Angel Blood

16- Into the Lion's Den

Sinclair

The pistol weighs heavily at my hip, tucked away in the waistband of the black linen pants that sit stiffly around my legs. I don't wear suits. They're uncomfortable and make the act of killing all the more difficult, but tonight it's unavoidable. Sebastian Volkov is heir to the Russian crime mob and just like every other snotty prick of his caliber, requires dress up for his parties.

His little castle is cute. The mansion must be five stories stacked with white pillars and french doors. Probably built for him, directly from a floor plan he sketched himself.

I wasn't invited but I don't think he'll mind. After tonight, there won't be a single thought floating through his brain. Sebastian Volkov will be dead.

The interior looks like a princess threw up everywhere. Wide-set spiral staircase, marble flooring, diamond chandelier. My lip curls before I can stop it. I have money. Lots of it. I couldn't imagine spending it on creating a teenage girl's wet dream.

The den is overflowing with people. I recognize a few of them and quickly tuck my head before they can catch sight me. None of them are particularly notable, just old money, mobster families, and a few women I've fucked. Okay, maybe more than a few, but tonight I don't have time to humor them.

I sigh, jaw clenching as I brush my hand over the subtle metallic bulge over my waistband. It's impossible to spot Volkov's head through such a crowd. The hardness of the little pistol reassures me but I refuse to put a finger on why. Can't be the fact that when my hand wraps around the worn handle the image of stubborn golden eyes push into the forefront of my mind.

A tug on my suit jacket sleeve pulls me away from the thought. Probably a good thing even though I can tell this interaction is going to give me a headache.

Big brown eyes meet mine, a meek smile stretching over her lips. "Hi. Who are you?"

She's cute, I guess. Tiny and delicate, dressed in a classy pink gown fit for royalty, wavy brown hair tied up in an elegant updo. Her mouth is full and pouty, face perfectly symmetrical but round in a way that indicates that she's still young.

I gently pry her hand from my bicep. Her grip is strong for such a tiny thing. "Sorry, sweetheart. Don't have time to chat."

To my surprise, she steps in closer. I tense as she narrows those innocent eyes upon me. "I didn't invite you."

I don't move, hiding the sliver of confusion that flashes inside of me with a slow grin. It's the one I save for the women when I want them to melt in their shoes. "Plus one."

As far as I knew, this was Volkov's party. They're a private family so it was hard to milk information from distant sources but it should have been true all the same. Someone is getting their throat cut tonight.

She softens a bit. "Who'd you come with? One of daddy's acquaintances?"

My smile almost falters. Daddy? Who is this girl? "What's it to a little girl like you anyway?"

"Little?" Her chin tilts up stubbornly in a way that reminds me of another strong-willed brat. "This is my eighteenth birthday party."

I snort.

"I want you to dance with me," she says, reaching for my hand.

I snake my arm away, distaste clenching my stomach. "What if I came with another woman?"

"So what if you did?" She crosses her arms over her jeweled corset. "It's my party. My night. If what I want is you, then I'll have it."

My hands clench at my side, the heat of my temper slowly crawling in my chest. I huff a quick breath to cool it. I'm not a man to be trusted but that doubles once I'm angry and I don't need to be ripping out the throats of entitled princesses tonight. "Don't you have someone your own age to mess with?"