Page 18 of The Colour of Revenge
Too fucking late.
I tighten my grip on the knife, twisting the handle between my fingers.
“You’ll die knowing it was all your fault.”
I lean in, close enough to watch when the fight drains from his body.
“And no one’s coming to save you.”
Nate
A sharp ring blasts through the otherwise quiet function room at the Emerald Hotel. Crap, that's my phone.
I fumble with it, cursing as I wrestle the phone from my pocket. I'm ready to silence it when I catch sight of the name flashing on the screen: Pink Princess.
We've been texting off and on the past week—flirty, playful exchanges that have me intrigued but mostly keep me amused. Harmless, at least on my end. Not so much for the men she's been doing her 'research' on.
But she's never called me before.
My mind races through the worst-case scenarios: Is she hurt? Did she finally pursue someone who fought back?
Then, as if on cue, my parents' sharp, disapproving glares pierce into me like a blade.The irony.
I'm at a charity dinner they dragged me to. Pretentious. Fake. They pretend it's about helping people, but we all know it's about status. I stand up, raising a hand to excuse myself, then slide into the empty hallway, pressing the phone to my ear.
"Nate?" Her voice filters through the receiver—sweet and melodic, dangerously tempting like a siren's call.
"Princess," I drawl, leaning against the wall, a secret smile tugging at my lips. "This is unexpected."
"Is it a bad time?"
"Never for you."
There’s a pause, long enough to make my chest tighten. Then she says, “I have a… situation,” her voice carrying an edge of hesitation.
The words hang between us for a moment, just enough time for the air around me to thicken. The playful amusement drains out of my system, replaced by a sharp, protective concern. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"No, no, nothing like that!" she rushes to reassure me, the words tumbling over themselves. "It's just… I tried cleaning up. After… well… you know. But it's not exactly going well. I need advice."
Relief floods me, though I can't stop laughing at her obvious panic. "Let me guess. Blood everywhere?"
"Everywhere," she mutters, exasperated. "It's like it seeped into the floor, it’s on the walls—I don't even know how it got on the ceiling."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, grinning despite myself. "Oh, Princess. You've got a lot to learn."
"That's why I'm calling you," she snaps, but I can hear the hint of embarrassment in her voice. "You're the expert, right?"
"Expert doesn't even begin to cover it." My voice turns smug, the confidence in it evident. "But cleaning up isn't just about removing the evidence—it's an art form. The trick is to think like the scene never existed."
"So… what do I do?" she asks, and damn it, the vulnerability in her voice does something to me—more than it should.
"Where are you?"
"Why?"
I push away from the wall, already moving to grab my jacket. The need to be there overrides everything else. "Because, Princess," I say with a grin she can't see but will feel, "this is one lesson you're going to need hands-on training for."
Outside, I shoot a quick text to Kai as I wait for the valet to appear with my car. Sure, I told her I'd handle this myself, but let's be honest—I don't clean up my messes anymore.
