eyes, but not really, and I noticed that’s the only type of smiles she offers to anyone.
“Did you know Hitler was a soldier in World War I?” She asks enthusiastically.
“Yeah.” I nod and go back to painting my toes. World War II trivia is her kink or something.
“Humph.” She sounds disappointed that I know. She always is.
I did well in history. It was one of my favourite subjects. I’m not someone who lets go of the past.
In a few seconds, Scarlett is standing beside me. “Do you want me to do your makeup?”
“I can do it myself, but thanks.”
She throws her weight on the bed and groans. “Why are you so boring, Zoe?”
Still perching on the stool, I twist my head to look at her. “I’m not boring. Maybe you are.”
She glares, but I don’t know why she appears like a child. “You think because you have a few friends, you’re not boring?”
“Well, at least I have them. I can’t say the same about you.”
I’m not supposed to antagonise Scarlett, but she’s an impossible information source, and wouldn’t talk about anything of value. No matter how strategically I try to broach the subject. Perhaps if I piss her off, she’d throw true, anger-filled words.
She stands and smirks, and it’s a horrible flashback from Shadow’s. That sadistic, amused energy hits me straight in the chest.
“Be careful of said friends, Zoe. They won’t hesitate to stab you in the back and watch you bleed.”
I pause and carefully screw the nail polish bottle shut. “What do you mean?”
“You will know.” She heads to the closet and turns on ‘Talk Tonight’ by Oasis. That’s Scarlett’s move to cut off any type of questioning.
Scarlett – no, Scar, because she likes being called that – only reveals whatever she wants and then retreats.
Her hide and seek game is starting to wear me out.
But she’s of high rank in Le Salon, even when she’s a lone wolf. The other girls automatically avoid her and she gets no discipline from Mist.
One thing for certain, the new leaders of this place, are more secretive than the previous owner.
Mist takes care of everything Le Salon related and turns scary whenever one of the girls is harassed. The phantom Ghost never appears. I noticed a few other men go into Mist’s office, but I doubt any of them is Ghost.
Shadow is distant, and the most confusing of all, but I have to get closer to him. One way or another. He needs to stop trying to sabotage President Joe from joining the mafia business here.
I’ve been thinking about ways to do it. The problem is that I can’t do anything unless I get to know him better.
What ticks him off. What makes him lenient. Things I can use to make him change his mind all without suspecting me.
The girls don’t know much about him, and those who seem like they do are distant. There’s some line I need to find in there. They’re clearly attracted to him but would rather not talk about him. What type of logic is that?
I’m not naïve. It’s loud and clear that Shadow is a dangerous, unpredictable man like his stormy eyes. My mission won’t be easy, but I'll do whatever it takes to accomplish my revenge.
Even if it means willingly approaching the monster everyone else is scared of.
After I dress in a low-cut green gown, I wear my nude pumps and head to Le Salon’s lounge area. It’s still early, so the place isn’t buzzing with customers yet.
A low, alternative rock song plays in the background, bathing the club in a serene halo. I find myself swaying when I distribute some of the drinks. I recall how Mum used to catch me in her arms and make us both dance. We used to laugh so hard and goof around.
And then she was gone.
The mere flashback of those memories causes my body to stop swaying. I turn around, and I’m captured by the greyest, overcast eyes. Shadow is watching from across the club, a smirk tugging on his sensual lips. Leaning back in a chair, he has an arm hooked behind him on the back of the seat and one arm on the table casually twirling a drink. He’s sitting with Lachlan and Julian – Mist’s right-hand man — but his undivided, dark attention is on me.
Unwanted heat creeps down my belly and up my cheeks.
He’s been doing this a lot lately: watching from afar like he has a claim on me or something. To my