Page 23 of Unleash Hades
“So, what’s the story here?” Bellamy pried, throwing his arm casually over the back of my chair and leaning towards me, as I leaned away.
Was he talking about Richard? Or the Underground Circuit at large?
I tried to keep my face neutral. I truly did. But I felt it… the curl of my lip. The edge and prickle on my skin. The goosebumps that I could not help.
“I’m not trying to steal your story, Calissandra.” His chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. Not the good kind. “Believe it or not, I’m looking out for you.”
Sometimes he sounded dreadfully like Richard. Cold, calculated. But with a hint of smarminess as if all the underhanded things he did was for one’s own benefit - like their self-interest was something in your favor.
It never was. It never would be.
“I’m merely curious, and…” he allowed the word to linger in the space between us, before concluding his dramatic delivery. “Offering to help.”
“Help?” I scoffed and dared direct eye contact. “In what universe would you ever try to help me?”
“Just because you and I compete for the Laurent Award doesn’t mean that we can’t be allies of a sort,” he said with a smile that would have disarmed a lesser person. But I had learned intwenty-five years of marriage that the brightest smiles had the ugliest hearts. “After all, we are colleagues, no?”
He adjusted in his seat, and I turned to him and looked - reallylookedat him - from his perfectly styled hair, to his clean jaw, down to the ascot and suit, to the almost feminine way he crossed his legs. But there was something else there - a thing that happened beneath the surface. It was like he was hiding a gravitas beneath a frilly exterior.
There was something disarming about him, and even I wanted to lean in to his spell.
The way he advertised that he was no threat was a threat in itself. Like a wolf in sheep’s gilded clothing.
“Think on it, Cali, if we joined forces we’d be a shoo-in for a Pulitzer and every other title there is,” he giggled, delighted by the thought. “We’d be unstoppable.”
He leaned into me, and I felt his finger playing at the edges of my hair.
“No.” My lip curled, and my nostrils flared like a wild animal faced with a rival. Belatedly, I added, “Thank you.”
I wouldn’t fall for the flash or the charm. I would not have the wool pulled over my eyes again.
“You wound me, Cali.” I cringed at that shortening of my name. Only one person was allowed to call me that, and it certainly wasn’t Lucien Bellamy, the Duc de Mouron.
“My name is Calissandra,” I gritted out. “But only my friends call me that. You may call meMs.Laurent-Davenport.”
I put extra emphasis on the Ms. and not Mrs.
“So formal!” He pretended to be shocked, tugging on his ascot.
I tried to concentrate on the new fight. There was a handsome Captain America-type called Harrison Guile, against a hairy-backed gorilla whose name escaped me. I secretly rooted for the gorilla, because there was something Richard-like in Guile as well.
I scanned the room again, looking for anyone who looked like they were conducting this circuit. Where was the ringleader? Who was in charge? But there was no one. Surely, they could be peppered for answers.
Someone had to be in charge. Someone had to pilot this ship. And whoever it was, they’d know a thing or two about Richard and his dealings. Hell, they were probably in on it.
“I’m just saying…” Bellamy had an irritating accent that made him sound like he was a person decades older than himself. Was he trying to sound like King Charles? If so… why? “I could be of great assistance to you. You clearly know nothing about all of… this.”
“Take the hint,” I said, bitterly. I wanted him to leave.
“I am,” he said, quietly. Gone was the flowery voice, and in its place was someone serious. His change in tone was so abruptthat it threw me off. “You don’t know what you’re stumbling into.”
The room erupted in applause as the fighters were pried apart, the loser on the floor, bleeding through a face that looked like mincemeat. The handsome Guile had won.
Pity.
The lifeless body was carried out of the octagon on a white stretcher. A marginally concerned coach followed behind, looking at his fighter with a disdain that made my heart shrivel.
There was no sympathy to be found in this lot. Just anger at a man who was pommeled for daring to get hurt.
