Scorcher by S.E. Warren

Author:S.E. Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S.E. Warren

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHARLIE

When I arrived home from our little visit with Twilah four nights ago, I knew that getting tickets to the hall on my own wouldn’t be the easiest task. Seats at the hall were owned for a lifetime, passed down from family to family. A pass holder could sell tickets to shows they didn’t care to see, but those were in short supply. If I wanted to get into a show, I’d either have to be on stage, or I’d have to ask for help…

After applying a final coat of magic to my rosy cheeks, I stepped back from the mirror to examine my work. The dark ring of bruising around my neck was neatly covered under a thick layer of makeup. The midnight blue in my hair gleamed against the light, and I placed a single silver pin into the curl cupping my cheek. I’d asked Lazlo to help me attend the symphony, telling him that I’d be meeting an informant there with information on his father’s murder. He’d agreed, and the next morning the gown was waiting in my room. It was a stunning work of clean, geometric lines of gold over navy blue velvet that hugged my frame all the way to my calves. I sparkled like stars against the night. Even the proximity cuffs matched. Taking a deep breath, I turned away and headed for the door and a night on the arm of my captor.

When I stepped into the entrance hall, my stomach curled at the sight of the Cristiani brother leaning in the entrance to the opposite hall.

You’re a professional, Charlie. You are not afraid of the men who strike you down. You are not afraid of the fingers curled around your throat.

I suppressed my rapidly beating heart and kept walking. Dante didn’t scare me.

“Evening, Esther,” he said in a mockingly pleasant voice.

“Good evening.” Never let them see you tremble.

Dante pushed off the wall, and I swear I saw the floor shift. He took a step toward me, and I began running through a mental list of all the hidden blades on my person. I didn’t even have time to reach the end of the list before Lazlo appeared at his brother’s side. He slapped a hand on Dante’s shoulder.

“Excuse us,” he said sternly and slipped around his brother’s wide frame, placing himself between us. I’d never admit it, but at that moment, Lazlo’s presence meant the world to me. He wrapped a hand around mine, and I took it greedily, a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline. “Are you ready, Esther?”

“Ready.”

Lazlo slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, and we escaped together.

The ride uptown was quiet. In the backseat of the gleaming burgundy speeder, Lazlo let the facade fall. He let my hand slip from his, and I instinctively slipped to my side of the cab.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. Like always, his voice was like velvet, soft and gentle. “I should have been there when you arrived.”

“I’m fine, Lazlo. Dante’s not the first man in the world to think he’s got a right to me.

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