Page 54 of Five
For the umpteenth time, my eyes move toward the entrance as I take another sip of wine. The possibility of being dosed again, and at a charity ball, is none, so I’m enjoying the fermented grape juice thoroughly. Still, I cannot stop my mind from reliving, for a moment, that night.
“You’re the worst plus-one I’ve ever brought with me,” Uri breaths out. “Having one of your tantrums?”
I sniff, sending a glare his way. “I’m not throwing a wobbly. I’m not a child!”
“No, more like a murderous gremlin.”
This is penance.
“Are you planning my demise?” Doesn’t sound like he’s joking. I turn a sardonic gaze his way. He looks good in a slick black suit and black shirt. His dreads are styled in a half ponytail, and he swapped his ear and eyebrow studs with diamond ones;around his lower lip, he left its usual black hoop, emphasizing the natural peachiness of his mouth.
“I’m off work, so I can’t invest in anybody’s horrific assassination, Supermodel. But being mowed down in a hail of machine gun bullets would fit you.” Since he loves guns.
He nods in agreement while studying the high-society people milling about in the large ballroom in one of the most luxurious hotels in Chicago.
These Kravinsky people know how to organize a charity dinner.
Uri is an event slut. He loves to be the center of attention while at the same time browsing for a donor—his words. I have to say it is kind of fun to study ritzy people. The level of pretense is incredible. I’ve never heard so many fake laughs or seen this degree of lavishness.
The elaborate chandeliers illuminate the shiny silverware and expensive china on the round tables, but the elegant, fancy decorations don’t take anything away from the ladies strutting around like ostriches in priceless gowns.
I look down at my classic black dress with satisfaction. It has a hollowed-out back and reaches my thighs, showing my spectacular legs while wrapping my butt just right. The sexy, wine glass heels on my feet give me an extra inch—more or less—my curls are pulled back and tied in a bun, and the black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow are the final perfect touches.
“What time is it?” I ask Uri, glancing at the entrance doors one more time.
“Nine forty-five.”
A waitress in a white suit and cute bow tie stops in front of us with a tray filled with wine and whiskey glasses. I down the rest of mine and take a new one, thanking her. I need to get my hands on some of those hors d’oeuvres other waiters are offering around if I don’t want to end up rat-arsed.
The alcohol is already working on my mind, letting it loosely think about a certain boss who hasn’t arrived to the party yet. Gabriel Reed is never late…unless Medusa offered him a pleasurable alternative.
My black nails attempt to claw the glass I’m holding, and I see red clouding the edge of my vision. Ahhhhh! No! Who cares. I loathe him, right? And yet, it aches when I don’t see him.
“Fuck. Me.” The curse leaves my lips as I finally spot the man who has become the main character of my thoughts enter with Medusa wearing a slutty silver dress. They are talking cozily about something I’m too far to be able to hear, and I mentally will their conversation to end. But my mental power fails grandiosely.
“Not a chance,” Uri tells me in an indifferent tone. His hazel eyes are scanning an old man with a woman half his age draped over his arm.
“No, you prick! Your brother is here,” I let him know. I don’t look away, I can’t, until I’m in danger of being caught, then I give the perfect, swanky couple my back and finish my glass. A waiter passes by with what he calls caviar croutons, and I gulp three of them down, thinking about the Cup Noodles and Cheetos waiting for me inside my soon-to-be former kitchen cupboard.
Fish eggs are not too shabby.
Uri glances at me with a slightly puzzled look but hands me another glass.Thank his careless sociopathic attitude.
“So, what’s up with you and Sari?” I ask him, attempting like hell to forget about my irritation and my twitching cock.
“Nothing,” he replies with a flat tone.
“So, him not coming with you tonight and going on a date with that professor again is nothing?”
If the small orchestra on the stage and the chattering around us turned mute, I’d hear Uri’s teeth crack.
“He didn’t go out on a date, just had a coffee with a colleague.” His gaze is not lazily perusing anymore, but filled with homicidal intent. It's like I called “come out come out, sociopathic killer, wherever you are” when I mentioned Sari with another bloke.
Unaffected by his glare, I grab the lapel of his jacket and go on my tiptoes to ask him in a low voice, “He was never your brother, was he?”
His body turns into steel, his eyes flicker between mine while his arm wraps around my waist to keep me steady in this precarious position. His silence is a confirmation of what I already suspected. And it’s all I need to know…for now. I smooth his jacket front down and smile up at him. “I see.”
“What’s going on?” Gabe’s voice infiltrates between us and I turn my head to look at him. His smoky eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I get lost in them.
