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He snorts. “Wouldn’t they?”
“Kings don’t sacrifice their queens. Not unless it’s the only choice.” Below, hands snake out of the crowd to Zarina’s waist. She turns to the person and nods a moment later. Their bodies find each other in the music, their dark heads of hair coming together. The other person has short hair and wears a buttoned shirt, their long fingers digging into Zarina’s hips, her waist, up under her hair to wrap around her neck. I watch. I watch as she finds their hands and squeezes. I watch as she rises on her tiptoes to speak into their ear. I watch as she plays with the waistband of their trousers. The trousers of a person with a similar haircut, similar style, similar swagger as my own.
I watch, and I smile with wet lips and sharp teeth. “I think it’ll work.”
“Jesus fuck,” Darius mutters. And then he drains the rest of his beer. “Hundred bucks says it implodes before you see a foot of territory.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” I can’t force my eyes away from her, from the faceless person maneuvering her until her back is to their front, her chin tilted up and head resting on their shoulder. Their lips drag down her neck. Fingertips over her sternum.
“I’ve known you for half my life, Andy.” Darius tosses the bottle into the recycling. “You are not to be trusted around pretty girls with angry mouths.”
“I’ll be fine.” I wave him off.
Darius buttons his suit jacket before resting one hand on the door handle. “We’re fuckin’ doomed.”
I raise my glass without looking as he opens the door and music floods into the room. “That’s the spirit.”
ZARINA
Alot can happen before the bell chimes twelve.
I could lose more than a shoe. I could lose my best chance at taking the power I crave. I could lose my hand in marriage to a man. Or I could lose my clothes in one of the VIP rooms if the whispered words of the woman at my back are true. Of the three possibilities, I’d much prefer the latter. And if there’s nothing to be done but wait for Tamayo’s decision to come down from her throne room on-high, then by all means.
The woman presses us flush together from knee to shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to step away. I don’t wish for her hands to leave my body as soon as possible, don’t feel a yank in my stomach to heave up its contents. I’ve snuck into clubs, pushed women up against locked bathroom stalls, even gone so far as to rent hotel rooms. But it was always under cover of shadows and poorly concocted pseudonyms. Never in the open as Zarina Gallo.
The DJ switches the song, and my partner quickens their rhythm. Their breasts press against my back. Their hands trace my arms up to my shoulders. I grind closer and entertain thethought of kissing them on the dance floor where anyone in the club could see. It’d be a first. It’d be a reclaiming of myself.
And then they disappear.
I stagger backward as the anchor of their hips leaves me unmoored in the sea of bodies. They left me. My lip hitches in a growl, offense and annoyance burning my cheeks. And then a new hand grips my elbow and slides up my forearm. I turn, frowning, and am stopped by lips at my ear.
“Dance with me, princess?”
And even though I only heard the voice for the first time tonight, only met its owner once, I recognize immediately who it belongs to: Andrea Tamayo.
Goose bumps pebble across my skin as she bands my arm across my waist and pulls me into her orbit until we’re dancing flush together to a slow, sensual beat that ignores the manic build of the house music. The fingers of her free hand trail up my thigh, catching the hem of my dress in their wake before they trail across my hip, over my arm, under my chin.
“Enjoying the Den?” Her breath is hot on my ear, her nose a hair’s breadth from brushing my temple.
I tense every muscle inside me to halt the shudder her voice threatens to release. There’s no way I’m about to show how much she affects me after practically begging her—on my knees—to be my fake fiancée. Especially not when she hasn’t yet accepted my offer. I release each limb, each finger and toe, until my body feels as loose as water in a storm.
“I think you are.” Her nails trace the line of the teardrop ruby resting against my sternum. “I think you hate how much you love it here.”
“And why’s that?” My mouth runs without my permission.
Tamayo tucks my hair behind my ear so her lips can graze against its shell. Goose bumps I can’t stop race down my neck. “You’re free here.”
I twist in her arms, and she lets me, her hands falling to myhips as I clasp mine behind her neck. My lips brush against her ear, and I think her fingers twitch tighter, her knee slipping between my legs. I scrape my thumb up the short hairs at the back of her neck. “Free for now.”
Tamayo pulls us to a halt, the two of us pressed chest-to-chest in a swath of writhing bodies rising and falling to the beat. She straightens until she’s holding my gaze, her hands tight, her jaw stern. The mole under her left eye draws my attention, small and brown and beautiful on her high cheek.
Tamayo curls her fingers under my chin, gentle but firm. “You have three months to take it for good.”
My breath catches in my chest, stuck between an inhale and exhale. “Does that mean you accept?”
Her thumb strokes my bottom lip, the nail scraping over the sensitive skin. I lick my lips and raise my chin. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. She leans in, breath caressing over my cheek, and my eyes close of their own accord.
“A million times yes, princess.” Her voice tickles my ear.