Page 33 of Pride: Kneel Before None

“One Obsidian Cherry martini for the lady,” he said, sliding the cocktail towards me with practiced ease that didn’t even disturb the glasslike surface of the drink.

Reaching for it, the diamond bracelet remained on my wrist—the same one Ace had bestowed upon me during the tournament.

Wait—the tournament. The Specialty Wager Room. Rip and his two shitheads. The alley…

My breath hitched at the vivid memory.

I looked down, pulling the hem of my dress back to expose more skin higher up on my thigh. There, the damning mark remained. Ace’s spade branded on me. Bold and proud. Totally unapologetic, just like him.

With an annoyed growl, I tugged the dress back down over it. Even my dreams wouldn’t let me escape his obsession.

But it got me thinking…this was a dream, right?

Grabbing the chilled martini, the liquid swayed in the glass dangerously close to the edge. Overhead lights captured the faint tint of crimson swirling in its inky depths. Hooked onto the lip of the glass were two metal cocktail swords, each speared through the same cherry.

The taste exploded across my tongue upon first sip. Tart met sweet in a balanced concoction of booze and fruit. However, it was the lingering warmth of something smoky that gave it that extra something to keep you hooked.

Continuing to internally debate my purpose here, besides looking fabulous, I observed my surroundings. Other patrons lingered in the lounge with me, but faces seemed to pass in a blur. No matter how hard I tried to focus, the features never coalesced into anything distinctive.

“Genevieve.”

The woman’s voice echoed again. This time it sounded like it was coming from an overhead speaker.

I set my martini down with more force than necessary, the liquid splashing over the edge dramatically.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake! Stop saying my name like that!” I snapped as I hopped down from my seat on my barstool. The dress’s black gossamer train swirled around my legs like a dramatic waterfall.

Challenging every shadow and any invisible forces, I added, “At least have the decency to show your face! Or are you too much of a coward?”

In response, everything around me quieted—no bartender, no patrons, no sound. I stood there, staring at an empty lounge, lights dim except for the spotlight cast over the empty stage.

Sighing in frustration, I reached for my drink only for it to pass through my fingers like smoke. Trying again, the cocktail faded altogether, only leaving the impaled cherry behind on the bar top.

What in the absolute fuck was going on here?

Grabbing the cherry, I plucked it off the two swords with my teeth and chewed on it aggressively.

Turning around, determined to find a way out of here, I came face-to-face with Val. I stopped short, my heart leaping up into my throat at his sudden presence.

“Miss Bechette, we meet again.” He smiled with polite pretense, his fingers laced in front of him with casual indifference.

I pointed a finger at him. “You. Is this your doing?”

He gestured at our surroundings. “This? No, this is all yours.”

Then with a nod at my dress, he added, “Wardrobe and all.”

Crossing my arms in front of me, I cocked my hip out to one side and released a huff. “Then tell me what you’re doing here in that case.”

He didn’t get the chance to respond.

“Genevieve, I know you still hear me.”

That damn voice was going to be the death of me. I stomped my foot in frustration. “Shut. Up!”

Both of Val’s silvery brows rose in curious amusement.

The reaction cut through my irritation as my eyes examined his expression. “You heard that too? Who is that? She’s annoying as fuck.”