I squeeze his hand tight, cupping the side of his face when his eyes won’t meet mine, and I wait to speak until he does. “I didn’t know about this, or about Brennan, but I had an idea. I knew there was something inside you, and I have always wanted you, Levi. Whether it’s because of this or not, I just know I love you. I don’t ever want to be without you, okay?”
“Okay,” he answers, pulling me up to stand so he can wrap his arms around me. “Brennan, can you grab the—”
“I got it,” Brennan says, pushing up from the sleeping bag. I turn to watch him, his muscular back shifting as he grabs something out of the shadows behind another large stone. He returns to us with a duffel bag on his shoulder, dropping it onto the ground. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
It takes longer than I’d hoped to wash ourselves with the wipes and get dressed in the fresh clothes they packed, but it’s all worth it when they walk me back to the stone.
The three of us sit down on the clean side of it, with me between Levi and Brennan. I don’t bother hiding that I’m looking at the bodies, and Brennan laughs as he rubs my thigh. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“How?” I ask, and Levi wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his side.
“It’s what he’s good at. Just try not to stress about it, okay?”
“How long have you guys been…” killing people. I want to say it out loud, but I can’t. At least, not yet.
Levi kisses the side of my head. “Almost a decade now.”
“Shit, that makes me feel old. Are we really thirty already?” Brennan laughs, blowing out a breath as he looks up at the stars. “Seems like a lot less than that.”
“Just don’t think about it, baby. Tonight is your special night and we’ll take care of everything.” Levi touches my chin, stealing another kiss, and I lean into it, because I was right. I’ve never been safer than I am with him. Yeah, he’s dangerous, maybe more than I ever let myself believe, but I’m his, and he’s mine.
And I love him.
Everything else is just details, the little things that make up a person. Some people scrapbook, some people are serial killers, and some people fall in love with the darkness. We can’t help who we love, and a part of me thinks that it has to be destiny. Because looking at the bodies in the moonlight, I don’t feel sad, or upset, instead I just feel a little thrill buzzing inside my chest because he did this for me. He did all of this for me.
Levi brought my fantasies to life, and then trusted me enough to show me his darkness. The real him. What more could I ever want from a boyfriend?
He’s perfect.
A yawn cracks my jaw and I hear Levi chuckle against my ear. “We need to get you home so you can rest.”
“I’ll be fine. I just want a few more minutes of this.” I lean my head on his shoulder, and in a moment of bravery I reach over to take Brennan’s hand in mine. I can feel him tense at first, but then he relaxes into it, his body warming one side of me, while Levi warms the other.
No safer place in the world.
Levi takes my other hand in his, squeezing it as we all look up at the perfect night sky. Brennan’s thumb strokes over the back of my hand, soothing and gentle, and I feel Levi press a kiss to my hair just before he says what I’ve been waiting to hear all day.
“Happy birthday, Drew.”
THE END
About Jennifer
Jennifer Bene is a USA Today bestselling author of dangerously sexy and deviously dark romance. From BDSM, to Suspense, Dark Romance, and Thrillers—she writes it all. Always delivering a twisty, spine-tingling journey with the promise of a happily-ever-after.
Don't miss a release! Sign up for the newsletter to get new book alerts (and a free welcome book) at: http://jenniferbene.com/newsletter
You can find her online throughout social media with username @jbeneauthor and on her website: www.jenniferbene.com
Also by Jennifer Bene
The Thalia Series (Dark Romance)
Security Binds Her (Thalia Book 1)
Striking a Balance (Thalia Book 2)
Salvaged by Love (Thalia Book 3)
Tying the Knot (Thalia Book 4)
The Thalia Series: The Complete Collection
* * *
The Beth Series (Dark Romance)
Breaking Beth (Beth Book 1)
* * *
Fragile Ties Series (Dark Romance)
Destruction (Fragile Ties Book 1)
Inheritance (Fragile Ties Book 2)
Redemption (Fragile Ties Book 3)
* * *
Dangerous Games Series (Dark Mafia Romance)
Early Sins (A Dangerous Games Prequel)
Lethal Sin (Dangerous Games Book 1)
* * *
Standalone Dark Romance
Imperfect Monster
Corrupt Desires
The Rite
Deviant Attraction: A Dark and Dirty Collection
Reign of Ruin
Mesmer
Jasmine
Crazy Broken Love
* * *
Standalone BDSM Ménage Romance
The Invitation
Reunited
* * *
Standalone Suspense / Horror
Burned: An Inferno World Novella
* * *
Appearances in the Black Light Series (BDSM Romance)
Black Light: Exposed (Black Light Series Book 2)
Black Light: Valentine Roulette (Black Light Series Book 3)
Black Light: Roulette Redux (Black Light Series Book 7)
Black Light: Celebrity Roulette (Black Light Series Book 12)
Books Released As Cassandra Faye
Daughters of Eltera Series (Dark Fantasy Romance)
Fae (Daughters of Eltera Book 1)
Tara (Daughters of Eltera Book 2)
* * *
Anthologies
Bite Me: A Vampire Anthology
Champagne Dreams
Zoe Blake
CHAMPAGNE DREAMS
By Zoe Blake
Copyright © 2019 by Zoe Blake
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the
author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
Ten.
* * *
Adjusting my silver satin tie, I stared at my reflection with a critical eye.
In the artificial light of the bathroom, my blue contacts looked too bright, giving my eyes an odd aquamarine neon appearance. The contacts were cheap and lacked the real flecks and variances of a natural eye, but they were necessary.
It was all necessary.
I would just have to make an effort to stay in the shadows… as always.
Pinching the grosgrain slim peak lapel of my tuxedo, I shifted my fingers over the fabric. Rayon, not silk.
I couldn’t afford silk… not yet.
Straightening my shoulders, I snapped the jacket closed and buttoned it. Smoothing a hand over the wrinkles, I tried to forget it was a cheap Joseph Abboud rental tux and not something bespoke.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Happy New Year.”
No. That wasn’t good enough. My voice did not carry the necessary inflection.
“Happy New Year.”
Too false. The lines around my mouth were stiff.
I tried again. “Happy New Year.”
Better. This time I deliberately squinted my eyes to give the appearance of laugh lines… the illusion of warmth.
“Happy New Year.”
I’ve been watching people my whole life. What their faces looked like when they spoke. The gestures they made. How they interacted with one another. What emotions they showed and when. I’ve studied them as if they were a different species than myself. In many ways they were dissimilar to me. They were weak and easily manipulated. Bound by
society’s ridiculous rules and their own undisciplined emotions.
As much as I hated it, I learned quickly in life that, in order to get what I wanted, I had to play the game. I had to pretend to care… to laugh… to smile… to feel emotions.
“Happy New Year, my love,” I said with practiced ease. This time getting just the right lift to my mouth.
Close but not quite right. It needed to be perfect tonight. Convincing.
“Happy New Year, my love.” I dipped my head slightly and tilted it to the left, the way George Clooney does in just about every movie you see him in.
Not wanting to keep Dalton waiting any longer, I left the bathroom.
* * *
Nine.
* * *
Dalton’s penthouse overlooked Lake Michigan and was an open design. Typical of the modernist style, everything was about neutral colors, low lines and angles. The drab color palette was supposed to help highlight the expensive artwork on the wall. Too bad Dalton favored crayon drawings by Marie Laurencin and a few lesser appreciated scratchings by Picasso. Sometimes while we fucked, I liked to picture how I would redecorate it when I was in control. I could just picture myself at an art auction, raising my paddle to bid on a painting by Edvard Munch or Georges Braque.
I had to do something to keep the sex interesting.
Heading into the open kitchen, I picked up the bottle of Veuve Clicquot where it had been left by the housekeeper to chill in a sterling silver ice bucket and poured us two glasses. Lifting the crystal flutes, I turned toward the French glass doors which led to the massive wrap-around balcony.
As I walked, I smiled and mouthed one more time, “Happy New Year, my love.”
* * *
Eight.
* * *
“What the hell, Vincent? You took an age!” complained Dalton. “It’s practically midnight.”
His words were slightly slurred. Drunk already, I see.
With his short stature and watery green eyes from years of dissipation and drink, Dalton would not be anyone’s idea of a good catch. At least, he wouldn’t be if his family didn’t have an insane amount of money. Dalton was the much-maligned younger son of the famous Ranaut family. There wasn’t an area of industry the Ranaut family did not own at least some piece of: automobiles, technology, oil, gold shares.
They had money… and I wanted it… which means for all intents and purposes, I wanted Dalton.
It was that simple, at least for me.
“Sorry, love. The champagne wasn’t quite chilled yet,” I said with false warmth as I stretched out an arm with his glass.
Snatching the flute from my hand, he drained half its contents before turning his back on me to look over the harbor. His penthouse had the perfect view of Navy Pier where there would be fireworks to celebrate the New Year shortly.
We were spending New Years with only each other. I, of course, would have preferred to attend one of his friends’ lavish parties, but Dalton had gotten drunk a few nights ago and caused a scene, so now we were forced to lay low till the scandal died down.
Unfortunately, it had put him in a foul mood which stretched his already lacking personality rather thin. Still, I couldn’t let it derail my plan. Time was running short. I needed to lock him in without any more delay.
Tonight, Dalton was dressed in a satin dinner jacket. Its metallic pink leopard jacquard print would have been considered obscenely garish if it wasn’t a Tom Ford. That fucking jacket cost more than all my belongings combined.
“Dalton, let’s have a toast.”
* * *
Seven.
* * *
Dalton turned to face me. His glass already empty. I gave him mine.
“We’ve known each other for six months now, but I feel as though it has been forever,” I started. I had practiced this speech for weeks now. Wanting to get the nervous quiver to my voice just right. “You’re very special to me, Dalton. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Dalton started to laugh but belched instead as he took a step forward. Gripping the back of a wrought iron patio chair for support, he drained my glass of champagne before leaning over to snatch the bottle of Glenfiddich we’d been enjoying before switching to champagne. His small fat fingers knocked over the rocks glass as he reached for it. It rolled off the table and splintered into shards as it hit the concrete floor. He reached for my glass. Its contents more of a pale yellow from the melted ice cubes rather than the rich mahogany of a good Scotch. Flicking his wrist, he tossed the ice over the balcony railing and filled the glass with a generous portion.
After taking a sip, Dalton said, “Don’t do this, Vincent.”
“Do what?”
His hand gestured between the two of us. “This!”
Using my left thumb, I pressed against the lower knuckle of my right-hand middle finger till I heard a dull crack. The mixture of relief and pain grounded me. I cracked another knuckle before responding.
“I thought we were in love. I thought we were moving towards a future together.”
I was pleased my voice sounded calm, almost plaintive. I had researched Dalton Ranaut for months. Learning his habits, his likes, his dislikes. Spending money I didn’t have in an expensive coffee shop downtown in an effort to accidentally bump into him so I could start a conversation.
So, I could start my plan.
And now he was ruining it.
He was ruining everything.
I took a step towards him.
Like a simple-minded creature lacking in basic survival skills, Dalton failed to see the danger he was in.
* * *
Six.
* * *
He reached up to play with my tie in a pathetic pantomime of a flirtatious gesture. Unfortunately, he swayed a bit at the same time, causing him to crush the satin within his sweaty palm as he gripped it for balance. It tightened briefly around my throat. Again, I used the sting of pain to focus my intentions.
“I don’t want to fight. Let’s just forget all about this and have a fun night. The countdown has started,” he whined.
I reach up to dislodge his grasp on my tie. “Why would there be a fight?”
Dalton let out a dramatic sigh. His breath was a foul mixture of Scotch and garlic. “Jesus, Vincent. Are you going to make me say it?”
I stood there silently. From my observations, you usually learned more if you kept quiet and just observed.
With no response from me, Dalton swung back to the railing. The Scotch in his overfilled glass splashed onto the balcony floor. Over his shoulder, he mumbled, “This was just for laughs.”
“What?” I asked, unable to hear him clearly. The rumble from the crowd below had drifted up to us as an air of excitement rippled through them. The countdown and fireworks were about to begin.
Placing his now half-empty glass on the railing, Dalton turned back to me. “You’re a joke, Vincent. Alright? I said it. Are you happy? You think you are so smart with your references to music and art, but it’s all a joke. You think I don’t know you’re a fraud?”
Careful to avoid the shards of glass, I took a step toward him.
* * *
Five.
* * *
“Is this because I don’t have as much money as you? I thought what we had—”
“As much? As much? Seriously, Vincent? You don’t have any money. You think I don’t know that’s a rented tuxedo?” Dalton snorted. “This whole night you’ve been an arrogant jackass talking about the stock market and some stupid new museum exhibit you want to see in Paris and the whole time your balls are resting against fabric that has touched a thousand other ball sacs.”
* * *
Four.
* * *
He was judging me. This piece of useless shit of a man was judging me.
I took another step forward.
Heedless of the danger he was in, Dalton continued his drunken tirade. “I mean it was so obvious. Always meeting at my place. You never offering to pay. Alwa
ys coming up with excuses why you couldn’t meet me during the day. You probably have one of those nine to five jobs, don’t you?”
I felt pressure along my jaw and around my eyes from how hard I was clenching my teeth. Choking on the words my own self-discipline would not allow me to say, I watched as he leaned against the rail and continued the tirade which sealed his fate.
If he wasn’t going to marry me… if I wasn’t going to have more permanent access to his money.
Then he was no longer of any use to me.
* * *
Three.
* * *
“It’s not like we can’t keep this up. I mean you are a really good fuck. Totally worth the money,” sneered Dalton with a suggestive look at my dick.
I reached into the inner pocket of my tuxedo jacket and pulled out my phone. Selecting the number, I stared at Dalton as the phone on the other line began to ring.
Devious Resolutions Page 5
