Page 27 of Bared Betrayal
“Gabriel, meet my fiancée, Kallie Sawyer.”
His gaze is primal and suggestive as his hand engulfs mine, blue irises staring through me. My skin erupts with chills from his touch, yet heat rolls through me and I can’t take my eyes from his.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kallie,” he says, his voice deep and velvety, sending shivers down my spine, and I’m momentarily stunned. He sounds like…His voice. It’s like I can hear him, the masked man at Myth. Oh, God. I’m losing my fucking mind.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. King,” I say, easing my hand from his. We stand like that for what feels like eons, his eyes seemingly drinking me in while I can’t shake the feeling that I know this man. I have a familiar flutter of awareness in my lower belly, and my knees have turned to Jell-O. Maybe it’s the similarities I see between him and Sebastian. Gabriel is just a more polished, sophisticated version of his son, anyway. That must be it.
“I think, at this point, you should call me Gabriel. Don’t you?” There’s an edge to his tone like it’s taunting me, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sebastian interrupts, pulling me closer. “My father was just leaving.”
“On second thought,” Gabriel grabs a glass of champagne then cuts his gaze to mine, “I think I’ll stick around a little longer. There’s someone here I need to talk to.”
“Like who?” Sebastian snaps.
Gabriel brings the edge of the glass to his lips, his eyes not leaving mine. “A mutual acquaintance, it seems.”
* * *
GABRIEL
Well,at least the kid never lacked anything growing up. Except for having his father in his life, of course. Sebastian’s mother and her family did not play fair, and the shit that went down back then really fucked things up. The best weapon in the Stones’ arsenal? ‘You’re not good enough to be a father.’ So, I kept my distance, obviously, but I also kept an eye on my boy the best I could.
Clearly, Sebastian doesn’t suffer from the ‘not good enough’ syndrome. He’s totally in his element among a crowd of hundreds, everyone wanting a piece of him while cameras flash in his face. He sure as fuck didn’t get that from me.
I’d rather get my balls turned inside out than participate in this fake society bullshit. This proves that parents would do anything for their child because here I am at some fake society bullshit party. AKA, my son’s engagement party.
Speaking of fake. I lift a brow at Elenor fucking Stone floating around like a wasp pretending to be a butterfly. Now, that’s an insect I’d love to squash in my palm and watch her wings shatter under my thumb. That woman has caused me more suffering than any other person alive—mainly because every other fucker who has wronged me is now either buried or burned to ash. But, unfortunately, Elenor is still breathing, and she has Sebastian to thank for that.
“Are you a friend of the bride or groom?”
I sip my bourbon and eye the little shit who stepped in front of me. Middle-aged. Sharp widow’s peak. Thick, framed glasses. A neatly pressed suit. A run-of-the mill guy. Except…he just seems wrong. He’s twitchy like he’s coming down from something. Of course, he is. He has to be high to think he can approach me like I’m the friendly and caring pastor of this shitty community.
“Father of the groom.” My tone echoes my lack of desire to continue this conversation.
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you. Stone never talks about his dad. I’m directing his debut film. It’s going to be a hit. Huge.” His eyes shift from left to right rapidly as he eyes the room. God knows what he’s looking for. Drugs? Another drink, which he clearly doesn’t need? What a fuckhead.
“I’m sure it will be a smash.” My sarcasm is lost on him.
“Huge. Blockbuster, man. Just need a little bigger budget. But you know how it goes. These studios always want to put a lid on the creativity.” He makes a sound between a cough and a laugh, and my fingers tighten around my glass. Fucking junkie. Director, my ass. The only thing he seems capable of directing is a drug deal.
“Excuse me,” I say, brushing past him, needing to get the fuck away from this asshole. I’m also making a mental note to question Sebastian on his decision for wanting to work with this douchebag.
I’ve only been here ten minutes, and I already know I’d rather be at a sex-offender convention because slitting their throats wouldn’t be considered bad social etiquette.
I finally glimpse my son, his petite fiancée’s back turned toward me. Sebastian is leaning close, smiling as he whispers something to her. But judging by her rigid shoulders, my money is on them having a slight disagreement.
Weaving through the groups of people, I call out to Sebastian as his fiancée walks in the other direction.
Sebastian looks my way, and I’m pretty sure he’s shooting daggers through my skull.
His relaxed demeanor turns hostile. “What the fuck?” he grits out.
“It’s nice to see you, too, son.” I’m married to sarcasm.
“I’m not your son.”
“Go take a good look in the mirror. You’re my spitting fucking image. Except for your eyes. They’re your mother’s.”
