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I also catch a glimpse of a full glass on the coffee table on the other side of the room, but I ignore it. My head still throbs a little from earlier, even though I didn’t think I drank enough to be completely blitzed.
I grab the dress and pull it on since it seems to be my best option. I put on a micro bikini in gold beneath since there’s no underwear to be found.
A wave of shock passes through me and the sudden urge to cry grabs hold.
I did this to myself. I’m the reason why we didn’t make it off the yacht, why we’re stuck on this island with a group of seedy, disgusting sexual deviants who are planning God only knows what for all of us.
My fists clench. There’s only one person who could have sent him, one person who could have found out what I was up to and where. Smith. If Harley raised some kind of alarm about me taking off, she’d have gone to Smith or her dad. And Smith, the controlling dick that he is, would have doled the job out to someone else.
Jaxson. He’s the guy Smith sent in for me.
Goddammit, I hate Smith, and now I hate Jaxson even more for doing Smith’s bidding.
Yes, I’m aware I’m being childish, but I give myself the moment.
If I’m here with a man pretending to be into me, a man—and it’s a bitter pill, hate him or not—sent by Smith, then I’m in big trouble.
I don’t know much about Smith’s work, but he’s well known enough in dark-world circles where he wouldn’t just show up and expose himself.
If he thought I was in real danger, he’d have sent someone else in to rescue me. Because from years of listening to conversations I was never meant to hear, I know that even though Smith might not love me or care about me beyond that level of base responsibility, he understands danger.
I walk back into the bathroom, grabbing the crystal decanter of booze along the way, and pour about a third down the sink drain. Then I go back, grab a crystal glass, and set it down on the marble vanity to make it look like I’ve been drinking.
I open cabinets in search of a little makeup and hit pay dirt. There’s a case of brand-new items, all expensive. I choose Tom Ford lipstick in a sexy red color and slick it over my lips. Then I press my lips to the glass a few times, leaving a red stain on the crystal. I pour some more into the empty glass, deliberately spilling it on the counter and floor.
After that I brush my hair, leaving it down and hanging around my face. After adding mascara, liner, and bronzer, I’m ready.
The makeup sits heavy on my face, and it’s more than I ever wear, but after thinking about the women here, about Amelia, makeup on the heavier side will make me fly under the radar.
Amelia. God, maybe I should warn her?—
But I stop that thought and grab my shoes.
Amelia’s been here before. Chances are she likes it; otherwise, she wouldn’t have come back. I can’t trust her.
Like it or not, the only ally I have is a dangerous man I don’t like, but he’s one I’m insanely attracted to. And I may be naïve, but I understand danger. I need to get out of here.
So I’ll do what he says.
I decide not to wait for Amelia since she only seems to want to get me into the clutches of the disgusting pigs surrounding me. I rush out of the room and start to head toward music and laughter. Getting lost in a crowd seems to be the safer option.
Someone grabs me by the arm before I even take one step outside of my room’s door, pushes me face-first into the wall, and shoves a hand up under my dress.
“We have rules, slut. No panties.”
He claps a hand over my mouth before the scream tears out of my lungs.
It’s not Jaxson.
It’s the very fucking worst kind of danger.
NINE
orion
A rush of anger crashes over me when I walk into her room. Dakota’s about to elbow the man who’s trying to molest her. My eyes narrow, my vision flooding with red.
The fucking senator.
