Smoke rolls from the doorway, and soft music plays in the background. Groups of people are gathered in different areas of the venue. A DJ sways awkwardly to the light tune, smoke machines stationed around his booth.
The mood is already dull. I’m used to Lion’s Halloween parties—half-naked bodies dancing and music vibrating through you, dancing on the bar, and people just having fun. This feels like fucking death.
I shouldn’t be surprised. A mafia boss’ party versus the goddamn FBI’s. If I were to compare this scene, it would be something out of a typical high school movie, prom, or some shit ordinary people do.
Orange and black balloons are littered all over the floor and in random areas on the walls and doorways. A punch bowl and snack area sit in a corner, hidden by a group of older men. Judging by their pursed lips and sour faces, I’m confident that the punch bowl isn’t spiked. So, I continue to wander through the “party,” looking for Collins.
A familiar deep voice booms from a few feet ahead of me.
Liam Brenner.
From behind, I can see he’s wearing ripped slacks and a Victorian brown vest, fake blood splattered along the linen, and his hair more tousled than I’ve seen before. And in front of him is exactly who I am looking for.
Bastian Collins put little effort into his costume. He’s dressed in a light grey baseball uniform. His unmovable slicked-back hair is in its usual style, not a hair out of place.
I make a beeline to Collins until I catch wind of what Brenner is talking about. I stand behind him, listening to his little rant about me.
“Trust me, Bass. Eventually, the only time you’ll want to hear her voice is when she’s screaming your name.” Brenner snorts.
Collins’s eyes shift to mine as I stay behind Brenner, amused. Taking two steps closer to him, I lift up on my tiptoes.
“Liam!” I scream in his ear.
I cackle when he jumps and whirls around to face me.
Brushing past him, I take my place next to Collins, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, then face Brenner and his usual smug expression. I say smug, but his eyes show more than he’s willing to in his body language.
He isn’t impressed with my sudden PDA, even if it was minuscule. Collins shifts on his feet, uncomfortable beside me as Brenner and I stare each other down. He’s trying to put a wedge between Collins and me, and he needs to know I’ve caught onto him.
We hold each other’s stare until Collins clears his throat. An arm snakes around my lower back, and Brenner’s eyes narrow in on it. The sudden loss of his intense icy gaze leaves me unsteady, and I am only briefly thankful for Collins’s hold on me to keep my balance.
Turning to Collins, I run the back of my hand down his cheek. He stiffens under my touch, surprised by my sudden contact.
“Be a doll, yeah?” I poke his nose and smile. “Get me a drink?”
Collins answers with a nod and walks away, nearly bumping into the people standing close to us. I turn to face Brenner again, and his eyes are naturally fixed on me. Always having Brenner’s attention on me feeds my ego, but it’s problematic to my cause. If I can’t shift his focus away from me, it will be a pain in my imaginary dick to find anything he has lying around.
“Mobster, huh?” Brenner scoffs. A mix of distaste and hunger flashes across his face—there one second and gone the next—before returning to his usual cocky attitude.
“Do you like it? I thought it’d be easy to get off later,” I purr.
Anger burns in his eyes at my taunt. He takes one step towards me, then stops. Taking matters into my own hands, I move closer to him.
“But you should know, Officer, I’m never on my back; I like to be in control.”
Slowly trailing my finger down the plane of his chest to his waistline.
“They always beg me to scream their names because I make them forget it.”
Brenner snatches my wrist when my hand closes in on the top of his pants. His gaze shifts from my eyes to my lips while he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. I giggle and step back, pleased I took control of the situation. Maybe I made the situation worse by toying with him, but I don’t give a single flying fuck right now.
Oren steps in and clears his throat. He releases my wrist and turns to the newcomer. Oren shoots me a look, telling me to behave, which Brenner misreads as interest.
“Collins’s girl, Ramos,” Brenner warns.
Oren, the bastard, couldn’t hide his amusement even if he wanted to. He glances at me once more before giving Brenner his full attention.
“Good for him. Can I talk to you?”