assessing each other. She smiles at me and there’s a flirty edge to it, something just a little too friendly. “The Galvan was a great choice, it fits the lines of your body perfectly.”
Illi smothers a cough next to me but I ignore him. “I know better than to attempt a Ferragamo nightmare at a gala like this. Missoni is a good choice, a little safe for my tastes.”
Every other woman I have interacted with tonight would have been pissed at that comment but the flirty smirk just widens on her face. “You must be Avery Beaumont. I’ve heard so much about you. How bold of you to bring the Butcher of the Bay so far from home but I suppose you’ve leashed him appropriately. Who knew he could look so good in a suit?”
It’s only through a lifetime of practice that neither Illi or I react. Although we haven’t tried to hide who he really is, we weren’t expecting someone to call Illi out like this and to call that stunning suit of his a leash?
Who the fuck is this bitch?
I let my eyes fall back on Blaise’s idiot father as I sip my drink. “What a shame, I’ve heard nothing about you.”
The woman’s head tilts like she’s being coy and I suddenly feel like I have no idea what is happening here. Is she actually flirting with me? Is this an act? Has she taken a hit to the head and thinks it’s funny to play with people who will murder her without second thought?
“Welcome to the bigger pond, Floss. Take care not to be eaten alive.”
What the hell?
Illi and I watch as she sashays away from us, the target painted very clearly on her back from the both of us because I might not know a thing about the woman right now, but I’m going to know everything about her the moment I leave this gala.
“Is there someone you can call about her? Fuck I think she wants in you, Queenie. I’m not sure whether that was a sex thing or a blood thing but either way you’re on her radar.”
I shrug and lie through my teeth, mostly to comfort myself. “She’s probably just some bored socialite with a Fed for a husband. Or a high-profile drug lord selling cocaine in back rooms at these sorts of events.”
Illi huffs and shakes his head. “Fucking rich people.”
I smirk at him and we both stand there and watch as the woman works her way around the room. Every person she approaches greets her enthusiastically but every action is laced with fear.
Who the hell is she?
Illi progressively drinks his whiskey’s, one after another and I’m expecting him to actually get drunk but when I mention that to him he rolls his eyes at me. Apparently, he’s like Harley and has a ridiculous tolerance. I slowly sip at the champagne and just people watch, soaking in every last interaction around me until I have a running list to work with.
I don’t see Atticus arrive. I don’t even realize he’s here until he sneaks up behind us from the other end of the ballroom.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he murmurs in my ear, and I sip at the champagne in my hand as though it doesn’t affect me at all.
Illi huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, still as fierce as ever in his suit. I glance over at him but he’s shaking his head.
“And what exactly have I done now? Am I not allowed to speak to people anymore?”
Atticus steps forward and takes the glass out of my hand, setting it down on the table behind us. I glare at him but he ignores it.
“Amanda Donnelley is not someone you own. She’s someone you court to get information from. You pay her, you owe her favors, you kill people at her request so she’ll open her books to you.”
I purposefully keep my eyes away from the smiling banshee of a woman, grinning and giggling as she drapes herself over Blaine Morrison. For that alone, I want to rip her throat out but the words out of Atticus’ mouth just make it worse.
“Is this your way of telling me you’ve been whoring yourself out to her to build your empire? I’m sorry to tell you that I’m not going to play that game. I don’t kneel for anyone.”
Illi murmurs praises under his breath but Atticus’ eyes narrow at him. “You belong to the Wolf. So does your little psychotic