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“How did you find me?” I ask out of curiosity, and because it just occurred to me that it likely was no coincidence.
“Gathering dirt on your sister,” he answers obligingly.
It doesn’t matter how nasty it is, he always gives me the truth.
“What, so you could blackmail her into fucking your friend?” The moment I say the words, I know they’re true.
“That was the initial plan, but when I learned about you, I figured it’d be much cleaner this way.”
“Cleaner,” I muse.
“I mean, you are a stripper. You’re not above using your body to get where you need to in life. Your half-sister’s a spoiled brat. She would have pouted through it all. Whereas you’re going to be such a good girl, aren’t you?”
I shiver. “You’re something else.”
He winks. “Eat your mousse, love. It’s to die for.”
CHAPTER 6
callum
I like when my plans come together this well, usually. I have every piece in place. Hawk is going to accept my offer. All is going swimmingly. So why won’t my fists stop tightening on the damn armrest?
We’re in my apartment, and no one questions when I had the brand-new pole installed in my lounge. All eyes are drawn to the gorgeous blonde stretching on it, dressed in lingerie far more revealing and a thousand times more appealing than the cheap shit she wears at her club. I picked it out myself. Red lace. Black silk. Her lips are painted bright red, too.
She’s wearing a mask for now—a hand-carved Venetian affair that belongs in a museum.
The party could have been for just about anything, but as it so happens, it’s my birthday weekend, so it gave me a reason to invite everyone. They would have come in any case.
“Is that new?” my sister asks, sipping wine as she watches the dancer—or rather, the pole.
“Mm,” I reply noncommittally.
I don’t speak to her if I can help it, and she knows it.
It’s sad to say so about one’s own sister, but she truly is the worst piece of shit I can imagine. I’m no saint. I can be manipulative to get what I’m after, but she takes pleasure in causing pain. I’ve always known that. What I didn’t realize was how far she’s willing to go.
Too fucking far.
I’m the only one who knows what really happened that night. If I’d told my cousin or my friends, the viper sipping cocktails would be dead and buried. I can’t bring myself to throw her into the lion’s den, given the fact that she is my fucking sister, but I’m not going to let her ruin Hawk’s life. I’m just not.
He’s the best of us—an artist, with his heart on his sleeve. He’s also far too loyal, and easily swayed. She would chew him up and spit him back out, a fact my father knew when he arranged the engagement. He chose someone she could control, so that we Nobles could take over the fucking world.
I’m not against the concept per se, but I draw the line at using Hawk to do it.
This party goes on like just about any other in one of The Loft’s apartments: we start to drink and dine up here, then most of the guests make their way to the Royal Club. It suits me fine. The sooner we’re in closer comity, the better.
My sister usually leaves early, but tonight, everyone lingers, watching my gorgeous butterfly extend her wings on her pole. I should have realized they would.
Eventually, though, general horniness wins and my guests leave to fuck a whore, a pledge, or a lady downstairs.
I invite Hawk and my cousin Sebastian to start a game of poker before they, too, think of making an escape. Not that they would during my birthday celebration.
My gaze drifts from the table to the slender dancer still twirling on her pole. She had breaks, but she’s been at it for hours. Won’t she be tired? I should have hired someone else to dance with her, too. I need her to have some energy for later.
A part of my mind is asking a very different kind of question. Tomorrow is my birthday, after all. Twenty-five. Shouldn’t I be the one to get a present? I’ve never been one to mind sharing, but why should I give her virginity to Hawk, when I could be the one to take it? Shove right into her purity, mark her as mine.
That’s a surprise. I’ve never been one to prefer virgins. They’re terrible fucks, and rate as a ten on the cringy meter. Yet I don’t seem to mind the idea of taking hers. Claiming it.
