Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(7)

“Fine,” he grumbles, shoving my hand away. “But I’m putting a bid on something for you. You’re not gonna make me look bad, too.”

I pause, my throat thick as I stare out into the crowd again. My heart thumps like a wild animal against my ribs, painful in its revolt, and my gaze flickers to the girl again.

This time, she is looking; no, that’s not quite the right word.

She’s watching. Pointedly turning away from the man at her side to stare me down across the room.

I can’t see the exact shade of her eyes, but I feel the weight of their acknowledgment.

It stabs at something in my chest, poking at the crazed organ inside, and I reach up to absently rub the spot, unable to tear myself from her sight.

“Her,” I say, tipping my chin. “Bid on her.”





3





I’m starting to remember why I don’t go out much.

The man at my side—supposedly a senior investor at some Wall Street firm he refuses to name—leans into me for the third time since sitting down, running his pudgy index finger along the rim of my empty champagne glass.

“It just isn’t right for a little lady as stunning as yourself to sit here alone all night,” he says in a low voice that I feel against my hair.

He’s been scooting toward me in tiny increments as if I can’t tell he’s just trying to get a better angle of my cleavage in this dress.

My discomfort grows tenfold, and I’m cursing myself for not putting up more of a fight when Aurora and Mellie gave me this dress. But I didn’t feel like arguing, and I’d already made them late having to apply my own makeup.

Mellie wanted to, but there was no way she’d be able to cover the scar on my cheek as well as I’ve learned to.

I offer the man a thin smile, well versed in the art of warding off creeps. That was my mother’s favorite brand, after all.

“Like I’ve said, I’m not alone. My friends are in the bathroom.”

His lips purse, and I lean back on my stool to do a quick sweep of the ballroom, wondering where the hell my “friends” have disappeared to. The second we arrived and got our tickets, Mellie and Aurora made themselves scarce.

Presumably, to mingle and look at auction items they might be able to afford, but part of me can’t help feeling purposefully abandoned.

I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve left the building entirely. Probably slipped out the same time Aiden James did, hoping to get close to him.

Warmth floods my cheeks at the memory of our gazes colliding just moments ago; I’m still not even sure if it was me he appraised from the stage across the room, but it felt nice to temporarily entertain that idea.

The distance between us made it easier to pretend. From his vantage point, there’s no way he’d have been able to see my scars, or the anxiety threading through my nerves.

That was the most exciting thing to happen all night.

At my side, the man inches even closer, his breath coasting over my jawline as he blatantly gapes at my chest.

My opposite hand creeps up my sternum, fingers grasping at my neckline, pulling the skintight material as far over my cleavage as it will go. This, Riley. This is what Boyd warned you about.

The man reeks, like stale booze and popcorn, and apprehension coils tight in my stomach, though I can’t pinpoint the exact cause.

It’s always this way when I’m around strangers, though—a numbing sensation of unease holding my insides with an iron-clad grip, refusing to let go or tell me why I feel this way.

Deep down, I know it has to do with the assault from two years ago. The fact that I can’t remember anything about it, though, is what tortures me the most.

But it wasn’t always like this.

Once upon a time, I was blissfully ignorant of how the world can break a person.

Now, awareness sits like a brick in the core of my being, alerting my body to danger. But the memories are hazy, frayed at the ends, and I can never latch on to them long enough for my brain to process fully.

I don’t know what I’m afraid of. Just that I am.

“They’ve been in the bathroom an awfully long time,” the man drawls, his fingers slipping from the flute to the bar top, spreading out so they’re millimeters from mine. “Maybe they went home with someone.”

My face scrunches up despite my best effort to remain apathetic. “They wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

He smirks, his thumb hooking over the metal edge of the counter, disturbingly close to where my hand is covering my chest. As he leans in, I feel his other arm snake around the back of my stool, and he plants his palm beside my ass.

“They might if their ticket’s been picked up. Buyers don’t always give their prizes time to say goodbyes, especially if they’re particularly… keyed up.”

I turn my head slightly, frowning. “What do you mean?”

His low chuckle vibrates against me as he presses his lips to the crown of my hair; I hear him inhale, and my entire body locks up, so rigid it makes my bones ache. The hand on the counter slips off, his knuckles dragging over mine where I’m still clutching my dress, and then he reaches forward for the little buzzer an usher gave me when I entered the building tonight.

“Don’t play coy.” His voice is breathy, and I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. “You know exactly what you signed up for.”