedo fits perfectly against his muscular thighs and broad chest. His normally full beard is shaved down, only cut into chin strap beard and low mustache.
My mouth quickly waters and then dries simultaneously. My clit throbbing like last night when I fucked myself so good I cried out his name. Shit, that did happen, didn't it?
Flames ignite up my neck and my heart thumps loud enough to signal the lost souls below.
I lick my lips before sliding my eyes from his. “No. I got it. It’s not...” My words trail off as Ronan bounces off the wall, swaggering toward me with dimmed eyes.
Oh, fuck.
By the time he makes it to me, the room feels as if he created a force field of flames, containing me in his fire. My footsteps back, unwarranted. He smirks softly, like a demon would when he knows he’s trapped his victim.
“Mal is with Bedford. So, her help is useless.” His eyes roam down my body slowly, his jaw clenching. “And you’re not going to ask Boone for help, are you?” he asks, glancing back at me with a hardened gaze.
Ask Boone for help? I would rather break my arm trying to get it done.
Instead of answering, I gulp down the thick lump and turn around slowly, facing the mirror. Ronan is a few steps back, but stands tall behind me. I glance at my feet, pulling my hair around to the front, exposing my back. I chose to straighten my hair, leaving it silky and resting at the center of my spine. My mother was particular about the care of my hair. She said, “it doesn’t matter your hair type as long as it’s healthy, and the ends are trimmed.” And I did just that.
Ronan’s dress shoes skits across the floor, stopping behind me. His heat so illuminating it surrounds my being. Unless that’s only my body temperature rising.
He tosses the mask onto the sofa next to the mirror, his eyes still pierced on mine.
Ronan brushes the rest of the strands from my hair to the front. His fingers delicately stroke across my neck and shoulders, sending more goosebumps to trail down my arms and thighs. My lips part slightly as I watch him through the mirror. He focused his gaze on my hair momentarily before leaning in and taking a breath. With closed eyes, he inhales my hair, threading his fingers through my strands to bring it closer to his nose and lips. He doesn't even care that I'm witnessing him become lost in the scent of me. I could push him away—I should. Just to keep my smell to myself, but...I like it; in fact, I crave his vicinity even when I shouldn't. I shouldn't want him near me. I should despise someone being so close to me. But with him, any care and boundaries that I held up no longer exist when he's the one knocking them down.
Ronan opens his eyes slowly, and he sets them on me. Shivers rush up my back as the energy between us grows tenser by the minute. Yet, neither of us speaks. He takes his sweet time, gliding his finger down to the opening of the zipper and to the dip of my back, touching my skin. It's barely visible, but I shudder, nearly closing my eyes.
I don’t. He would see the effect his touch does on me. A touch that is so precious, you would question how a man like him could become so gentle.
“How was your night?” Ronan asks in his native language as the zipper slowly rises inch by inch. Purposely prolonging it. My eyes shoot to his already piercing stare as my chest caves in from the sudden question.
Memories of my fingers deep in my walls, my head pounding and spinning like a merry-go-round, and Ronan's name leaving my lips as the orgasm attacked my entire body. Was he watching? Does he know?
Paranoia is a bitch.
Just...be cool. “It was good,” I say, breathlessly. Not leaving his gaze. Sweat forms on my neck. “How was yours?”
A glint shadows over before it changes quickly. “Good.”
I nod, shifting my eyes down again.
He continues, “Anything exciting?” Zip.
I flicker back to him; he’s narrowing in on me with those deep golden eyes, searching for a place in my soul I’ll never let him find. I purse my lips as the sounds of my moans filter through my mind. The sweat that formed on my skin, the way my legs shook because the hit was so damn good. “No.” I shift on my feet, causing his fingers to graze and press into my back. “Besides Wicked coming over and nearly getting alcohol poisoning, but that’s all.” I sound convincing enough.
He gives a light smirk, but his dimples are still bold and deep. He looks down behind me. I'm sure he’s looking at my ass. “Anything with Mal will always end up either with a headache or your body completely numb.”
Zip. Zip.
I grin. “Yes, that is true. But it wasn’t so bad.”
He finally lands at the top of my dress, but doesn't move his hand. “I’m relieved to see you two put your differences aside.”
I tilt my head as I look at my dress. “Yes, I guess we have.” Being around Wicked Mal makes me understand I can enjoy life even in the darkest of circumstances. I think I’ll miss her when I leave.
He nods slowly before sweeping my hair back behind me. He’s smooth with his touch, sure to glide his warm hand across the base of my neck and to my shoulder. The back of his hand skims down my arm, stopping at my wrist, then he roams back up to my shoulder. What is he doing? I shouldn't allow him to touch me after pushing me away. Yet, I refuse to nudge him, I...enjoy his touch too much; it awakens something inside of me that was lost for a long, long time. Now all I can imagine is his lips softly kissing my exposed skin, then trailing his delicious tongue up before biting me brutally.
Ronan leans over, pressing himself into me, letting me feel all of him. My breath escapes. What are you doing? I want to say but the words stick to my tongue. I only watch as his lips tease over the curves of my ear, immediately causing my nerves to tremble and a warm moisture to pool between my thighs.
“Nothing is more exquisite than you, little snake,” he whispers in his language, and a part of me wishes I never told him I understand him fluently. Whenever he speaks to me in Portuguese, it only flaps the horrific butterflies in my belly and sends tingles up my neck. It makes me more compulsive than ever; my whole body betrays me when he does that.
An invisible grip snakes around my throat. I’m at a loss for words today; nothing seems to be working in my favor. I can't even spat at him for his mindfucking games. I’m just compelled by him, hazed, like he has me under his spell.
“All done,” he says huskily, filling the room with sounds apart from the soft pants escaping me. With that, he runs his palm down the curve of my waist seductively before squeezing gently, eyeing me for a second too long before backing away. He grabs his mask off the couch. “I’ll see you at the party.” A tiny, yet strange, grin lifts on the side of his mouth. “Sweet Venom.”
He walks out, leaving me alone, shivering with the lust I thought I scrubbed away earlier.
Only then, I finally release that breath that seemed to stay trapped.