Chapter 12 Slade
CHAPTER TWELVE
SLADE
“If I see one more gold tie, I’m cutting off the head of the person wearing it.
” Kenji kicks a rock beside Knox, standing guard at the underground garage gate.
We’ve been here for almost twenty minutes, and I want to go.
Kenji, on the other hand, hates Friday Markets and would rather shoot the shit with Knox.
Knox snorts. “It’s Gold Weekend. What’d you expect?”
“A sense of pride.” Kenji adjusts his black tie.
Lucky for Knox, he’s not a member of EV, just a hired EV guard with a twisted sense of morality like the handful of us.
I snarl at my gold tie and shake my head at Kenji’s blatant disregard for Gold Weekend.
Not that I care about the twenty-fifth Market of the Year, but because only he can get away with it.
Well, maybe Vaughan as well. Two of the most dangerous men in the world.
Not me though. I’m a DuPont. My grandfather practically lives up Graves’s ass and vies for a seat at the Eight himself.
Not participating would be sacrilege at this point.
“Anyone hear from Vaughan?” Knox asks.
Kenji and I both nod at the same time. Then Kenji has the audacity to look hurt.
I smirk.
“Told him he’d better bring me back some damn exotic sushi with how many dinners he’s stood me up on.
” He drags a hand through his black hair, letting it brush the tops of his shoulders.
The dragon on his neck flexes as he lets out a playful laugh.
“What do you say, Slade. Time to go in? It’s about Market time. ”
I nod.
“You bidding tonight?” Knox asks. “No new girls.”
I’m aware; my grandfather told me.
Kenji speaks for me. “He’ll probably snag one he hasn’t been able to yet. Heard Graves did a number on one of the girls last week. Should buy her.” He tests his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a frown. “I hate the way that sounds.”
Graves’s violence with the girls is well known. Poor girl. Graves knows the limits, though. He has money invested in these girls and is addicted to the cash they bring in each week. He takes it just far enough to satisfy himself.
Thea, though. She was angry, and I was stunned by the fiery annoyance the medic provoked in her—that he wasn’t working fast enough.
Knox adjusts his tactical vest and brings a hand to his earpiece. “DuPont and … Kenji entering through the lower level.”
Kenji reaches over and rubs his buzzed head. “So formal, brother. Slade’s proud.”
I roll my eyes. Then stride through the garage area and get in the elevator with Kenji to go down.
“I’m going straight to the bar, and if they make me drink out of those gold cups, someone is going to lose a hand.”
I nod, but swallow, distracted. Gold. All gold. Even they will be in gold tonight. She will be in gold. Does she have her vial?
Doesn’t matter. She’s been contracted, given her drug to use, and when the time comes, her loyalty will be called upon. Kenji’s right. I should try to get the girl Graves had last week. He’ll view it as a perverted form of flattery, but she needs a break.
When the elevator dings and we step off into the main club room, Kenji lets out a string of curses at all the gold and marches straight to the bar.
New imported gold leather stools line the length of it, and when Kenji notices, he kicks one over.
That earns him several death stares, yet no one, not even the guards, questions him.
I push my glasses up, scanning the sliver of open space between the marble stage and velvet curtain sweeping back and forth.
Sets of gold heels shuffle around behind the only red still in the room.
The microphone pops to life with a sharp crack and a shrill whine of feedback.
When it settles, the emcee’s voice cuts through, rattling off the rules.
A prickle of uneasy anticipation crawls up my neck. Beyond the crowd, my grandfather and Graves sit with a few members of the Eight in one of the reserved booths, watching. They both raise gold glasses in my direction.
I offer a tight-lipped nod as the curtains part. In seconds, my plan shatters. I’m drawn instantly to her. Thea.
She stands dazed in the lights next to the beaten girl from last week, as if she’s in pain. I scan her from head to toe, searching, but see nothing. Her skin is creamy and pale, more so than I remember.
Sun, I tell myself. She’s not getting enough sun.
Another girl’s number is called, and she steps forward, but all I know is that it’s not Thea’s. They’ve had her hair blown out—straighter—and I growl at the thought they changed it, changed her.
What’s wrong with me? Focus.
The girl I’m intent on bidding on looks sick, like she might throw up, and though I’m supposed to concentrate on her, my body leans forward, squinting at Thea. My muscles strain, and my lips part slightly as some sort of warring happens in her expression.
The tension pulls me in as I struggle to understand.
It happens so fast, too fast. The girl next to Thea wobbles, and Thea steps over to her, wrapping her arms around her. Out of the corner of my eye, two guards flood the stage, and the emcee stops whatever number he was at.
But then I see it—the subtle shift of her hand, the way her fingers dip beneath the curve of her lingerie. She pulls a small vial, the small vial Edmond gave to her, and tucks it into the other girl’s bra before pretending to feel her forehead and brush her hair away.
A guard reaches her and yanks her away, dragging her to the center stage.
Men murmur behind me as my blood boils.
“I want her.”
“I’ll make sure she remembers it.”
I clench my jaw and pocket my hands, curling into fists as they speak. What the hell is she doing? I’m going to have to purchase her now. The girl I’d planned to help has Thea’s GHB, and Thea has nothing.
She looks back toward the girl, and they exchange the most discreet nod. Hell.
Her eyes clash with mine, and I want to charge the stage and … and—
Damn it.
Her hands wring together, and I stare at her, my gaze dipping briefly to the inked dandelion decorating her shaking arms. She threw away her help for tonight. Foolish. But not selfish. Now I need to—
“Sold! Sold to Jake Bishop.”
Stunned, I backtrack, turning toward Jake Bishop, powerful CEO of Bishop Enterprises. He licks his lips.
Graves may be the worst, but Bishop falls in line not too far behind him. I missed the bid. I missed her. Let it go. She did it to herself, gave away her salvation. I did help her. It’s not my fault she made this choice.
She’s led offstage, and Bishop eagerly trots after the guards. He’ll waste no time in getting her home. He’s rough. Too rough.
The thought of someone else touching what’s—
I—
Something unholy burns in my chest. Something possessive.
As if wrath and fire are made sacred and aiming for Bishop.
Without time to strategize, I bid on the next girl, grateful it’s one we haven’t had out to the lake house before.
Texting Edmond, I instruct him to come escort number eight-twenty-six back to the house tonight.
It’s coming together—a plan. I fall back into a chair, panting as if I’d run four miles.
No one is looking at me, which is for the best. They’re all focused on bidding for Juliette, who is the only one staring at me. Her chin lifts high, and she boldly bats her eyelashes.
The need to leave assaults me. To move on. It doesn’t help my grandfather weaves through the crowded tables as Juliette dips her head and curls her lips into a seductive smile. Her teeth catch her bottom lip, holding my gaze. The men in the room erupt and throw out higher numbers due to it.
She’s equal parts sweet and dangerous—an invitation written in glances to play her game. It’s calculated each Market, her attempts to seduce me.
A masculine scream tears through the air, and both our heads snap toward it.
I whip around, finding Kenji holding a severed hand and leaning across the bar as if he has all the time in the world.
One elbow rests in a puddle of spilled whiskey, the other holding the freshly severed hand by the wrist. A blade glints in his other grip, his sleek Japanese knife—a gift from his brother.
Behind the counter, the bartender wails, crumpled into the mahogany and clutching what’s left of his arm. The emcee lets out a sigh, annoyed. “This night is devolving. Let’s take a ten-minute break.”
Other EV members give Kenji a wide berth, and the guards slowly approach, all the while Kenji doesn’t flinch. He tilts his head, eyes calm and bored. As Graves bursts through the sparse crowd leaving, Kenji tucks the severed hand into a gold chalice waiting beside him.
Leave it to Kenji to make a scene when I’m trying to sneak off. Prick.
His gaze meets mine as I thread through the gathering group, trying to see what the commotion is. He lifts the cup, hand and all, and toasts my departure with a smile.
I exit the room and don’t look back.