Harriet jerked forward in her seat, fists clenching.
“Ladies? How are you getting along?” Francesca popped into existence between us.
I tried to look vaguely pissed off.
Her smirk widened. “Basilia, come with me. I’ll show you to your outfits.”
Ugh, here we go.
Francesca led me to a rack directly behind the stage curtain, and my heart dropped out my ass.
“Lingerie,” I said dully.
Bitch!
She peeked down and grimaced. “I hope you shaved.”
Only because the act kept me sane. “Don’t you worry about that. I expected to be dressed in monstrosities.”
Anger sparked in her gaze. “I don’t design monstrosities.”
No, she didn’t. I looked up her label as soon as Gerome dropped me in this thing.
I had expected her to make an exception for me.
“Which end do I start at?” There were five outfits—a bustier, negligee, camisole, and frilly panty set, a strappy number I couldn’t make head or tail of, and a normal bra set.
“Bustier,” she said, pointing to the back. “Change behind that curtain. You’ll have three minutes between walks.”
No kidding, there were at least twenty women and ten men in here.
I took the hanger and disappeared behind the curtain, joining another five women. Stripping off, I pulled on the G-banger first and forced my boobs into the bustier. Jesus, I was going to slip serious nip in this getup. Best not bounce too much.
An assistant came in and arranged my outfit, tugging up the thong, and yanking the garters into place before shoving me into blue-steel heels to match the set.
I pulled a face at the closest woman, who grinned, buck naked.
Francesca placed me at the front of the queue.
“You’re such a shit,” I told her.
She didn’t respond. Smirking Francesca was no longer home. The vampire arranged my hair around my boobs that were nearly pushed up to my chin before pulling my bustier higher.
“My organs didn’t need to be where they were anyway,” I murmured.
She circled me, nodding. “Walk, pose, come back, grab the next outfit, change, and get in line. Your posture is excellent. Emphasise the bust on this one and the curve of your waist.”
She snatched my phone away, shoving it in her pocket.
Even over the deep murmur and bustle back here, my new and improved ears made it impossible to ignore the crowd on the other side of the curtain. Music had started and a sultry beat created the sensuous backboard for a breathy soft-jazz singer.
The assistant who’d dressed or maybe violated me gripped the curtain rope. Francesca stood just behind the woman, determination lining her face.
The assistant counted down softly. “Ten, nine, eight.”
The beat picked up, and the crowd hushed.
Fuck.
I was nervous.
What a time to decide that because Kyros was in the crowd. I needed to smash this out of the park. Usually, I didn’t give walking in heels a second thought. Now, I couldn’t remember how I managed walking on mini stilts. Should I put more swing in my hips? I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
“… five, four….”
“Think of Kyros,” Francesca snarled.
Ooh, good idea.
Drawing up that morning’s activities, I smiled as heat filled me, the current under my skin skyrocketing.
I blinked a few times as the curtain was drawn back and didn’t need Francesca’s hiss to start my walk.
The stage was straight and had no steps. Thank fuck. I kept my chin high while walking, clinging to the current moving just under my skin. What did I usually do with my arms when I walked? They felt so awkward right now.
Reaching the end, Francesca’s hissed words echoed in my ears. Cocking a hip, I drew a finger along the top of my breasts, following the top of the bustier. I pushed the same hand down my side accentuating my narrow waist, scanning the front row for Kyros.
Ew. Henry Gregorian was there—Harriet’s asshole dad.
His beady eyes drank me in.
Through our bond, I focused on Kyros’s rampant appreciation and slight anger as I sauntered back up the runway, passing a brunette woman in a sheer black leotard.
I passed the curtain and hurried to my rack, grabbing the white negligee.
The assistant came in and helped me out of the first outfit and into the next, grabbing handfuls of my boobs to position them.
More than I got this morning.
Not that Kyros had received anything since the fourth exchange except my sleep grope. I had blue nipples, but his balls must be shrivelled and fallen off at this point.
“White negligee,” Harriet sneered, changing into a siren-red number beside me. “How cute.”
She actually looked pretty good.
“Don’t steal that,” I said. “I hear you have a theft problem.”
Her face paled.
Thank you, Gina.
I rejoined the line, a bolt of adrenaline racing through me now I’d walked once. Harriet slipped in front of me just before I started my second run.
“Watch and learn.” Harriet sauntered out, swinging her hips for all she was worth.
If Shakira was right and hips didn’t lie, then Harriet Gregorian was a porn star.
“Go,” Francesca grunted, ushering me out.
Kyros would be in knots over this number. One, he loved white. Two, anything that made me look vaguely innocent—like my glasses—turned him on big time.
I gasped as his reaction hit me. Working to control my expression, I couldn’t help the rise and fall of my chest as my entire being vibrated with the tension between us.
Scanning the crowd, my eyes fell on the box at the very back, where a row of suspiciously large people loomed. I focused on the massive shadow to the right of the middle giant—who I assumed was King Julius.
The shadow shifted, and I smiled. Yep, that was Kyros.
Striking a pose, I disappeared behind the curtain soon after, repeating the chaotic process of throwing off one outfit to slip into another. Three minutes was not a long time when the worst-case scenario was getting shoved out onto stage half-dressed.
Next was the camisole and frilly panty set. I thought it was cute, but Kyros’s reaction during my walk told me he preferred the white negligee. Surprise, surprise.
I strutted past Harriet on the stage and beamed at her. Her glare could have curdled milk. Man, she really hated me. What a weird grudge to fixate on. I’d done nothing to her except humiliate her a few times before ignoring her—and be born into a richer family. Was there seriously nothing bigger in her life to focus on?
The strappy black number was next and pushed the boundaries of the three-minute change time. The assistant clipped the choker around my neck while I rolled on the second thigh-high. She fastened the hem into the garter belt and gave me a once-over.
“Don’t trip,” Harriet hissed as I hurried past.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. There’s no trash on the runway until you step on it,” I replied.
Fury twisted her face as I was dragged away.
Francesca adjusted the central strap that connected my choker to the middle of the bra. Strappy was the word for it. The bra was a criss-cross of satin. One band circled my waist. Panties under a garter belt, low denier thigh-highs, and black stilettos finished the look.
This time, the stilettos gave me no choice but to swing my hips.
I ignored the crowd, basking in Kyros’s roaring approval as I posed at the end, hooking a thumb under the waist strap and biting my lip.
Total hussy.
Ignoring Henry Gregorian, who was almost drooling, I swung my sexy butt back in for the final outfit.
This was kind of fun. Maybe Francesca was only 99 percent of a brat—I was willing to admit when I was wrong.
The last one was a half-cup royal-blue set with a thong.
�
�Um,” I said, glancing down. “I’m not sure half a cup is enough.”
The assistant eyed the precarious balance of my chest. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”
She checked the fastening—it was one of those bras that did up at the front.
I hurried to join the line when she was done.
Francesca checked Harriet over, shoving her through the curtain, and then glanced at my chest. Her brows shot up. “Careful now. Don’t breathe.”
Everything else fit perfectly. This was totally planned.
A few catcalls went up during Harriet’s walk, the flash of cameras flickering through the crack in the curtain.
“Go time,” Francesca said, drawing the drape back.
Carefully placing one white-heeled foot forward after the other, I did my best to glide down the stage without bouncing too much. Were my nipples showing because I was one sharp breath away from losing the battle.
Kyros liked this one too. A lot. Or maybe my nervousness turned him on too. Kind of made me want to buy a few things, but that was a definite line. Him watching me strut in lingerie via the medium of a catwalk, sure. I wasn’t doing the show for him. Buying lingerie for him was way too personal. Like I’d be claiming him as a mate in return.
You’ll drink his blood, but not wear nice panties.
When I’d come clean about everything, maybe then I’d consider wearing sexy things for him. If he still wanted anything to do with me.
Harriet posed, bending in half and sliding back up. My smile widened, and I felt Kyros’s answering amusement.
Clever man, don’t appreciate anyone else.
I searched for his shadow at the back again.
Oof!
Long legs tangled around mine and I went down like a sack of shit, Harriet Gregorian on top of me. The audience 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 his gaze.
I had one foot on the first step up to the box, when a champagne chute appeared in front of my face.
“Basi dear, I saw what happened,” Lady Treena said, rage etched on her face.
“Aunt Treena, I didn’t know you were coming.” I blinked. How did they hear about this?
She waved a hand. “Hold my champagne, darling.”
I obeyed, grabbing the chute, more than familiar with this game.
The older woman jabbed at her phone, tapping her foot as she waited. “Timothy. Answer faster next time. Henry Gregorian. What do we have on him?”
She listened, and I ducked down, tossing back her champagne as quickly as possible.
“I want him out. Entirely. Within the hour,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Lady Treena hung up and hiccupped, snatching her chute back. “More champagne.”
I pursed my lips. “You didn’t have to ruin him, Aunt Treena.”
“No one draws blood from my goddaughter without being crushed,” she said. “Perfect rack though, dear.”
Bending, I kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” For talking to me after what I said in the meeting.
She rested a hand on my shoulder.
“I want Henry Gregorian gone,” a thundering voice clapped overhead.
Sir Olythieu snarled into his phone, cane grip
ped tight. “When do I want him out? Yesterday, Hannah. Do I need to spell everything out for you?” He hung up.
“What are you doing?” Lady Treena demanded. “I already ruined the Gregorians.”
Sir Olythieu replied calmly. “Not if I get it done first.”
He searched my gaze, and I did the same right back.
Exhaling, he took my hands. “Are you okay, Basilia darling?”
I gripped his hands. “Yes, but if you two have already ruined them, I’d like to buy their estate. It’s opposite mine. I can build a bridge over the road and see what speed I can reach on my golf cart.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “A wonderful idea. Perhaps redecorate the house though, darling. Gaudy new-money opulence. You know the type.”
“That little cunt.”
“Dame Burke,” I greeted, turning.
“Have you two ruined the Gregorians yet?” she boomed. When they nodded, she reached into her purse, pulling out her phone. “Thought so. I’ll humiliate them.”
We watched her barrel away.
Phew. Harriet just well and truly fucked her family. I was just going to ruin Henry for a few years, not for life.
“Champagne,” Lady Treena bellowed. “Bartley, help me find a filler upper. Poor people have no idea.”
Sir Olythieu presented his arm. I wasn’t fooled for a single second.
They knew the vampires were here today. They probably knew they were in the box right behind us.
My oldies just drew a line in the sand while showing me everything between us was okay. That made me feel so much stronger.
I ran up the steps, straight into Kyros’s waiting arms.
His quiet growl slipped between us as he stroked my hair, then held me at arm’s length. “I saw.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, she’s been after me for a while.”
He peered after my oldies. “It appears she’s been dealt with.”
His family was all here, aside from Francesca, but they sat watching our exchange in silence.
“Never fuck with old money,” I quipped. “They’re about as ruthless as they come.”
Kyros’s gaze was fixed on my knees.
“Tommy’s finding a first-aid kit. I’ll go sort this out.”
“I can handle it,” he said, nostrils flaring.
I shoved him gently. “I know.” He couldn’t. “I’d like to find her.”
Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers Book 3) Page 14
