Page 24 of Inside the Maelstrom: Part One
Hendrick walked in front, kissing the cheeks of the society girls who threw themselves in his direction, and the guys gave him tight hugs and hearty slaps on the back like they didn’t all try to trample over him to get to the top.
Fake. All this shit was as fake as the tits pressed against Hendrick’s arm right now, while their owner whispered in his ear. I shot a quick look at Aviva to judge her response, but she seemed fine. Maybe she really wasn’t interested in Hendrick, but I found it hard to believe.
Some women loved the asshole version of Hendrick, and they ate up his cruel words like candy. The ones who made it closer began to know the real Hendrick—who was funny and surprisingly empathetic—and those were the ones who really ended up broken. But those ones who really knew Hendrick, they knew to leave. Once you were sucked into his vortex, there was no escape. I should know.
Sampson made an impatient noise, and I looked over my shoulder to see him glaring at Hendrick. “Just take her somewhere to fuck her already! I need a drink,” he shouted over the music, and Hendrick looked over his shoulder and smiled.
I felt Aviva stiffen marginally under my hand, and I knew the reaction well. Hendrick’s smile was really something else. The best row of teeth money could buy, all the better to smile at his daddy’s constituents with. It was a weapon, that smile. He waggled his eyebrows, and I could hear Sampson huff over the music.
Stepping around us, he grabbed Aviva’s hand and dragged her through the crowd. I was kind of glad that she had her outfit paired with a pair of chunky boots rather than the sky-high heels most girls wore in the club, because the tug of Sampson’s hand would have sent her flying. As it was, I grabbed her other arm to steady her and then followed along behind Sampson as he plowed through the crowd.
We were ushered through to a table, and Sampson ordered bottle service from the server bustling past with a tray full of glasses. He sank onto the couch, dragging Aviva down beside him.
She scooted away from him a little, pushing down the skirt of her dress.
“You look great,” I told her, working hard to keep the lust from my voice. “I’m not sure if we told you that yet.”
She flushed, but couldn’t keep the pleased look from her face. “Thank you.”
Hendrick finally caught up, the chick with the bolt-on tits still clinging to his arm. “You guys remember Destinee, right?”
Nope, didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean much. “Hey, nice to see you.” I didn’t sayagain, because that would be a lie.
“You too, Otto,” she said in her high giggle. “Sampson, nice to see you again,” she purred, and I mentally rolled my eyes. Aviva’s lips twitched, so maybe I didn’t do it mentally. Whoops.
Sampson grunted. “This is Aviva. She lives with us now.”
Aviva’s mouth fell open, and not gonna lie, so did mine. The fuck was he playing at? He knew how that sounded, right?
“She’s your girlfriend? I thought you didn’t do girlfriends,” Destinee squeaked, her hand pressed to her chest like she’d received devastating news, even as she dissected Aviva to pieces with her incredulous gaze.
“I don’t do commitment, Destinee, except in rare and unique circumstances. Or with special people.” His tone insinuated Destinee would never be either of those things, and I had to agree. She was designed by fashion magazines, a product of the whims of people more creative—and far more clever—than she would ever be.
Destinee obviously didn’t understand tone though. “Ah, that's okay. No ring, no big thing.”
That didn’t even make sense. Aviva must have taken pity on the girl though, because she waved a hand. “Too right. Why have one when you can have three, am I right?” She fluttered her lashes at Hendrick, and he stared back at her with feigned insouciance.
The server appeared, dropping a bottle of Belvedere in an ice bucket in the center of the table. Glasses were placed on the table on a shiny silver tray engraved with the bar's name. “This one is on the house, Mr. Rubio. Compliments of management.”
Sampson gave her a tight smile, and she knew when to leave. That was what made a good server. The ability to appear when needed and disappear as soon as they were done. I hated that we dehumanised them like that, but they’d literally get fired otherwise. The owner wasn’t an idiot; this might be a two-hundred dollar bottle of vodka, but people would start flooding here once Hendrick and Sampson’s pictures hit the tabloids in the morning. If they were seen here enough, this place would become the new “It” place.
Pity that we were leaving for Europe tomorrow night.
I poured, lifting the bottle at Aviva. “Want some?”
She hesitated, but nodded. I’d looked up her meds, and knew that they shouldn’t react too badly with alcohol. I’d keep an eye on her though, because I knew sometimes they could mess you up. I was glad she’d trusted me with her med schedule. I didn’t want Hendrick and his impulsiveness to be the reason she fell back into something unhealthy.
There were several bottles of mixers on the table too, and I poured in a healthy splash of lemonade. I didn’t dare do that to Sampson’s though; I’d get a two-hour lecture about the process of making good vodka and the absolute sacrilege of mixing it with anything. Even now, his eye twitched, but he didn’t say anything as he grabbed his glass.
“This place is nice?” Aviva said over the noise, and I snorted.
“Is that a question?”
Someone laughed loudly at another table, and I recognized a young singer and her entourage. Plus all her security, which swarmed around her. Aviva followed my gaze, and while her eyes widened a little when she noticed the singer, she didn’t say anything.
She did take a giant gulp of her drink though, and leaned in close. The neck of her dress was hanging loose so I could see her cleavage, but I dragged my eyes back to her face. “Why don’t you guys have security?”
Sampson grumbled, and Hendrick laughed. “Otto knows Krav Maga.”
