“Thank you,” I say, hoping he knows it was for his conversation and not just the drinks. Art is flying off the walls at this point. There’s a whole station devoted to wrapping artwork that’s been sold. I edge my way to the outskirts of a group of men and smile as I extend the tray. A couple of men take a glass, but their eyes linger on my body, my face, my neck, and my exposed chest. I expected this kind of attention. Jesse might have dolled me up to blend in with mixed company, but it’s obvious he wanted me to stand out. I smile wide and keep my distance. Someone grabs my elbow and I spin to face them…Matteo. The John Callie canceled for me. The one I feared.
“What the fuck, Destiny,” he hisses, as his gaze, like fire, rakes my body. “We’re getting out of here.”
He jerks my arm again and this time, despite my best effort, the beautiful shining flutes crash to the cement floor. My heart pounds as I stare at the mess, knowing I ruined everything. This was my chance and it’s in shards sliding across the floor. Matteo tugs on me again and I lose my balance on the heels and fall, my palms and knees catch me, but not at a cost. Blood mixes with the champagne and glass, and my stomach lurches from the embarrassment.
Instantly, Jesse is there, helping me up. Oh, god, I wish he’d let me just leave, and put me out of this misery. Everyone is staring, and you could hear a pin drop as they wait for whatever altercation is sure to come. I’ve ruined his art show. “Who are you?” Jesse says to Matteo, but his gaze is assessing all the spots of blood that are coming from my body. Matteo laughs, and I hate the way it sounds. I hate the way he looks. I hate what he represents. My past. The bad parts of me I didn’t have any control over. “I’m going to ask you one more time, who the fuck are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Matteo slings back. Jesse hears the accent. I can see the recognition in his eye instantly. “Whatdoesmatter is you have something right here that belongs to me.” He leans to the left to peer at me, cowering behind Jesse. “Sheis mine.” I’d like to insert that he’s not referring to me as a person, no, he just means my time for him when he wants it is his. That’s what he’s possessive of. As a person, I have a hold over no one.
Now Jesse laughs, except this time the caustic sound scents the air with danger. “She’s not,” he returns—words deadly cold and filled with intention.
“Oh, she’s yours then?” Matteo narrows his eyes in confusion, trying to discern the dynamic between us.Good luck, buddy. I don’t even know what the hell is going on. I do know I want Matteo gone. Gone for good.
Jesse turns his furious gaze back to me. “Are you his? Answer the man.” His voice is a low, growly rasp. I’m sure he’s trying to mute the situation.
“No,” I say, because for the first time in my life, I’m more scared of something other than the man in front of me. More than the fear, he’ll drag me back to Dirt Downs and force me die there in a lowly life. I’m scared of losing the opportunity I’ve been given. “I belong to myself,” I whisper.
Jesse’s mouth pulls up at one side and he bites his bottom lip. “Right.”
He turns back to the stinking motherfucker in front of us. Matteo is filthy, like he always is. His clothes need to be washed and he needs a shower. Things he usually gets from me, at my room. His anger makes sense. “You heard. Leave. Don’t come back. If I see you again,”Jesse starts, but pauses when Riley parts the crowd and strides toward us. He glances at me cradling my bleeding hands, at Jesse, and then Matteo. What I thought was sunshine and warmth turn into deathly fire.
“I’ll finish. IfIsee you again, you’re dead where you stand,” Riley speaks, and Matteo hears it, oh does he hear it. Terror washes over his features as he takes in Riley’s threat. Rage flicks across Riley’s bewitching hazel eyes and I don’t think I’ve ever been this entranced. So much so, I’ve forgotten we have a large audience. “Which piece of art did you come here to buy?” Riley asks.
Matteo looks for me, but I’m hidden behind the man in an expensive suit. Riley extends his hand to me, and oh, my god, does he expect me to get blood all over him? He raises one brow, waiting. I take his hand, and my warm blood slides over his hand and down his wrist, soaking the white cuffs peeking from beneath his suit jacket. I’ve never been more mortified. Not when I failed out of school, or when my grandma kicked me out, or when I woke in a hospital after being drugged. “Which piece of art do you wish for? Which one shall this man purchase for you?”
A lump lodges in my throat and a sheen of sweat breaks across my face. I’m hot, and I never have this much attention. I choke on words when I open my mouth to speak, and instead point. To the jumble fuck of words, I saw the day I cleaned the apartment. “That one,” I say, making damn sure I don’t meet Matteo’s gaze.
“Wrap it up,” Riley booms. Two men in suits and white gloves remove it from the wall quickly. “You.” He nods his chin at Matteo. “Go pay.”
I must be in an alternate universe, one in which a man like Matteo doesn’t hold power because Matteo does as he’s told. Jesse trails him out to the hallway, and neither of the men turn before exiting the apartment. “Where is Jesse taking him?” I whisper.
“Come,” Riley growls, pulling me toward the back where the bedrooms are as the silence breaks and conversation begins. A few staff members are cleaning the mess—glass mixed with my blood. I toss an apologetic glance before Riley unlocks Jesse’s room, and leads me to the black room, and into the bathroom. My blood splatters in droplets over the white flooring and it shames me.
“Take off the shoes,” he commands, and I obey because this man is in control, and no one questions it. The shoes are filled with blood from my bleeding knees. He grabs a white towel and wets it in the sink, moving with the comfortable ease of a confident man. So confident he bossed around a gang lord with little effort. Unease settles in when I compare my first impression of Riley to what happened out there.
“I can clean up myself, Mr. Astor. I’m so sorry for making a scene. Thank you.”
He raises one brow as he looks up at me from the stooped position on the floor by my feet. “I’m not Mr. Astor, tonight, that’s Jesse.”
I nod, confused. “Thank you, though. I’m sorry I ruined the art show. I know how important this night is for Jesse…and you.” I add the last two words because of what the waiter told me. Adapt or die, I remind myself. Use what I know to survive.
“Why are you apologizing for what that motherfucker thug did to you? Don’t do that. Never apologize for the faults of others. It weakens apologies when you need them to mean something.” He wipes and presses the cool cloth against the opposite knee and I wince.
Riley peers up, concerned. I bite down as hard as I can. I can’t react. “I really can do this myself.”
“It’s our fault for letting him in to begin with. I will take care of this.” He bandages both knees, using antiseptic ointment and the utmost care before moving on to my palms. I sit on the counter because it’s closer to the sink as Riley works to get out a sliver of glass. Jesse barrels into the bathroom, his suit and hair disheveled, gaze like a laser aimed where Riley is touching my hand.
“Does it need stitches?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“I’m sorry Jesse,” I blurt out. “I messed up. This is all my fault.”
“It’s not,” Jesse says. “I promised you wouldn’t be in danger, and you’re covered in blood. This isn’t your fault.”
Riley clears his throat. I focus on his face and lose my breath. The golden flecks in his eyes seem to glitter with desire and his free hand slips onto the top of my thigh. “Stop. Apologizing.” He squeezes once and I exhale noisily, forgetting silly things like oxygen are required for life.
I nod, but I’m transfixed by his aura, the way his feather touch makes me feel wanted, but his eyes tell me it’s something deeper thanwant. “I’m sorry,” I reply, dazed.
He smirks. “Her left knee does need stitches. You’re the perfectionist with a needle. I’ll leave you to mend, and I’ll entertain our guests,” Riley says. His hand lingers on my skin, and it makes me feel electrified. Riley backs away, appraising me. “For what it’s worth. I get it now.” He strides out, a fucking polished, mysterious villain posing as a hero. I see it—I understand why he appeals to everyone. I watch his back until he disappears.