The Queen by Skye Warren

Author:Skye Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
Publisher: Skye Warren
Published: 2017-09-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

The beat starts up at nine p.m., which seems early. I don’t know how invitations are handled for wild sex parties—an X-rated vellum strip with calligraphy? A secret Facebook group for the rich and depraved? However it happens, people spill out of cabs and black limos, dressed in sparkly clothes and shiny leather that will no doubt come off soon. Last night the street had been clear; tonight the Den is the host of the town.

There’s a sick feeling in my stomach, because this party is pointed.

It’s a message as real as the slip of paper with a number scribbled on it. One that says Damon Scott answers to no one, not even his father. Especially not his father.

It says he isn’t going to help Avery, as plain as day.

Not an especially hard cipher, this one. A sex-drenched fuck you.

Hiro leans against the banister in the darkened hallway, watching the crowd mill around. I join her, leaning my elbows on carved wood. Most people still have their clothes on. They’re dancing, drinking. Laughing. It’s hard to imagine feeling that kind of reckless joy. It’s too foreign to even want it, like watching a flock of birds fly overhead. They’re beautiful, but I know better than to fly.

“I’m afraid to ask,” I say softly. “Are you here to keep me in the room?”

“My instructions are to keep anyone else out.”

“So if I go downstairs…”

“I would follow you. At a discreet distance, of course.”

I look down at her clothes, the same black shirt and blazer, the same utilitarian jeans and black boots. She will fit into this crowd of glitz and glamour about as well me.

My Smith College T-shirt and black yoga pants are variations of what I packed in my suitcase. There aren’t any party dresses or slinky skirts.

Walking downstairs feels a little like being Cinderella, except without the fairy godmother. I’m showing up in rags and chimney soot. Bare feet instead of a golden-white carriage.

People stop their conversation when they see me. They stop laughing.

Which is ironic, because I probably look pretty funny.

When I reach the ground floor, there’s actually a little crowd formed, waiting for me. They show no intention of moving, openly gawking, blocking my path. Until Hiro steps behind me. Whatever expression she wears on her face, it makes everyone take a step back. Then another.

That’s how I plow a path between people, to where Damon’s makeshift throne was the first night. Sure enough he’s holding court there again, reclined in a large leather armchair while women and men dance around him. No matter that they’re beautiful. Damon looks almost bored.

Until he sees me at the other end of the room. Then his expression turns anticipatory. That’s never a good thing when you’re dealing with a man like him. Nothing he looks forward to will be good for me.

If I’m a broke-down version of Cinderella, Damon is a very dark prince.

“Come here,” he says with a crook of his finger.

Of course I was coming to see him anyway.

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