Page 62 of Brutal Heir
Rory tilts her head, eyes locked on mine beneath that blazing fire mask. “See?” she murmurs. “Not so bad.”
My voice is rough when it escapes. “You’re dangerous, Red.” My hand lifts to her cheek, to sweep an errant lock behind her ear.
“So are you.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
And fuck, I want to kiss her.
I want to rip off this mask and kiss her like I’m drowning and she’s the only thing keeping me afloat. I lean in, just a fraction and time stands still. Her lips are only a heartbeat away, her breath mingling with my own. The heady taste of champagne lingers between us and damn it, I need to know whatshetastes like.
I inch closer, and her head tilts toward me. My breath hitches, her lips parting?—
“Boss!” a voice shouts from the edge of the floor.
My jaw tenses as we both freeze.
Vincent. Of course.
He looks sheepish, out of breath as he rushes over. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you need to see. Now.”
Rory steps back, and the loss of her heat is immediate, gutting.
I curse under my breath and nod once. “I’m coming.”
As I follow Vincent, I glance back.
She’s standing at the edge of the floor, unmoving, eyes still on me and completely unreadable.
Next time, I don’t care what happens, I need to know how Rory Delaney tastes.
I weave through the masked crowd, the look on Vincent’s face enough to erase all pleasant thoughts from that heated dance with my tiny tyrant. He’s leading me toward a more private bar in the back, the one teeming with the city’s most influential players.
There’s something in Vincent’s eyes, tense, unreadable. The kind of look that doesn’t come from a spilled drink or a celebrity tantrum. No, this is something darker. My pulse kicks up a notch.
Anxiety tightens my chest, but the approach of a familiar body instantly calms my nerves. I’m not even certain how I heard her through the chaos billowing around us. Rory’s intoxicating scent reaches my nose an instant before her shoulder bumps against mine.
“I thought you were staying on the dancefloor,” I murmur, my eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Nah, the only guy I wanted to dance with ditched me.” She shrugs, and I catch the hint of amusement in those bejeweled irises.
“What an asshole,” I mutter.
“Total arse.”
I can’t help the smile from curling my lips as she marches beside me, gorgeous as all hell with that fiery mask.
Vincent flicks the latch beneath the bar and the marble top opens just far enough so we can slip through beneath it. Dozens of patrons wave cash at the bartenders, shouting their orders. It’s just as crazy and chaotic as I remember it. Some of my favorite moments at the Vault were spending the night working behind the main bar, concocting custom cocktails.
But all the fond memories quickly dissipate as Vincent cracks open the door. The scent hits first, sharp, coppery. Blood. Not just a drop either. He doesn’t move from his spot blocking the door. Doesn’t even speak. He just looks at me with that same haunted expression and nods once.
I already know this isn’t just about theft anymore. This is much worse.
Vincent’s dark eyes chase to Rory as if he hadn’t noticed her until now. “You sure you want her coming in, boss?” He remains in front of the small gap in the doorway of the storage room, nothing but darkness beyond his broad shoulders. “It’s not pretty,” he mutters.
Shit. What the hell is he hiding back there?
“Stay out here.” I tick my head at Rory, and her pretty pink lips screw into a pout.
