Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,62
Bloodbath, beaten and exsanguinated, clearly the work of vampires.
They hadn’t even attempted to hide the bodies.
Malcolm believed it was a message from Duchanes—retaliation for the police raid against his nightclub.
Dorian agreed, the news darkening his already oil-black mood.
Vampires attacking humans in Manhattan. Grays attacking upstate. Demons plotting against them all.
They were living in a powder keg, holding their collective breath to see which of the many matches would strike first.
It was time for Dorian to make his move.
After wishing his brother goodnight, he locked himself in his bedroom, ignoring the depressing sight of his empty bed, and called Cole.
Despite the late hour, the wolf answered on the first ring.
“What’re we in for, Red?” he asked.
“I need someone who can bullshit his way through a conversation about art. Someone who can pose as an eccentric but wealthy collector.”
“I’m listening.”
“Aiden and I can set up the meeting, but I can’t meet the dealer face-to-face. He’ll recognize me at once and immediately suspect foul play.”
“Who’s the dealer?”
“A high-ranking Rogozin demon by the name of Vincent Estas.”
Cole hissed into the phone. “Fucking demons.”
“My sentiments exactly. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might play the part?”
“Yeah, you know what?” he asked, and Dorian could already hear the grin in his voice. “I got the perfect guy in mind. Artsy, rugged, devastatingly handsome. A wolfish charm, some might say.”
“Yes, I’m sure they might.”
“When do we roll?”
“Soon—I’ll let you know. But Cole, you can’t wear flannel. You realize that, right?”
“Believe it or not, Red, I do own a suit.” Cole laughed. “It’s older ’n shit, but still fits like a glove. Powder blue too. Real nice.”
Dorian sighed. “Send me your measurements, wolf. I’m calling my tailor at once.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fuck. That. Guy.
By the time Charley and Sasha returned to the city the next morning, Charley was on fire with determination.
She had a new assignment. No, not one from her asshole boss. One she’d given herself. One she couldn’t wait to accomplish.
The credit card disaster may have thrown her for a hell of a loop, but Jersey girls were nothing if not resourceful. If Uncle Rudy thought she was going down that easily, he was in for a rude fucking awakening.
Hopefully in a coffin. Nailed shut. Encased in cement. Dropped in the ocean.
She felt it in her gut—the sea change coming her way, the vestiges of her old life drying up and falling away like the autumn leaves. It was time to bring the bastard down. Time to find her way out of the game. Time to start over.
And with the help of one very dark, impossibly sexy vampire, Charley was going to do just that.
But first? She needed to figure out this money situation.
And that meant hitting the pause button—better yet, the delete button—on the fantasy playing on repeat in her mind.
Dorian’s commanding tone, making her wet with every word.
That smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one day, Ms. D’Amico…
His hot kiss, descending on her flesh.
Is that what you want, little prowler?
His tongue, deep and relentless and divine.
Tell me what else you want from your monster, love…
Nope.
Delete, delete, delete.
Last night was a mistake. An epic, heat-of-the-moment, ought-to-be-illegal mistake that needed to make like her Miss Demeanor profile and go poof.
From that moment forward, Charley was officially on the VDD—Vampire Dick Detox. And by dick, she also meant mouth. And fingers. And…
Focus, girl. Focus.
Standing inside her Park Avenue penthouse, her head at least eighty percent back in the game, Charley took a deep breath, downed an espresso, and got to work.
All she needed was one idea. One game-changing idea that would save her suddenly broke ass and end her dependence on Rudy for good.
You’ve got this, girl. Come on.
It was true. Despite her monied existence, Charley knew how to tighten the purse strings. It was a hard lesson, but one she’d mastered quickly after her mother walked out, leaving Charley and her dad in the double-wide they’d rented, nothing to call their own but a few half-empty cupboards and a rusty 1990s Toyota Corolla with questionable brakes.
Somehow, with a bit of sacrifice and a whole lot of ingenuity, the D’Amico dad-and-daughter duo had made it work, finding creative ways to weather the storm until her father discovered his true calling as a criminal mastermind, finally launching them into wealth and status.
Illegitimate wealth and status, but a status that had kept her fed and comfortable for a long, long time.
Charley looked around the penthouse now, taking stock of her beautiful furniture, the pristine home accessories, the