Vice(67)

I stand at the foot of the stairs, observing everyone, watching, committing the face of each new person to memory. I’m shocked by how normal everyone looks. How young and attractive. And the women are just point blank confusing to me. They seem kind-natured and soft spoken. In some cases, they’re downright sweet and retiring. It makes no sense that they would come here all the way from another country (most of them are American or even European), knowing what kind of party this is. It makes my skin crawl.

The earpiece Fernando gave me when I came downstairs an hour ago has made me invisible. People take one look at me, see the coiled wire running from my ear down the back of my shirt, along with the small radio attached to my hip, and it’s as though I suddenly don’t exist. I’m a piece of the furniture, off limits and therefore of no interest. Great news for me. Harrison’s fuming that I’m included as a part of his staff this evening. He made it clear I should stay the f*ck away from him and just mind my own damned business when I asked him where he would like me, which is also good for me. If the guests aren’t paying attention to me, and Harrison wants me to steer clear of him and his men, then this should be a f*cking cakewalk. My plans should go off without a hitch, and boy are they spectacular f*cking plans.

First: I need to get my gun back from Harrison. I spent a long time stewing on this, and then I realized that I don’t really need to get my gun back from Harrison. I just need to procure a gun, it doesn’t matter who it belongs to, and I already have my sights set on a prize. Art, one of the guys who helped hold me down in my room the first night I arrived at the estate has been positioned by the kitchen door, making sure people don’t accidentally wander out of bounds into sections of the house they shouldn’t be in. I have a score to settle with the motherf*cker. I aim on making him hurt for the part he played in attacking me in my f*cking sleep like a coward.

Once I have his gun, I can then implement the second stage of my plan: creating a diversion. I’ve already figured out that part; it’s going to be too f*cking easy, not to mention ironic, and I can’t wait to see the look on Fernando’s face when shit begins to go sideways. It’s going to be goddamn perfect.

I haven’t told Natalia what’s going to happen. She needs to be just as surprised, if not a little panicked, just like everyone else. She knows to be ready, though, and she’s carrying her serrated knife with her, just in case anyone gives her any trouble.

Waiters walk around with trays, overloaded with glasses of wine and tiny vol-au-vents, and everyone seems to be getting a little buzzed. It’s not until almost eight when Fernando signals to one of the waiters, who then proceeds to sound a small, polished copper gong that sits on a tiny table by the foot of the stairs. A silence falls over the crowd, and they all look up expectantly, awaiting what comes next.

Limping slightly from the hammer blow Fernando dealt him the other night, Plato leads the group of men and women down the stairs, and a small sigh of anticipation runs through the crowd. Fernando’s Servicio are all dressed in white, from head to toe. The men wear pristine white suits, complete with white shirts and white ties, their hair either shaved close to their heads or slicked back with styling products. The women are all in white dresses or short white skirts, with revealing, low cut tops, their cleavages spilling over the tops of the material. Their makeup is immaculate, not a hair out of place. Strangely, they all look very calm. Flat, even. Their eyes are a little glassy as they follow each other down the stairs toward the awaiting crowd, and I get the sneaking suspicion that they’re all dosed and high as f*ck right now. Seems like something Fernando would do—have his workforce drugged to be compliant and docile.

I curl my hands into fists, growling under my breath. Next to me, a tall guy leans against the wall with a dark-haired woman on his arm, both of them scanning over the Servicio, whispering to each other when they see someone they like.

Him: “The woman with the wavy blonde hair. Her tits are amazing.”

Her: “Oh god, yes. Her lips are to die for. I can’t wait to see your cock in her mouth.”

Him: “Fuck. This is crazy. I’m already hard.”

Her: “What about her? The girl with the white ribbon around her neck? Her ass is incredible. Picture me between her legs, eating her *, baby. Would you like that?”

Him: (Groaning) “Shit. I want to see that right now. Give me your hand. You have to see what this is doing to me.”

The woman smiles seductively, holding out her hand. The guy takes it and casually places it over his cock, squeezing so she can feel how hard he is. I have to look away.

Her: Baby…What about the guy at the front? He’s very handsome, don’t you think? Would you like to watch him f*ck me? Would you like to be in my ass while he is f*cking my *?

Him: Is he the one you want, my love?

Of course, they’re talking about Plato. He’s almost a head taller than everyone else. And I’m a dude, but I’m not f*cking blind. I can see that he’s a handsome guy. Why else would Fernando have gone to the trouble of snatching him otherwise?

Plato’s gaze slips over me like he doesn’t even see me when he walks by. He’s holding hands with a slim dark-haired woman I haven’t seen before, and the two of them together, so perfectly manicured and turned out, look like Ken and Barbie dolls come to life.

“Welcome everyone!” A cry goes up from the other side of the foyer, and then Fernando is standing on a chair, tapping a fork against the side of his champagne glass. “Welcome, welcome. I am so glad you all could make it to this celebration at such short notice.”