Brenner nods and follows Oren to the other side of the large room, adjusting his body, so I’m within his line of sight. Oren quickly gets to work, pulling the other man into a deep discussion. Whatever Oren is on about, it has him completely engulfed.
Collins returns with my drink, handing it to me with an awkward smile.
“Was Liam bothering you?” Collins’s eyes dart to his friend, then back to me.
“He’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He nods and greedily takes me in. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I coo.
Collins plays twenty questions for the next hour and talks about himself and his less-than-fascinating qualities. The effort to seem utterly enthralled by his every word is exhausting, and I lose track of what he’s saying about fifteen minutes in.
I gave the man something to go on, and he hasn’t stopped talking himself up since. Leaving me to nod and smile like the perfect doting… whatever the fuck. My patience is slipping, and, with nothing happening at this bullshit party, I need a break.
Bastian Collins is shy by nature until you talk to Collins about Collins. I’m not sure if I’d rather stare at the floor while he awkwardly fidgets with his clothes in silence or listen to him have a conversation about himself with himself.
Either way, his voice is grating on my nerves.
“I need some air,” I cut in.
Collins’s brows furrow, wondering if he’s talked too much. Way too fucking much, the fucking tool. But, fortunately for him, I have a role to play.
“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks.
“Nope.” My voice is more eager than intended. “Refill our drinks, and I’ll be back shortly. It’s stuffy in here.”
Collins dips his chin in understanding, and I turn away. I wasn’t wrong when I said the punch bowl isn’t spiked. Alcohol might have made this situation a little more tolerable, but who am I kidding? I’m so far on the other side of how shit’s done in my world. It’s bizarre.
I think if Brenner were my intended target, I would’ve had more fun with this mission. Something sinister lives in him, and I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s not as straight an arrow as Bastian Collins.
Where I can see Collins living his life by the book, Brenner strikes me as a man who scoffs at rules and bends them to his benefit. And, if I’m right, that gives us a leg to stand on in case this mission goes to hell.
Outside the building, I take in the area. I’d noticed a balcony on the back end of the second story. The trick was to sneak up there to have a moment to myself and maybe steal some booze on the way.
Following some people working for the catering service, I’m able to hunt down some wine. It isn’t hard to find the balcony since I already have a pretty good idea of where it is. I have no problem avoiding the staff; my guess is everyone’s busy servicing the bureau’s party.
The balcony is connected to a ballroom, which I assume is used for black-tie events. There's enough space between the ballroom and the balcony to fit hundreds of people comfortably. There’s outside seating, and the view of the city is beautiful.
It’s a clear night, but the stars are lost to the city lights. On the other hand, the Omen Mansion is far enough away from the city we can enjoy the night sky.
The spot Lion and I adopted as our getaway gave us privacy from any prying eyes at the mansion and the perfect view of the sky. I’ve spent many nights since then counting the stars and getting lost in my own thoughts.
Using one of my hidden knives on the pilfered bottle, I pop the cork and toss back the wine. I’ve downed half the bottle in a matter of seconds when I feel his presence behind me.
I curse to myself for not noticing him tailing me. I should’ve known he’d see me heading out alone.
“Officer,” I acknowledge before taking another drink.
“Not enjoying the party?” His voice draws closer.
I turn to meet his towering height looming over me. He is leaving enough distance between us that we aren’t flush but, if I breathe in deep enough, my chest will brush my tits against him.
“I’m having a great time. I just needed some air,” I lie. “It was getting stuffy in there.”
Brenner chuckles, tracing a finger down my arm and plucking the wine bottle from my hand. He takes a swig and smiles.
“And there’s no alcohol,” he says, waving the near-empty bottle in front of my face.