Paige
twenty-eight
We’re judging a contest. A very wicked, very sexy contest.
Zander managed to find every appealing contortionist, dancer, and sleight-of-hand trickster this side of the Mississippi for his impromptu talent competition, and it is up to Hayes and me to decide if the performers pass muster. I think.
The contest began with groups of people performing all at once, and in lulls of the music, Zander holds his hands over various heads and we must provide our judgment via a thumbs up or down, Roman Emperor style.
Now, we are down to a pair of dancers in leather straps and bits of cloth covering their private parts who move like water together, and a group of dancers in devil masks who break dance in a fashion that looks like they don’t have the limitation of joints or bones.
I’m quite amused by the whole thing, and as long as I’m having a good time, Hayes seems to be content to go along with his brother’s schemes.
“Who wins this round?” Zander hollers at us from the dancefloor, his hands over the two groups of dancers, chests heaving and waiting on us to crown a victor.
I look at Hayes, who gives me an indulgent smile. “I don’t think I can pick just one. Can’t we say they both win?”
“You can make anything you want happen, angel.”
I smile and hold out my arm, thumb cocked sideways and wait for Hayes to join me. I nod and we flip our thumbs up.
“They both win,” I shout at Zander, rising from my perch on Hayes’s lap to make myself heard.
I stand and clap along with the roaring spectators as both groups take a bow and dance away into the crowd.
I spot Alex off in a group, having found people to dance with while I judge, and I smile.
He’s always been good at finding friends, whereas I haven’t. But I do have Hayes.
“Ready to dance now?” Hayes asks, standing behind me and pulling my behind back into his hips, grinding into me.
“Maybe not up here where we’re kind of on display, I’ll make a fool of myself,” I say, feeling self-conscious as the crowd looks on.
Hayes spins me in his arms, pulling me close to his chest as he drags his hand down my side and hitches my leg up to his hip in one fluid movement, the clingy skirt of my dress rising up my thighs.
I gasp as he dips me backward and I throw up a hand to keep the crown from falling off my head.
But Hayes isn’t done, much to the delight of the crowd around us who are catcalling and whistling as he guides my body around and back up to finish tight to his.
“Never let what anyone else thinks stop you from having the time of your life.”
“Easier said than done,” I say, my voice breathy with relief and a little thrilled by his maneuver. “See, I knew you could dance.”
His chuckle vibrates in the space between our chests.
The strobe lights and lasers flash with the return of the throbbing dance music, casting the dancefloor back into the maddened crush of bodies once more.
Hayes steps off the dais and helps me down with a steady hand until I’m pressed tight against him again.
In his crown made of jagged stones and his all-black suit, he truly looks like the king of the underworld.
It’s easy to get caught up in the dramatics of this party Zander pulled together, which is a fascinating combination of a bachelor party and a debauched festival.
I can’t keep my eyes off the bodies that twine together, moving seamlessly and with unfettered passion both on the dancefloor and seen in glimpses in the alcoves that ring the ballroom, and I can’t help thinking about the crosses we passed on our way through the club.
There were looks of pure joy from the people strapped spread eagle to the wood timbers being teased with leather lashes by their partners.
I don’t know where anyone gets that kind of exhibitionism, but I admired their bravery and commitment to Zander’s vision.
And I liked watching it. Hayes may be right; I might just have some voyeuristic tendencies after all.
Hayes walks us through the mass of people on the dancefloor to the edge of the crowd, and out of the ballroom where the music isn’t quite so loud.
He leads me to the bar and gets another tumbler of bourbon, allowing me to sip it first, wiping the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip and following it with his mouth a moment later.
His kiss holds an urgency I didn’t expect, and I get a feeling he’s as affected by this night as I am.
I press up on my toes, letting my body slide along his as I meet the urgency.
A throat clearing next to my shoulder breaks our connection, our lips lingering for a moment before I break off from the kiss.
I pull away and gasp when I find a face that has haunted me for the last few weeks.
It’s Hayes’s old friend, Octavius Rex, leaning back against the bar and observing the floor at his feet while twirling a black mask between his hands.
He still gives me the creeps despite knowing he was following me because of my connection to Hayes.
I don’t think he wants to hurt me—he had several opportunities to do so if that were the case—but he has a knack for turning up when I’m alone and freaking me out.
Seeing him here tonight doesn’t feel safe, even when I’m still in the protective cocoon of Hayes’s arms. When he confronted us after the Christmas Eve dinner, I had a feeling he wanted something from Hayes, so that is where I think his actual focus is, rather than on me specifically.
“What do you want, Rex?” Hayes asks, shifting me over so he stands between us. Gone is the playful tone, or the heat of moments before. Now he’s all business and protective posturing.
“Relax, I come with only good intentions.” Octavius turns and sets the mask on the bar. “Get your brothers. We need to talk.”
“Not the time. Not the place,” Hayes growls.
“I think it is. You’re being played right this moment, and if you don’t act immediately, you’re going to be facing another industrial accident that’s sure to bring Olympus down.
Ready to take me seriously, yet?“ His tone is harsher than he used before, and he’s not employing the easy-going affectation any longer.
He means business and wants Hayes’s attention right now.
I look between these former friends turned bitter rivals and wonder what they could be talking about.
How would Octavius know anything about some potential industrial accident that could hurt Olympus?
Does this have anything to do with the South African mining accident?
I have so many questions, but Hayes is too intent on staring daggers at Octavius for me to expect answers.
“Fuck,” Hayes exhales in a harsh whisper, looking down at the bar where he twists his tumbler of bourbon.
He faces me. “Do you want to go up to the flat while we handle this?” His question is gentle, providing me a release from whatever is about to go down with Octavius.
My curiosity is piqued, though, and if there is an option to finally get to the bottom of why Octavius has been following us and wanting back into Hayes’s life, I would like to take it.
I shake my head. “I’d rather stay with you unless you don’t want me to be a part of this discussion.”
Hayes looks torn, his obvious instinct to keep me far away from Octavius and anything to do with Olympus is warring with his desire to keep me close and give me anything I ask. Finally, he nods tightly. “Let’s get Zander and Payton.”
The three of us move back to the crowded ballroom, scanning the area for the elusive brothers. It doesn’t take long to find them, though, as they are heading our way, heads bent together.
“A little angel told me we had a visitor that wasn’t on the guestlist,” Zander says when they get to us. He lifts his eye mask off his face and pockets it. “Bribing the doorman gets you in, but not for long.” He aims that last sentence at Octavius.
“We need to go upstairs, now.” Hayes’s words are final, leaving no room to argue.
Both Zander and Payton look at Hayes for a moment, then nod.
He keeps me tucked against his side as we make our way back to the lobby and the elevator vestibule.
Hayes uses his keycard to call the private car and take us up to the third floor where his office is situated.
“You’ve been busy these last few years. What brings you to our little slice of hell tonight?” Payton asks Octavius amiably as the elevator ascends. He removes his mask, but his face is carefully neutral, while his cerulean eyes remain shrewd.
“Saving your asses, it would seem.”
“Oh, this is going to be good. What can you possibly do that would be considered saving our asses?” Zander asks with an air of dismissal.
Before Octavius can answer, the elevator stops, doors opening on the hallway that leads to Hayes’s flat and office.
We file out of the elevator and Hayes opens the office door, letting us into the spacious room with large windows showing off the Savannah skyline.
I stare at the desk where just a few days ago, Hayes had me bent over the top and was asking to have my behind for the first time.
My cheeks grow warm, and I look away, settling myself in a corner of the tufted Chesterfield sofa to be out of the way.
Hayes sits next to me, his hand resting heavily on my thigh, his thumb brushing over my skin absently.
Payton takes the chair by the desk, and Zander leans against the opposite end of the sofa.
Octavius takes the remaining chair in front of the desk, his face hard.
“The South African mine was sabotaged. It wasn’t an accident at all, and you boys took the blame for it because someone has it out for you.
Round two is about to happen and I’m allowing you to make sure it doesn’t go down like that again.
” He cuts to the chase without preamble and I am left shocked by what he says.