Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #3) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,51

gasped, those sitting in the front seats shooting to their feet.

Nails clawed at my front, and then Harriet clambered off me.

As a woman with a bigger than usual chest, it was impossible not to feel the sudden freedom where the bra had cut in seconds ago.

Harriet smirked down at me, and I glanced at my chest.

The crowd gasped again, a horrified, excited murmur filling the tent.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Harriet whined, clutching either side of her face.

She wasn’t going to help me up?

I gave her the benefit of the doubt for a second that I’d walked into her, but we were nearly over the stage edge on my side.

Bitch.

Sometimes the only way out of the mess was to wade further in. Fixing a smile on my face, I got to my feet. Gripping her shoulders, I air-kissed both her cheeks. Her smile dropped faster than her father’s income would in the next hour.

Turning to the crowd, I held the two ends of my bra closed at the front. Until I reached the end, that is.

The crowd’s shocked roar as I shimmied out of the bra was quite possibly the pinnacle of my life to date. Giving everyone a good look, I pivoted to walk back…

… Only to witness a petite woman with chestnut hair spear-tackle Harriet off the catwalk.

“Tommy?” I wrenched to a halt as Harriet screamed.

Harriet’s shrieks punctuated the chaos I’d created by flashing the crowd. Tommy was laying into her like a fucking cage fighter.

But Harriet Gregorian was larger than her by far.

She shoved Tommy back, and my eyes narrowed to slits. Forcing back the urge to launch into the fight and kick Harriet’s ass myself, I instead turned to look at her father.

He was already on his feet, but he tore his eyes from the fight when he felt my cool gaze.

I will ruin you, asshole.

And I absolutely would. The Gregorians really were trash. Maybe it was time to take them out.

He rounded the catwalk.

“Harriet.” His voice unfurled like a whip.

She froze, her fist positioned above Tommy’s face. She was on her feet in a second. Blood trickled from a cut on her cheek and her nose.

“Daddy?”

Oh, brother.

“Stop disgracing yourself,” Mr Gregorian snapped, striding to her. He hunched slightly as though that would make everyone forget this scene.

“But, Daddy, you saw her.” She glared down at Tommy. “You better get ready to lose everything you fucking own, bitch.”

Tommy laughed, clutching her side as she got to her feet. “I don’t own anything. Have fun winning nothing.”

Harriet snarled, lunging forward.

“In the car,” her father shouted, grabbing her around the waist. “Now.”

He shot a nervous look my way, and I didn’t allow so much as a twitch to disturb the hard mask I’d put in place. If Tommy was hurt, his family could kiss the estates goodbye.

I walked to Tommy and reached down a hand to pull her onto the stage.

“Basi, your boobs are out,” she whispered.

“Do they look good?”

“You betcha, lovely.”

Happiness flooded through me. Looping an arm around her neck, I directed her back down the catwalk.

I had no idea why she was here. Or why she’d forgiven me fully enough to attack someone rich enough to bury her. I just knew that I’d never been more grateful for anything in my life.

We couldn’t talk about it with Vissimo about, but when we entered the backstage area, I spun her toward me.

Her chestnut eyes shimmered and she hugged me tight, not saying a word.

I rested my head atop hers. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

She kissed my cheek, squeezing my hand.

How was this possible?

Tommy pulled away first.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, peering at my knees. “The cow wasn’t even subtle about going for you. She pretended to trip, but everyone saw her clawing your chest.”

Four vertical nail marks marred the middle of my chest, where she’d ripped through the clasp.

“That’s gonna sting,” I grunted.

“I’ll find a first-aid kit,” she said, disappearing into the next room.

The assistant fetched me the shirt I’d worn while in make-up, and I watched as the remaining women navigated the catwalk. Francesca went out to make her bows to the audience, and I escaped the line of models waiting to do the final walk. Kyros’s temper was climbing. He needed to see I was okay.

Ignoring the blatant stares of the audience, I walked through their midst, beelining for the box at the back.

I locked eyes with Kyros halfway there.

His eyes were hooded. His fury evident without me needing to see the blazing green of