53. Riley
Riley
“I need to find Mila.”
Chio’s grip clamps down like a bear trap. “Boss says go home. I take you home. Now.”
“Fuck your boss!” I yank my arm free so hard I stumble, barely catching myself. “I’m not leaving without Mila.”
He lunges for me. A miss.
Lunges again. Another miss.
Very Tink versus Captain Hook—if Tink had unresolved rage issues, and Hook was a pissed-off mob gorilla who really needs to chill.
“Dammit, Riley—the auction is about to start. You need to leave.”
“Auction?”
His fingers brush my wrist, a barely-there touch. It’s as close as I let him get.
The crowd shifts. Just enough to catch a flash of hot-pink skirt twirling past.
“Mila!”
I break for her.
Chio shouts my name, but it’s quickly drowned out by distance and the throngs of people. I do hear, “Stop her!” Which I can only assume is a command to his legions of stormtroopers.
I weave through bodies like a thread through fabric, slipping between two suited men mid-toast and vanish into the crush of people.
But the time I reach her, Mila’s drunk and oblivious and dancing—drink in her hand, face flushed, laughter bubbling out of her like this is the best night of her life.
I catch her arm mid-spin. “We have to leave.”
“What?” She blinks, squinting up at me.
“We have to go. Now.”
She slumps into me without warning, forehead pressing into my shoulder, her body warm and loose. “We can’t,” she murmurs. “Decker’s coming right back. He’s getting me another drink. He says the real party starts in a few minutes.”
My stomach drops.
“What party?”
She giggles. Light and airy. And one drink from full black out.
“Mila?” I grip her shoulders, give her a slight shake. “Hey! Stay with me.”
No response.
I slap her cheek—light, but firm enough to jolt her eyes open.
“We’re going,” I snap.
Her eyes flutter, confused and glassy, struggling to focus.
And then a voice slinks in behind me. “Ye goin’ somewhere, love?”
Decker.
Why is it that douchebags always have impeccable timing? And why does it look like he’s in a new suit?
His gaze rakes down my body, slow and smug. “Off to get a new wardrobe?”
His eyes linger on Chio’s oversized jacket swallowing my bare skin. Not exactly the best cover-up.
Not sexy. Not modest.
Somewhere in that awkward purgatory between walk of shame and don’t ask .
I pull it tighter and hook Mila’s arm around my shoulder, but she slumps into me like wet laundry.
Dead weight.
She was tipsy before, sure. But this?
Sheesh. I grunt, hitching her higher as she slumps again.
Something’s off.
Right now, she’s barely upright, clinging to me like her freaking bones forgot how to work.
I swear to God, if he spiked her drink…
“We were just leaving,” I snap, adjusting my grip as I drag her toward the nearest exit.
He steps in front of me, blocking my path. Hands in his pockets, smile dialed to peak sleaze.
“But the party’s just starting.”
My stomach turns.
What was it Chio said was about to start? An auction.
Okay. No need to panic. I stamp out my spidey sense, but not entirely. Because I am leaving, and leaving her with Decker is not an option.
I shoulder past Decker without a word, dragging Mila with me.
But he catches her wrist, yanking her back before I make it two steps.
She collapses into his arms like a rag doll, laughing— laughing —as he wraps both arms around her waist, locking her in like she’s his.
Mila melts against him, pliant and smiling.
And unless I’m ready to take a full-on tug-of-war tactic, I need her to meet me halfway.
I grab her hand, squeezing tight. “We need to go.”
She sways.
I lower my voice and drop the code we came up with for emergencies— real emergencies. “Banana flambé.”
She giggles, and it’s light and drunk and entirely unbothered.
Then her head lifts.
“Babe, tell Riles we can’t leave. The party’s just beginning.”
Decker doesn’t miss a beat. He mimics her voice with a theatrical pout, baby voicing, “The party’s just beginning.”
Yes, she can barely stand, but sure—let’s pretend non-consent is fun.
I don’t bother hiding the glare I throw him. “She’s had enough partying. For a lifetime.”
I try to pry her away from him, but she’s limp in my arms. Dead weight and not going anywhere without a damn wheelbarrow.
The struggle only seems to amuse him.
He chuckles—a low, sadistic sound that crawls down my spine.
“She can’t leave without her birthday gift.”
Mila gasps, practically vibrating with delight. “Oh my god, you’re the best ! What did you get me?”
“Close your eyes.”
Not exactly a challenge for her in this state.
Somehow, Mila still manages a burst of energy—bouncing on her heels like a little girl waiting for cake.
Decker lifts a hand and twirls his fingers with a flourish. “You. Turn around. Don’t spoil the surprise.”
Fucking really?
Mila giggles. “This is gonna be so good.”
I turn—slowly. Reluctantly.
I give him three seconds before I snap.
He gives me two.
“Okay,” he says, the voice of smug satisfaction. “You can look.”
I brace myself for something flashy and douchey—maybe a charm with his name on it or a gift card to whatever strip club has the best wings.
But when I turn…
All the air rushes from my lungs.
It’s not some cheap gag or drunken afterthought.
It’s a necklace.
Beautiful and elegant and…black.
A string of glittering, breathtaking, jet black diamonds.
Clasped tight around Mila’s neck.