Page 3 of Vows of Blood

A steady hum of low conversation fills the room as more and more groups of people are escorted in, glamorous women taking their places at low tables, while the men congregate at the bar.

Halfway across the room, eyes on me make my senses perk up.

I glance to my left. A man stands near a column, arms folded. He’s wearing a suit like everyone else, but he’s not holding a drink or talking to anyone, just watching me with narrowed eyes.

Dark tattoos creep up over the edge of his collar; letters I’m too far away from to make out mark each knuckle on his large hands.

I’m about to check with Daniel if the owner has hired additional security when a woman dripping in diamonds snaps her fingers at me.

“Finally,” she says, as though she’s about to pass out from thirst, even though I spotted her arriving mere seconds ago. She examines the flute she plucks from my tray with suspicion. “Is this the Krug?”

Her tone is condescending, as though she’s already decided I won’t know the answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sips, frowns, and sets it back. “It’s warm. Bring me a cold one. Make sure it’s the Krug. Don’t try to pass off some cheap shit on me. I’ll know.”

The glass is already slick with condensation. It’s ice-cold, perfect, and most definitely the brand she’s demanding. I don’t bother debating the temperature of the drink. It’s not my money she’s wasting.

Instead, I nod, our manager’s words playing in my mind, and simply trot to the bar and return with a freshly poured one, holding it out for her to take.

Just give them whatever they want.

“Sophia!”

She leaves me waiting as someone calls her name, and both women lean in close, glossy lips pursed, to exchange air kisses.

“You look fabulous. It’s so good to see you.”

Both women look each other up and down, eyes pinched and smiles sickeningly sweet, and I get the impression that behind the veneer of civility, they’re really mortal enemies.

“Oh yes, you too,” Sophia simpers, snatching the drink from my hand and dismissing me with an infuriating flick of her skinny hand before she turns, fake mega-watt smile back in place.

Rebecca catches my eye across the room, grimacing as she passes a table of men growing louder with each fresh addition to their group.

A dark-haired man calls her over, one hand eagerly stretching toward her pert ass.

Her smile drops, just for a second, before she skips out of reach and laughs as she walks away, pretending he’s merely a naughty boy and not a menace to women.

The next hour flies by in a blur of champagne, whisky, and martinis ordered with precise, often neurotic, instructions. Dirty glasses are cleared constantly, fresh ones delivered.

My feet ache already, and as the crowd thickens, the noise level rises steadily, and I know this is only the beginning. The happy couple hasn’t even arrived yet. Some VIPs were ushered in through a side entrance, but the kitchen can’t put out any food until the future bride and groom get here.

And they’re late.

This crowd might be rich, but they’re not sophisticated, and I can see the evening getting out of control fast. The drinks are flowing, and tanned men with flashy watches and sharp suits congregate at the bar, talking loudly over each other, gesturing dramatically with their hands as they speak.

It looks like a scene from last call when we’d be trying to kick out the stragglers, but dinner hasn’t even begun. The laughter is getting rowdier, and the language is becoming more and more colorful as a prickle of unease builds at the base of my spine.

At this rate, they’re going to be too drunk to eat.

An angry shout rings out from the far side of the room, and the tension in the air shifts. The intimidating man leaning against a column steps in to calm things down, pulling apart two men who look like they’re trying to wrestle each other to the floor, and suddenly, there’s an edge to the celebrations I didn’t register before.

Once separated, they glare at each other one more time before moving, albeit reluctantly, to opposite sides of the room, giving the tattooed man a respectful dip of their head as they retreat, walking backward, hands raised.

If it continues like this, it’s going to be a long night.

I’m clearing empties near the bar, mouth dry as ash and tray shaking in my hands, when Rebecca appears at my elbow, vibrating with excitement, while my nervous system is going haywire for a different reason.