Page 79 of Dealing Dirty
I forget the sensation of breathing as I silently beg her brilliant brown eyes to find mine.
One glittering heel slides out from her skirt as she steps forward, and I’m seconds from excusing myself from Victoria when my heart stutters to a complete halt.
Jackie’s booted feet take one step, then another, until he’s fully in view. His charcoal-gray three-piece suit gives him a devilish flair—one that I’m eager to snuff out.
He beams down at Juliana, unaware that I’m watching him hold the woman of my dreams in the crook of his arm. Her answering smile nearly drops me to my knees. The grasp on my glass is so tight, I’m shocked it hasn’t shattered.
This can’t be.
They stride into the crowd, joyful and carefree. Jackie—the fucking snake—charms his groupies as Juliana’s red lips form a puppet’s smile.
At some point, I’ve moved away from the craps table, forgetting my manners with Victoria and moving closer to the bustling crowd.
It’d be too easy to cross this room unnoticed and get close enough to break the asshole’s neck—but remembering what brought me here tonight is enough to keep me from making another mistake.
I refuse to lose her again.
Juliana shifts just enough to catch me gaze at her in wonder.
Yes!The shout clings to my dry throat.
I’ve always thought her incredible, even in those adorable purple footie pajamas with her glasses she’s self-conscious about. But tonight, she’s nothing short of magnificent.
“Come on, Juliana. Give me a sign that you’re still with me,” I mumble.
Those soulful eyes lock onto mine, and what lies in their depths outright destroys me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Juliana
Jackie straightens his suit pants with a shake of his leg and adjusts his onyx-colored mask. We stand together in a large sitting room that’s bursting with decades of history. The large oak bookshelves hold the very life of Mackville between their worn, crumbling pages.
It’s somehow both amazing and nauseating.
This isn’t a fairy tale, and Jackie isn’t my prince. Everything in the deceptively beautiful room is property of Diablo. What a sick joke: me being paraded about as his flavor of the week while Hazel is God knows where, terrified and alone.
“Don’t you think this is a bit overkill?” I trace the deep opening of my bodice. Dazzling rhinestones spray outward from the exaggerated neckline, giving the simple satin a flirty flair.
My love for this gown feels like a perversion. But man, I look good in red.
“Come now, it suits you,” he purrs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were one of us.”
Slipping my leg out from the high cut on the left, I inspect my silver heels. Tonight, I’m given some sick and twisted version of the royal treatment, but the aching pit in my stomach prevents any excitement.
“I trusted you,” I say to the floor, too afraid to meet his gaze. Too afraid to see an enemy when I want to see a friend.
The man I met at Marquee’s wanted to help me, not cause more harm. Yet here we stand, shackled to each other like I’m his prized doll.
Our encounter with Bruce last night left me with shaking hands. Jackie quickly exited the room, refusing to acknowledge what happened even when I’d called after him, leaving me feeling more confused than when Hazel and I arrived. I’d stared at the door for hours, waiting for someone else to come knocking, but they never did.
I owe him for that.
This morning, I woke up ready to open a can of whoop ass. Gone were my trembling lips and tears as I welcomed a new sense of badassery. I’d stretched, practiced a few punches, and worked out any residual stiffness from the Rhyomin Ethan had slipped into my drink. But it wasn’t Jackie who greeted me on the other side of the door hours ago.
A woman had come to collect me.
She whisked me upstairs and began primping and prepping me for the evening. If her soured face said anything, she didn’t appreciate my onslaught of questions about this evening or what Bruce had planned.
