Page 94 of Pretty Little Threats

Shaking my head, I pick up the wine and take a big sip. Dare nods in approval. The pad of his finger traces a circle on my shoulder. And bit by bit, I relax.

Two glasses of wine later, I’m slightly buzzed and ready to dance, but Dare left to refill our drinks. Remy watches the crowd with a line between his eyebrows. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d rather be with Dare than left to babysit me.

His outfit isn’t so different from Dare’s, but where Dare wears his like a second skin, Remy wears it with a brutal sort of elegance. The top buttons of his shirt are undone.The seams around the shoulders strain against his bulk. It’s like someone stuffed Hulk into a tux two sizes too small.

“Why are you grinning at me like that?” he snaps.

I’d be grumpy too if I was forced to wear clothes fit for a toddler.

“You hate this, don’t you?”

Remy’s eyes drift to meet mine. “I don’t get paid to have an opinion,” he says, bored and wholly uninterested.

I tip my head. “But you do have one, don’t you?”

He presses his lips together, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He’s not going to talk to me. Too bad for him, with Dare gone, he’s the only other person I want to socialize with.

Grinning, I lean toward him. “Oh, come on, Remy. Tell me what you really think.”

“Fucking hell, woman. Do you hear yourself?” Remy shakes his head.

I bristle. “It was only a question.”

“No. It was a demand. Rich little brats like you think you can—” He cuts himself off, gaze flying to Dare, who is waiting at the bar.

Right. Stupid me. Of course, he wants nothing to do with me.

“Don’t stop now, Remy. Say it with your chest.” It won’t be anything I haven’t heard before. Maybe I was being a little demanding, but it’s not like I’ve been ordering him around.

Remy scowls at me. The man glaring at me now isn’t the carefully attentive bodyguard. It’s a more sinister part of himself, a darkness not so unlike the beast that lurks within Dare’s gaze from time to time. “Dare is family.”

“Funny. I don’t see the resemblance,” I tease, hoping to lighten the moment instead of ruining it.

“I know you think you’re cute, but I’m telling you right now, if you betray Dare, I’ll kill you myself.”

The words slice through me. I’m not his friend. He doesn’t like me. It’s fine. After weeks of being around him and seeing him nearly every day, I’ve started to like him. Though he’s always gruff, he’s kind in ways that matter, though that kindness never extends to me.

Looking away, I sigh. “Well. What would a party be without the threat of death?” I push out of my chair, and he starts to stand, but I snap, “Don’t bother,” and he drops back into his seat.

I slip through the crowd and find a powder room. A woman in a gorgeous black gown with black silk gloves stands at the mirror, refreshing her lipstick. Her honey blonde hair is swept back into a loose chignon. Something about her is familiar, but I can’t quite remember who she is.

She pauses and glances at me. “A man?”

She doesn’t know the half of it. “Isn’t it always?” I say with a sigh.

With a grin, she returns to her task, repainting her lips a deep burgundy red. “You look sexy as hell, so at least there’s that.”

Laughing, I join her at the mirror and fix a few errant strands of hair. “I love your dress.”

Her answering smile is soft. “Thanks. I’m Avery.”

“Rose.” I study her again. I swear I’ve seen her before. “Have we met?”

Avery moves with almost ethereal grace. A woman who’s never questioned her power or destiny. She’s probably never let anyone control her. “Did you make him regret it?” she asks, not answering my question, but I let it slide.

I chuckle. Remy is not someone I want to start a fight with. I’ll tease and poke, but self-preservation saysdon’t enrage him. “Not really.” I try to place her. Have we been at the same events? Though, it would be hard to forget her. “Really, have we met before?”

She hums and caps her lipstick, putting the tube in her clutch. “Maybe.” Avery struts toward the door, her aura magnetic. Almost like she was meant to be on a stage. She pauses, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Don’t forget your thorns, okay? Roses are more than a pretty flower.” She leaves, and all the light in the room chases after her.

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