Wilde Card: Immortal Vegas, Book 2 by Jenn Stark

Author:Jenn Stark [Stark, Jenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elewyn Publishing
Published: 2015-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Rich people don’t walk anywhere.

The limo that the Arcana Council sent to collect me was their standard sleek town car, but for a change, it wasn’t idling at a curb. Instead, I’d been instructed to take an elevator down to a parking level I didn’t know the Palazzo had.

The elevator doors swished open, and a young man in a tailored suit stood at the edge of the tiled entryway. “Miss Wilde,” he said deferentially.

I peered into the back of the car while he opened the door. No Kreios. I didn’t know if that made me feel more or less self-conscious. I half fell, half slid into the car, struggling not to flash the unflappable driver, who said nothing about my lack of coordination and merely shut the door with a decided thunk.

I straightened in the seat, shimmying down my dress. Which, of course, wasn’t much on shimmying.

Dragging in an experimental breath, I tried once again to decide whose choice this outfit was. The micro leather sheath that had been waiting for me in my room at the Palazzo was meant for a woman about six sizes smaller than I was, who’d apparently just had surgery to remove all her internal organs. It came down far enough on my thighs to render walking problematic, but not enough for anything remotely approaching propriety. If it had been any shorter, it would have passed as a halter top.

The dress had no back to speak of, and its neckline dropped from a severe choker collar to reveal a slender teardrop of skin from neck to cleavage, though I supposed I should be grateful the slit didn’t extend to my navel. Either way, with so little in the way of material, Spanx had been out of the question. Which was too bad, since I hadn’t had time to break a rib.

At least the boots made up for the dress. I stretched out my legs in the wide space and admired the knee-high stilettoed wonders, the leather as scrunchy as the dress above it was tight. I’d passed on the leather cuffs that had been helpfully sent along—again, not knowing if it was Kreios or Armaeus with a bondage fantasy, and not super interested in fanning that particular fire. But the secondary option, a string of stones that I hoped were crystals but had the weight and flash of diamonds, now glittered from one wrist. I felt like a star on Oscar night, only with half the clothes.

The driver angled the car through the subterranean garage, lights flashing against the walls, and I checked the palm-sized clutch the Council had sent along, complete with a handy phone. I was fresh out of burners, so it was just as well, but it’d been the other items in the purse that had intrigued me. An ID card issued to my real name, and a slender clip of fifties and twenties. For tips, I assumed.

The ID card bothered me, though it shouldn’t. Kreios was using his name, and surely some of the attendees at this little shin of diggery knew he was the Devil.

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