27. Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Sara
The atmosphere on the yacht buzzes with chatter, predominantly from older single men. Here and there, a couple stands close together, sharing whispered secrets amidst the guests, while younger women mingle about.
It all seems opulent and flirtatious, a world where time seems to pause, wrapped in the night’s allure, but I can sniff out the fabricated high-end bullshit facade from miles away.
It isn’t the typical summer Saint-Tropez party where people sell their souls to feel something but this feels darker, morally off.
I wandered around looking for any sign of poker chips, cash ready to be gambled, or eager players, but found nothing.
Just a buffet of hors d'oeuvres and passing champagne flutes. I wasn’t expecting a picture frame of Joe with an "Employee of the Month" badge hanging on the wall, but some kind of sign would’ve been nice.
There were no locals either, making me wonder if Mimi had even sent me to the right boat. But she had. We had initially agreed I would use her invitation and her name, but she ended up adding my real name to the list anyway. Before I could argue, she said she had an emergency and left.
“Was that your boyfriend?” I hang up on Liam and get ready to stand, but a man’s British voice sounds from behind me, forcing to sit back down on the edge of the vibrant pink jacuzzi as the warm water laps against my legs.
When I turn around, the man behind me is a tall gentleman, blond hair, brown eyes, a very handsome smile, dressed in a beige suit and brown loafers.
He looks posh and, strangely, I recognize him from earlier in the evening when he was chatting with guests and briefly followed my movements while I dug my nose where it didn’t belong.
He locks eyes with me as he shakes another man’s hand, and the peculiarity of his gaze-and-handshake strikes me as impolite. More importantly, a wave of uneasiness washes over me, just as it has all evening.
“Not exactly…” I smile back.
“Sounds complicated.” He brushes his thumb over his half-smile in contemplation. “I’m Charles. We haven’t properly met.” He holds out his hand, and I twist my body to shake it.
“Nice to meet you, Charles. Is this your event?” I ask, trying to mask any off-putting curiosity that would lead me to figure out who or why the fuck Joe was involved in this.
Charles hovers over me and opens a black rectangular box, and I watch him carefully.
“Not my party per se, but I’m one of the hosts, and it’s a pleasure—” He pauses, waiting for me to reply, but I don’t know what to say, and the perplexed look on my face is enough.
“Your name? You still haven’t given me your name.” His eyes burn into me, but they lack kindness. Something cold flickers across his handsome face… This is how women get fooled.
“Oh, right, it’s Sara. I’m sorry I was distracted.”
Charles slowly smiles, and his panache doesn’t get lost on me.
“Sara, welcome aboard.”
“It’s… been lovely. Thank you for having me.” I swallow the lump that is stuck in my throat.
As much as Liam is an undisguised monster, this man is a wolf dressed as a lamb, and I don’t know which one is more lethal.
The thought of Liam makes my stomach drop.
A rush of undeniable storms rummaging through my body after last night, remembering his mouth claiming mine and how distraught I felt this morning at the idea that he could become someone in my life I’d fear losing.
I’d rather feel empty than realize he doesn’t want me the way I might grow to need him and he becomes another statistic leaving me behind.
Charles hypnotically brings me back to the present as he dangles a necklace with a Swarovski pendant of a playing card, quite pretty.
“May I?” he asks.
I nod, unable to find words, as he gestures for me to turn around. I pivot slowly, pulling my hair up.
The warmth of the jacuzzi suddenly feels distant as his fingers brush against the nape of my neck and the cool metal chain settles against my skin. I feel a peculiar tightness in my chest as he fastens the clasp. His fingers linger a moment longer than necessary, and dread crawls up my spine.
“Perfect,” he murmurs as he steps back, admiring the necklace at my neck.
“It’s pretty,” I say hesitantly, turning to face him again. “But I can’t accept this.”
He laughs. “It’s not a gift, Sara. It’s an invitation.” His fingers touch the pendant briefly, making it glint. “For the real event.”
“The real event?” I repeat, feeling the pendant’s metaphoric burden against my skin.
“The poker party you’ve been so curious about. Your name is on the list. Is it a mistake?” He cocks his head to the side, his look sending a sudden flip through my stomach.
“Right, yes, the poker game. A friend of mine was really into playing, and it made me want—”
“Tonight is merely an introduction. We prefer to know our guests before they join us at the table.” His eyes hold mine, searching. “We form… connections. Establish trust. It’s essential.” He lowers himself into a crouch to get eye level with me. “The question is, do you know how to play?”
I touch the pendant again, the thought of what I’ve stepped into, nagging at me.
“I do, but I’m not as good as I’d like to be.” I lie, and it feels like exposing a weakness.
Charles’s smile doesn’t waver, but something shifts in his eyes with a glint of something predatory.
“I’m quite confident you’ll learn.” His voice drops to a near whisper as he leans slightly closer.
“I’ve watched you tonight, Sara. The way you observe, the way you navigate conversations. You’re calculating odds without even realizing it. I recognize a fast learner when I see one.” The certainty in his voice unnerves me.
“And who’s your friend, you mentioned?” His fingers brush against the pendant at my throat.
“His name is—”
Before I can respond, a shadow falls over us, and the air around me shifts with new tension.
“There you are babe.” The deep voice sends an electric current down my spine.
I don’t need to turn to know who it belongs to, but I do anyway, my heart hammering in my ribs. Liam stands at the edge of the jacuzzi area. His face is a mask of composure, but I see the storm in his eyes and fixed on Charles with an intensity that makes me shiver.
He looks devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a fitted black button-down with the sleeves of his leather jacket rolled up, revealing intricate tattoos wrapping around his forearms, and a bullet vest? What the fuck.
Charles straightens slowly, taking a step back from me, and extends his hand toward Liam. It seems he’s not fearful, but he hesitates for a fraction of a second before completing the gesture.
“I’m Charles, nice to meet you…?”
Liam watches him intently but does not engage, something in his eyes flickering when the boat alarm blares and makes me jump.
“Will you excuse me,” Charles mutters and rushes off to see what is going on.
I watch him disappear into the crowd as the alarm continues. The sound pierces through the ambient music, creating tension among the guests, who remain elegantly unfazed. I reach down for my purse, slinging it over my shoulder while crew members in crisp uniforms appear on the deck.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a crew member announces. “We need everyone to make it off the boat. This is a precautionary measure and concludes our evening.”
People around me abandon their drinks and conversations with fake goodbyes and see‐you‐soon. I start to follow suit, my feet still damp from the jacuzzi, when Liam’s hand closes firmly around my wrist, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that roots me to the spot.
He is positively, undeniably furious with me.
“You’re not moving an inch.” His voice is low enough that only I can hear it over the alarm as he sits me back down on the edge of the jacuzzi.
“Wait, what’s happening? Why can’t I—” My words die on my lips as Liam’s expression darkens, his jaw set in a hard line.
“What’s happening, Sara?” he grinds out, his gaze shifting to something over my shoulder. “What’s happening is you decided to fuck with me again! In a world you know absolutely nothing about.”
I swallow, knowing I might’ve pushed the devil to notice me a little too much for one evening. Before I can process what he means, Liam reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun. The sight of the matte‐black weapon in his hand makes my blood run cold.
In one fluid motion, he steps around me, his arm extending toward an older gentleman who’s hurrying a young woman toward the exit.
“You,” Liam barks, his voice cold and strong. “Slow down.”
The man, gray at the temples and wearing an expensive suit, freezes. His fingers dig visibly into the young woman’s arm.
“Let her go.”
The young woman yanks her arm free, stumbling backward with wild eyes.
Her gaze meets mine for a second, terror mixed with desperate relief before she moves toward the exit.
I’ve observed the evening and haven’t seen the veil of fear some of these younger women now bear on their faces.
The deceiving acts run a lot deeper than I’m even aware of.
A man I immediately recognize from the sex club that was with Liam, materializes. A tall, green-eyed silver fox, still very much in his prime, leaps onto the deck from the dock. He takes his place beside her like a protective shadow, his hand hovering near her elbow without touching.
“I’ll escort her out,” he tells Liam, his voice gentle but firm.
The woman flinches when he speaks, but something in his demeanor must reassure her because she doesn’t pull away.
They step off the boat and disappear into the thinning crowd, her long brown hair swinging behind her like a curtain closing on whatever nightmare she’s escaped.
The older man’s face contorts with rage. “This is absurd. Do you have any idea who I am?”