by Amelia Wilde
It’s the smile that scares me most of all. Because that, I know now, is a show. “Come, sweetheart.”
We make our way through the ballroom. There are three couples left, each of them absorbed, and they pay no attention to us. It can’t be that bad if people are still sitting here.
Right?
He must be taking me to his office. That would make the most sense, and it’s the most likely place for his people to be waiting for him. I’m about to suggest that he call them when we cross into the lobby. The lights have been dimmed here, too, but they always are. Alicia said once that it’s a way to transition people to the outside when they leave for the night. It relaxes the guests, she said. The more relaxed they are when they step outside, the less likely they are to cause trouble.
I let my shoulders down, too.
Zeus stops walking.
I’m about to open my mouth when he curses and pushes me behind him, his hand on my wrist now. Like a lifeline. He takes three quick breaths and turns, looking down at me. But he’s not seeing me. His face is a mask of horror. Terror bolts across my chest. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him mean. I’ve never seen him horrified. It is heartbreaking. “Zeus.” I touch his cheeks, his chin.
But he’s gone. He’s gone. Hollowed out. “We have to go.” He walks straight into me, catching me on the way and moving me.
“Wait. No. What—” I have to know, so I push to his side, get to an open space so I can see what did this to him.
I regret it immediately.
What he saw, and what I don’t want to see, what I wish I wasn’t seeing, is a figure sprawled on one of the sofas at the side of the lobby.
It’s Reya.
She’s dead.
And then, in this awful dim light, I see the man who checks people in at the door. No longer standing. Slumped over the counter, one hand hanging limp off the front edge. Dead. Dead. Which one of them do I help? Which which which?
It’s Reya, that’s who I go for, she helped me, she was kind. I know things. First aid things. Things everyone learns in school. I push her hair back from her face and ignore her wide, staring eyes. “Pulse,” I tell myself. You should check for a pulse if you find someone unconscious. Her arm has a strange weight to it when I lift it to put my fingertips at her wrist. No pulse, but maybe— I lean over and put my ear to her mouth. No breath.
Dead.
But.
You can’t just leave a person to die, right? CPR. I can’t remember how it goes but I try, I press down on her chest, I do it hard. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work, and then there are large hands pulling me back. Strong hands. “We should take her—take her somewhere,” I say. “Call an ambulance.”
“This isn’t over,” Zeus says in my ear, and then he turns my head back to the eerie emptiness of the lobby. Fear grips me, pummels me. Whoever did this could still be here. Hunting us. “We need to find James.” He reaches for his phone. If James doesn’t pick up, we might not find him. There’s not time for us to go through the whole building. Can we get to his bedroom? That has to be the safest place. The phone rings. I’m close enough to hear it. “James,” says Zeus.
The connection is not good. Static, and then James: “—toward the back.” As soon as the word registers we’re both moving. Through the ballroom. Move. Don’t think about the painful beat of your heart. Don’t think about the frozen goose bumps. Keep moving. The call disconnects on the way to the lounge. Zeus pushes me back into the room and comes in after me. Slams the door.
“Fuck,” he says, and dials again. Is there a door in here? There was a closet I didn’t know about, and a bathroom. There’s the chair we were just sitting in. It waits by the fire, a relic of a time when things were all right. Goose bumps sprint along my arms and my legs. This is so wrong. How could this have happened when there were so many people here for the evening, so many hired guns, so much money?
“It could be nothing,” I say out loud. “It could be an odd coincidence.”
The window terrifies me as much as Zeus’s blank eyes do, but I go toward it anyway. It’s so dark out that all I can see is my own reflection. My chest seizes as I press my forehead to the glass, seizes because if my father is out there—
If he’s looking back at me—
He’s not. There’s nothing there. Nothing I can see. I let out a heavy breath and take one step back.
I’m in the middle of turning around to ask Zeus to save me, to save us, when everything explodes.
It starts with a bright flash that turns orange, rippling across the ceiling. I close my eyes against the sound and I’m too late to block it from my ears. I might be screaming. Can’t tell. The high-pitched ringing intensifies and I breathe in the sound. No—that’s my own breath. It’s so loud. Wheezing. Something falls from the ceiling and hits me on the shoulder. A huge chunk of plaster. I wrestle my eyes open and thank god, thank god, Zeus is still standing, his arms crossed over his head, phone in his hand.
Of course. Nothing could possibly destroy him. Nothing in the world except Reya, except Katie. What will we do about Reya? We should stay here. With her. We can’t leave her. I try to point this out but when I open my mouth no words come out. My tongue doesn’t work.
And there’s a pain in my back.
A distant, faraway pain. Not like being spanked, or belted, or fucked. But it does exist. And it’s hot. Heat runs down with it. Or is that water? I look up toward the ceiling to find the leaking pipe. Instead I find the sky.
That’s not right. The whorehouse is very tall. And it doesn’t have holes in it. Unless— There could be skylights. People like to see the sky.
I tilt my head back down—my neck hurts—and Zeus is right in front of me. My body startles, jumps. “I didn’t hear you,” I tell him. “You look good.”
He does. He looks so handsome and easy and calm. Such a perfect smile. A king smile. A god smile. He holds his hands up so I can see his palms and then he puts them on my shoulders and turns me, slow and steady.
Zeus runs one hand over my back. I feel him stop. Why stop? Just keep touching me.
He keeps one hand on my shoulder but the other one is back in view.
Covered in blood.
Zeus turns my face to his. I pay special attention to his lips. So hard to hear. “What happened?” I ask. I’m so tired. It’s been a long life.
His phone lights up and he presses it to his ear, and then he bends down and he is gentle when he takes me in his arms. So gentle, as if I am a priceless broken doll. “I’m expensive,” I try to tell him. A joke. But I can’t quite remember the shapes of the words.
All I can do is look at him.
He keeps looking down at me as he carries me out, through the shredded remnants of the hall with its new holes in the ceiling, through the ballroom which is turned upside down. The lobby ceiling is intact, at least parts of it.
It’s getting harder to see, but I stay focused.
I’m not going to miss this.
Dark creeps in at the edges, and beyond it I can see his face.
I can imagine what he sounds like, but all I get is the shapes of the words on his lips. I get one hand up so I can trace them with my fingertips as he speaks.
It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re all right. I love you. I love you. Please stay with me.
Thank you so much for reading SWEETER THAN SIN! Brigit’s life hangs by a thread. Zeus’s heart and home are ruined. Read the heart-wrenching conclusion to their epic forbidden romance in DARKER THAN NIGHT!
One-click DARKER THAN NIGHT today!
Need another forbidden romance right this instant? Find out what happens when Dayton, a veteran with a wounded heart, gets a second chance with Summer, his best friend’s little sister!
Download BEFORE SHE WAS MINE, free everywhere!
Connect with Amelia
Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. Sh
e spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
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P.S. There’s more where that came from!
Are you in the mood for wounded warrior heroes with huge hearts? Read BEFORE SHE WAS MINE, free everywhere!
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Copyright Information
© 2020 Amelia Wilde
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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For more books by Amelia Wilde, visit her online at www.awilderomance.com
