Leaving Gabriel to his brooding, Charley ambled further down the path, finally finding an unoccupied stone bench with a perfect view of the river. There, slipping out of her uncomfortable high heels, she sat down and gazed out across the expansive landscape, trying to catch her breath.
Rudy.
Travis.
Ravenswood.
Dorian.
His brothers.
Duchanes.
Hermes.
LaPorte.
Her web was getting stickier by the minute. Charley didn’t know how many more twists and turns she could handle tonight, but she couldn’t bail now. Not with so much on the line.
Charley took out her phone, laughing when she saw the latest artistic endeavor from Sasha—a picture of two perfectly round grapefruits topped with cherries, a huge zucchini sliding between them. Thinking of you! she’d texted.
A+, Charley replied now. Sadly, the conference is bereft of photo-worthy fruit. I’ll have to up my game later.
Up your game all you want, Sasha texted back. I’m still the reigning fruit-smut champion. ;-)
I’m soooo not worthy.
Keep practicing! I have faith in your dirty mind! Hey, chat later, k? Heading out for a late dinner with Darcy.
Have fun! Love you.
Love you too, Chuck.
Charley smiled. Sasha sounded so happy, and that made Charley happy, bolstering her for the work ahead. Sasha might be the reigning champion of fruit smut, but Charley was a champion too—of disguises, of lies, of sleuthing, of playing each and every role assigned to her like a god damned queen.
For her sister, Charley could endure anything.
In that moment, she made her decision. She’d take Dorian up on his offer and stay the weekend. Maybe her acceptance would disarm him a bit—distract him from the fact that he’d caught her sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
Besides, spending the weekend with Dorian Redthorne was a much better option than sitting in traffic, fending off Travis’ bad breath and questing hands.
Confidence sufficiently boosted, Charley sent a quick text to Sasha that she wouldn’t be home until Sunday night, then shot off another text to Rudy, who’d miraculously given her some breathing room tonight.
Still having a great time, she said. Can’t wait to tell you about all the sightseeing I’ve been doing!
Thank you for the update, he replied. Looking forward to catching up later.
She bit her lip, knowing this next part wouldn’t go over well, but hoping to spin it in her favor anyway.
Actually, she replied, I’ve decided to stay the weekend. Still so much to explore! Why don’t we touch base Sunday night?
The telltale dots flickered across her screen, and Charley’s insides bubbled. She really hoped he wouldn’t make a big deal out of this, but Rudy didn’t like it when she went off-script, even if it led to better intel. He liked thinking everything was his idea.
“Come on,” she grumbled. “Cut me a break.”
His text finally popped up, but before she could read it, a shadow fell over her face, and she shoved the phone back into her purse, quickly getting to her feet.
Two men she’d never seen loomed on the path before her, drinks in hand, tuxedos impeccable, their smiles perfectly pleasant.
But every nerve in her body went on high alert.
Gabriel may have glared at her with annoyance that bordered on contempt. But these guys?
They looked at her like they wanted to eat her. And she was far enough from the main house that if they tried, no one would hear her scream.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” one of them—a man with gray hair and a trim, matching beard—said.
“Sure is.” Charley smiled, gripping Beyoncé 2 inside her purse. “I was just leaving, if you’d like the bench. Great view out here.”
“The scenery is rather enchanting,” the younger of the two said, his beady eyes roaming her curves.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Graybeard frowned at Charley, sniffing at the air between them like a dog. “Redthorne royals cavorting with trash. What has the world come to?”
Redthorne royals? What?
“Sometimes trash has a certain… appeal.” The junior guy reached forward and touched Charley’s hair, his eyes dark with malice.
Oh, hell no.
All pretense of politeness shattered. Charley removed the weapon from her purse and took a step backward, aiming Beyoncé 2 at the douchebag who’d touched her. “Careful, boys. This trash bites.”
“She said bites,” Junior said. “That’s so cute.”
“Woman, you don’t know the meaning of the word,” Graybeard said. “But you will.” He flashed a cruel smile, his teeth sharp and long, almost like… fangs?
What the fuck?
Her mind flashed back to the bedroom at the Salvatore. Hadn’t she thought the same thing about Duchanes?
Junior reached for her again, but this time Charley was ready for it. She squeezed the trigger, plugging him square in the chest.
Her mouth quirked into a triumphant grin, but it didn’t last.
The asshole should’ve dropped to the ground, muscles jiggling like a Jell-o mold. Yet there he stood, unmoving, unaffected, still grinning at her like she was the main course.
Charley was sure of it now. The men had actual, real-life, terrifying fangs.
“Was that supposed to hurt?” he asked, plucking the probes from his chest.
“Maybe it’s a kink?” Graybeard said. “Young people are into pain these days.”
Junior laughed. “Then I suppose it’s your lucky night, gorgeous.”
In a blur, they dropped their drinks and surrounded her, Graybeard hauling her backward against his chest, Junior crushing her from the front, snatching at her breasts.
“Help!” Charley screamed, knowing her cries would likely go unheard. “Fire!” she tried again, recalling all the self-defense stuff she’d picked up over the years. Weren’t people supposed to be more likely to help if you yelled fire?
Graybeard fisted her hair, jerking her head sideways and exposing her neck. Junior leaned in and licked her flesh, groaning with sick pleasure.
Charley choked back bile. She didn’t care how strong they were, how determined. She would not let this happen.
She struggled against their hold, using her elbows, her knees, the back of her head, anything to get in a hit. But it was no use. The men were impossibly strong, like two stone walls closing in from all sides, determined to turn her into a pancake.
But not before they had their fun.
“Fire!” she screamed again, then slammed her head backward, finally connecting with Graybeard’s face. She heard the crunch of bone and hoped she’d taken out a few teeth, but the man behind her only laughed.
“I love it when they fight.” He released his hold and shoved her away. “Run along, little plaything. Fast as you can.”
She took off at a run down the hill, doing her best to stay upright in bare feet on the dew-slick grass. Her heart slammed against her ribs, lungs burning, feet stinging as rocks and sticks sliced through her skin, but she didn’t dare stop. Not until she was certain she’d left them far behind.
For a fleeting instant, she actually thought she’d escaped. But when she took a chance and glanced back over her shoulder to check, her forward momentum came to a crashing halt.