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“Stock?” My lunch is threatening to make a reappearance, and now I’m the one squeezing Night’s hand so hard the bones crack.
“The ones for sale.”
“I’m going to be sick.” My chair scrapes across the floor as I get to my feet, looking for an exit, but Seytan is blocking the way.
“You’ll be accompanying the gentleman as a potential trade. They give the charityyou, a victim of domestic assault, and in exchange that buys their place at the bidding table for the night.”
“No,” Night growls out, getting to his feet. I blink and suddenly they’reallon their feet, wearing matching expressions of rage.
“What’s the plan?” I manage to grind out, surprised that I sound so much calmer than I feel.
“When the event starts, bidders and…stock will all be in the ballroom together. The women have no idea what’s going on and think the event is to celebrate their success stories. There’s an hour, the golden hour it’s called. Disguised as a drinks reception, it’s actually browsing time for the bidders to choose who they want. When the time’s up and the auction is ready to begin, the women are removed from the room. That’s when you’ll strike.”
My pulse starts to thunder, white hot rage coursing through my veins, reigniting myneedto kill. “Strike how?”
“Kill them all. Every last man in the room.”
“What about the women?”
“They’ll be taken to safety. We have men on the inside who will be in place ready to intercept them and get them out.”
“But then what happens? You can’t kill a room full of high profile people without some sort of backlash.”
“It’s taken care of. Gas leak. The house will be blown up as soon as you’re all out. And it’ll be done in such a way that the cause of death will not be questioned.”
“No,” Night says again. Seytan blinks at him like she didn’t even notice he spoke before, and then she looks at the others, takes in their stances and facial expressions, the clenched fists and she sighs.
“I told them you’d react like this.”
“Like what?” I ask. I’ve not reacted. I’m still processing. Reeling, I think.
“I told the organisers that they wouldn’t be on board,” she tells me, nodding towards the guys.
“Are we ever given a choice about which missions we do?” I ask.
“No. Not really.”
“Didn’t think so. It doesn’t matter either way, because even if itwasoptional, I’d want to do it.”
“What? Kayla, you can’t be serious,” Honey hisses, horrified.
I turn to him, my face blazing with anger that’s not aimed at him at all. “Didn’t you hear a word she said? Those women—”
“We’re not using you as bait,” he says vehemently, shaking his head. The others make noises of agreement.
“I’m doing this. With or without your support. We don’t have a choice anyway. But those women deserve this. No one deserves…that.”
“Thank you, Miss Kingfisher. Gentleman, you should listen to her and get on board with this mission quickly. You’ll be leaving shortly because it’s too suspicious to take the helicopter to Waterfeld House, so we have arranged a limousine to transport you all there, and it’s quite a drive. Miss Kingfisher? Please come with me, we’ll get you ready for the event and ensure you have a bulletproof cover story in case you’re questioned. Gentleman, excuse us. Miss Kingfisher will see you when it’s time to depart.”
On numb, shaky legs, I follow Seytan out of the dining room, apprehension and the need for revenge churning in my stomach. Somehow, being fully informed about the mission this time has made me feel worse. I just hope we can pull this off and get those women the justice they deserve.
* * *
Psychopaths in tuxedosshould be illegal.
My breath catches the moment I step out onto the roof to join them, and they turn their attention on me. Six tuxedos. Six sinfully sexy psychopaths, all staring at me with blazing gazes.
And they’re all here for me, hungry for me, protective of me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
