Page 29 of Inside the Wicked

“Something like that.”

He smiles like he’s caught me in a lie, and my skin flushes. His company is exhausting with the intensity of it. Rhett is masterful at reading people, but so is Silas. The only difference is, Silas finds great pleasure in playing with his findings in the moment and watching his prey squirm.

His gaze flicks to Kenna again, and it’s as if he switches to a different layer of the same personality each time. “Sweetheart, as glorious as those heels make your legs look, and as much as I look forward to the day I’ll fuck you with just them on, you must want to rest those feet. Sit,” he says.

It’s the most seriousness I’ve heard in his commands to her. Usually, he speaks them as flirtations he knows she’ll brush over her cold shoulder. This is his concern, and I have to admit, her resilience in those platform heels is impressive.

It earns sharp daggers from her. If it wasn’t for the implication she’ll sleep with him, I think she would have ignored him like she’s been doing all night. Then she does something I don’t expect. She smiles sweetly, and I’m chilled by it.

“You’re right. I am in need of a seat.”

I’m tense as I watch her walk across the space toward a second set of sofas. The man reclining on one has been watching us, and I think most, if not all, of the men here are the same as last time. I’m taken aback, stiffness turning to absolute stone, when she doesn’t hesitate to sink one knee into the mahogany Cheshire couch and sling her other leg over his lap.

I think the air could be cut with a knife, and I can’t even bring myself to see Silas’s reaction. I’m too dumbstruck by her boldness as she takes his face and kisses him. Her tight dress rises to the top of her hips.

It only lasts a beat—until his hands brace on her thighs. That’s the moment Silas stands and I’m drawn back to watch him. His expression is absolutely frightening. Livid. I’ve been waiting to see why people cower at the name “Balenheizer,” and Kenna has provoked front-row fucking seats.

His dark eyes don’t leave Kenna and the man. I can practically see,feel,the meter of unhinged calm climbing in Silas with each second. He wordlessly holds out his hand, which someone places a gun into. Another hands him a magazine, and he loads, pulls back the slide, and clicks off the safety, keeping his simmering sights on the duo. I only know they’ve pulled apart from the man’s protests, which turn more desperate and apologetic the closer he’s dragged this way.

I don’t know what to do. I sit there too stunned to intervene, and it’s not my place to anyway.

Silas takes another inhale of his cigarette before setting it down and accepting a silencer, which he screws on next. He doeseverything with his eyes glued to this man as his number-one enemy.

Holy shit, is he going to execute him for what Kenna did?

As he’s dragged over to the pool table and held down against it, I snap an incredulous look to Kenna. She merely stands with her arms crossed at the end of my couch, looking pissed off as hell.

“Everyone here remembers what I said the other night,” Silas practically sings.

“I-I didn’t, man. I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the man protests.

Honestly, neither do I.

“You haven’t touched me,” Kenna argues. “And you never will. This is stupid.”

His smile to her isn’t friendly. “I said when I touch you, I’ll send any wandering hands to your doorstep from then on. Until then, this will suffice as a warning.”

The man’s hand is forced to splay out over the pool table by the guy holding him down, face contorted against the deep green velvet. Silas aims the gun, but he drinks in Kenna’s heated stare as he pulls the trigger.

The man is prevented from crying out at the shot through his palm by a towel stuffed into his mouth before he’s dragged away again, down the stairs.

I think I’m watching a movie until my spectator adrenaline starts to wear down. I glance over the balcony, but no one is looking up. Perhaps they didn’t hear over the music that never stops, and if someone happened to catch a glimpse, I guess it’s confirmation this is normal occurrence here.

“Well, shit,” Silas says, examining the tear in the velvet and the fresh blood still soaking into it. “Now this needs replacing.”

Silas hands off his gun, runs a lazy hand through his hair, and picks up his cigarette. He takes a drag and then offers it to Kenna nonchalantly.

“You make it so easy to waste your men and money,” she says, dropping her arms and turning away.

“Keep testing me, little viper. It turns me on.”

She casts one last glare at him as she descends the stairs.

Silas watches her with hunger in his eyes, tracking her with a devilish smile before she dips out of view. Then he remembers I exist. He extends the cigarette to me instead, but I reach for my drink.

“Another martini would be better,” I say, still in a daze over that extreme reaction.

His eyes speak the order to someone through his cloud of smoke as he wanders over to the balcony. I join him, finding Kenna sitting alone at the bar.

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