Page 55 of The King of Hearts

“Hot damn, Tomas,” Emersyn says, running her eyes over his body. “You look absolutely fuckable.”

She’s not wrong. My best friend in a black tuxedo and black silk mask looks drool-worthy.

I laugh as he gives her a twinkling smirk. “And it hurts knowing it’ll never happen.”

She winks. “Never say never.” She grabs his hand and begins tugging him away. “Come on. I was saving my first dance for you.” She looks at me. “Grab a guy, Sav, and let’s get this party started.”

Tomas has no choice but to let her pull him to the dance floor. It’s amusing to watch her throw herself at Tomas, knowing that he would never touch her in any way sexually. She doesn’t have the right body parts to interest Tomas, and she knows it.

Instead of looking for a dance partner, I opt to watch the two of them. She smashes their bodies together and throws her arms around his shoulders. He loosely wraps his around her waist, and they begin to sway. I laugh when Tomas twirls Emersyn around and she purposely comes back in so close that her boobs are smashed against his chest. If given half the chance, I don’t doubt that Em would let Tomas fuck her, but she knows herchances are slim to none. The thing is, I can’t tell if her antics are genuine and she has real feelings for him. If that’s the case, I feel sorry for my best friend.

That sensation of being watched again slithers up my spine, and I glance around. Once again, I don’t find any eyes on me. My gaze comes to a stop on a group of men across the room. My brothers are there, and even from across the room, and despite the mask covering half of his face, I know one is Ryker. Bennett, another member of The Raven Group, stands beside him.

On an island full of people who know everyone well, the masks don’t really hide identities. It’s more the tradition of wearing them is why it’s still done each year.

There’s another man in the group. One I don’t recognize, and I wonder if it’s the new guy Dad said he’s bringing into The Raven Group. He has dark hair, nearly black, that’s cut close to the sides of his head and a bit longer on top. He’s about the same height as the other men around him. His shoulders are wide set, and going by the depth of his chest, he’s packed with muscles. His mask covers half of his face, and below it, his cheeks and chin are covered in a clean-cut beard.

My eyes move to the last man, and when our gazes clash, Braxton smiles. Without looking away, he holds his champagne glass up for Ryker to take. Once he’s free of the flute, he starts walking my way.

“Savina, you look stunning tonight,” he says once he’s in front of me. “Not that I expected anything less.”

“Thank you,” I reply. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

He runs a hand down the front of his suit jacket, and a dimple pops out on his right cheek when his smile widens.

“Would you care to dance?”

I hate dancing, but I don’t want to be rude, so I hold my hand out to him. “I’d love to.”

His hand engulfs mine and it’s warm and slightly callused. He leads me out to the dance floor, where he spins me around and pulls me forward into his arms. Our hands stay clasped together, and I set my other on his shoulder while his free one goes to my waist. I’m tugged close, but not enough to where our full bodies are pressed together. A slight hint of sandalwood hits my senses.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks once we’re swaying to the slow music.

“We just got here, so that’s yet to be determined. And you?”

“I always enjoy myself at these things.” He grins. “But then, I enjoy myself no matter where I am.”

I laugh. “I believe that. You always have a smile on your face anytime I see you.”

“I’ve learned working for The Raven Group that I need to take pleasure where I can. Otherwise, the shit that we do and the shit that we’ve seen will swallow you into a black hole.”

My smile fades some. He’s right. To work in this business, you have to have a certain outlook on life to be able to handle the stuff we deal with on a daily basis. Because if you don’t, itwillpull you under and hold you captive. PTSD doesn’t just affect those who experience heinous acts. It can also impact a person who witnesses them, or the loved ones of victims.

“I saw one of your art pieces in a gallery in the city last week,” Brax says, spinning us around.

I blink and look up at him. “You did?”

“Yes. It was of an apple tree in full bloom, but the apples were black and dripping black goo.”

“Ahh… yes. My tree of death. One of my favorite pieces.”

I painted that piece during a dark time in my life. It was a few years ago when the memories of what happened to me were still too fresh to control. I was in my studio for hours every day perfecting it. It started out as a way to try to release someof the anger that was inside me, but it ended up being quite therapeutic. Mom found the piece and wanted to hang it in the house, but she didn’t know the reason behind the painting. I kept my struggles with my ordeal from my family as much as I could, which is the complete opposite of what I encourage our clients to do. It hurts to talk about our experiences with violence, but in the end, sometimes it’s what saves us. I ended up donating the piece to one of the galleries in the city weeks after I finished it.

“I’ll admit, it was quite… morbid,” Brax says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yeah, well, when inspiration hits…” I trail off.

“Too true.”

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