Gangster In A Suit. (Book 1)

Chapter 14

Standing before the long, glided mirror. I do not recognise the person looking back at me.

The hair stylist was a middle-aged Asian woman. To my surprise, she knew how to handle black hair. My roasted brown coils are swept up in a fancy chignon. My face shaped with expert contouring, glowing with a goddess-like highlight and lip gloss. Not to mention the winged eyeliner that's cleaner than my mama's kitchen. But the real killer is the dress. Simplistic elegance. A dark green satin dress with a crisscross, open back and high slits, matched with a pair of emerald studded earrings.

But all my mind can marinate on is this that is my one and only chance to escape. This manor is guarded by a small army of armed men, and I'm under surveillance at all times. My only shot is this... gala. A lot of eyes, publicity, which means I will figure out how to send a message out if I can't physically escape.

The door swings open. I swivel around. Torin walks in, enveloped in a Dolce and Gabbana linen Taormina-fit suit with a silk blend. The beige colour matches well with his bronzed skin, the fit flaunting his gym-honed physique. His wavy hair groomed in a pompadour style with a side part.

"The event started already, which means it's our cue to leave—" He halts abruptly. He turns his head a bit to the side, his eyes never leaving my body. Over his shoulder, he says, "I'll need an extra hour."

I guess someone's outside.

My brows furrow. "For what?"

"Because you're not leaving this room unfucked."

Heat stings my cheeks. I clear my throat too many times. "And what would your brother think about that?"

His smile vanishes. "Why the fuck do you think I care what he thinks?" Venom leaking into his tone. "Do you think I'm scared of him?"

I tilt my head to the side, looking at him from top to bottom. "Then come here."

His smile returns; wavering and wobbling. "I would." He bites down on his lip. "God knows I would, buuut," he drags out. "We should get going."

I strut over to him. "That's what I thought," I say, brushing past him.

Outside the bedroom, there's two guards flanking the door, dressed in all black. Fully automatic rifles pinned to their chests. Torin takes point and the guards follow behind me as we make our way to the front entrance. The manor looks completely different during the day, inundated in dying sunlight. Tall walls with neutral palettes with accent colours, natural stone cladding at some places with Persian rugs lining the hallways.

We pass through the massive oak doors, opened by another set of guards. Down the circular staircase, three cars are waiting out front. Two Range Rovers and a Mercedes Benz Maybach in the middle. All Black. Because apparently there's something wrong with any other colour.

We descend.

Torin opens the backseat door for me with a touch of a button. I slip in. He enters. One guard closes the door behind him. The interior is custom made with red and black leather, the individual units are facing each other. And Orian is sitting opposite me, girded in grace in a Hugo burgundy suit with a notched lapel collar. Welt pocket at chest and full black viscose satin lining. His hair slicked back with a fresh low fade. Damn.

His gaze detaches from his phone, fixing it on me. Flustered, I look away. As a convoy, the cars roll out together. I observe the scene for a brief moment, the green gleaming under the westering light. I glance back at Orian, but he's already staring at me. My heart sprints a mile dash in a second. I rest my hands on the plush armrest, fingers digging into it anxiously.