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Inside, the ballroom is packed with way more people than I was expecting – way morewomenthan I was expecting – and the air is thick with the scent of money and power. A thrill runs through me as I realise that we’re about to disrupt that power.
I glance around the room, taking in the faces of the wealthy and influential. They’re all here, and they think they’re invincible. But they have no idea what’s coming for them.
The sound of chattering voices and tinkling glasses fills my ears as I scan the crowd, looking for any sign of danger
“Champagne?” Night offers, holding out a glass to me. It’s been decided that he’ll be my ‘date’ for the evening. My handler. The term makes me feel sick. The others spread out and work the room, pretending to be interested in the merchandise on offer. My stomach churns and I’m not sure if I should abstain from the alcohol or down it in one.
I give Night a small nod, and he raises the glass to his lips, holding my eye as he takes a sip. He swirls the cool liquid around on his tongue before swallowing and holding the glass back out to me.
“What was that?” I whisper.Apart from fucking hot.“Did you just check my drink for poisons?
He nods and his answer in my ear is so low I have to strain to hear him. “Poison. Roofies. Any illicit substance that has no right in being there. How else do you think they keep these women calm and pliant when the time comes?”
I refuse to ask or even think about what exactly these high profile ‘gentlemen’ are buying with their bids. I couldn’t stomach the answer.
I take the glass from him, nodding my thanks. Night is tall and fiercely handsome, with broad shoulders and a confident stance. He’s perfect for the job of watching over me tonight.
“Do you think they suspect anything?” I ask, taking a sip of champagne. It’s crisp and refreshing, but my nerves are still on edge
He shrugs, his eyes scanning the room. “They’re too busy mingling and showing off their wealth. They don’t expect anyone to challenge them.”
I nod, trying to calm my racing heart. There are so many variables that could go wrong but Seytan asked that we trust her, trust the back up team they have in place to cover every eventuality. All we have to do is…kill
A voice interrupts my thoughts. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with their presence.”
A tall, handsome man with piercing blue eyes stands in front of us. His suit is tailored to perfection, and his smile is almost too charming. There’s a sleaziness to him, something I can’t quite put my finger on, but he reminds me of a snake. or a used car salesman. Maybe a politician. They’re all one and the same to me.
“Markus,” Night says, his voice cold but polite. “Thank you for allowing us to attend tonight.”
Markus chuckles, taking a step closer to us. “You’re so welcome, Damien.”
I blink in surprise that this man knows Night’s real name. It worries me slightly, then I remind myself that he won’t live to tell anyone anyway.
“We’re always ready with open arms to welcome and support women like you, Natalia,” he says, turning to me. Natalia is my cover for tonight. He eyes me up and down, making my skin crawl.
Is this guy meant to be the front man for the charity? Is he meant to make endangered women feel safe and secure? I barely keep the few sips of champagne I’ve swallowed down.
“You certainly know how to pick them, don’t you?” He chuckles, the comment aimed at Night I believe not me.
I grit my teeth, against the sudden surge of anger. Night squeezes my arm in warning, reminding me that I’m a victim. Meek. Scared. Grateful.
Fuck that.
“I’m so grateful for Damien’s help,” I reply, trying to keep my tone even. “I felt so silly getting dressed up tonight, it's been so long since I had nice things. But everyone looks amazing.”
Markus raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, no. Making these women look and feel good is what we’re all about. Tonight we celebrate their successes, their survival stories.” He leans in closer, his breath hot on my cheek. “We show them the good time that they deserve.”
I feel Night tense beside me, but before he can say anything, Markus is being called away by a vaguely familiar politician.
When he’s mingled and smarmed his way to the other side of the room, I allow myself to breathe, and the white knuckle grip I have on my champagne flute to relax.
Night plucks it from my grip and deposits it on the tray of a passing waiter.
“Hey!” I complain but he fixes me with a smouldering stare.
“One. You need to keep a clear head. And two, it might be bad for the baby.”
“What baby?” I hiss.
