Page 15 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)
Thankfully, the dance off has concluded, and a string quartet plays a delicate melody in the corner, their music weaving through the conversations and adding a touch of classical charm to the atmosphere as I cross the room I desperately want to escape, returning nods and waves from the few guests I know.
The delicate fragrance of vanilla fills the air from the candles flickering on the side tables, blending with the rich, savory smells of truffle oil and smoked salmon.
A hint of expensive perfume wafts by as elegantly dressed guests glide past, adding to the heady mix of scents that define the evening.
The sound of a cork popping from a bottle of vintage champagne punctuates the air, followed by the gentle fizz as it’s poured into crystal flutes when I reach the bar.
“Grandmother, what have you done?” someone behind me murmurs.
I grab a flute and pretend to drink it as I spin around, but whoever it was is gone now, poor bastard. Esther Wilder moves into my view. A calculating smile crosses her face as she stares at someone in the crowd. I prefer her beady gaze directed elsewhere.
“Mr. Resnik, you’re home again. I hope the trip was comfortable?”
I hold my anger in check at her choice of words and give her a polite smile as she turns her attention to me.
This is one lady I’m too smart to disrespect.
It wasn’t a simple task to rise to the position of her pet assassin, but she’s the reason I’m a wealthy mother fucker.
I’m the one called on when a situation needs a special touch.
“Yes, thank you. It’s a much-preferred way to travel. I landed late last night.”
“Good, I have a job for you. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns and makes her way toward the tall, circular tables in front of the stage already filling with guests. Esther approaches one and sets her champagne flute down. Within seconds, the group scurries away to give her the table.
Leaning back against the bar top, I scan the room.
At the center, a grand staircase sweeps down from the upper levels, its banisters wrapped in garlands of ivy and twinkling fairy lights.
The host, a distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a warm smile, stands at the top, ready to address the crowd.
His voice, rich and commanding, carries across the room as he speaks of the charity’s mission and the impact of their contributions.
As I watch the filthy rich dressed to the nines, I think back to a time when I felt out of place at these Umber parties.
Though I wore the same clothes as the other men, had an expensive scent clinging to me and the same clean-cut look, I don’t come from this world.
I grew up in the foster system, and it was several years before I overcame feeling like a little boy trying to play dress up and failing to get it right.
Tonight, though, my attire is a second skin. My designer always provides me with the best Italian suits. I’ve learned to have the confidence to match my impeccable attire. The confidence to control any situation, and the skills to back up my attitude.
The crowd buzzes with excitement as a line of men—bar the bewildered and pissed off one who doesn’t look like a perfect penguin following in line, probably because he’s sporting a ridiculous man-bun—enter the stage.
I do a double take when I see fucking Zeph up on stage sporting his product saturated helmet hair.
Knowing he’s hating every second of being auctioned off, I can’t help a laugh and cat call him.
He glowers as his eyes find mine in the crowd.
My lips twist into a smirk and I know I’ll hear about it later, but I don’t fucking care.
Something clicks in me when I see his younger brother Colton in the line-up.
Growing up running around with Z, I didn’t see much of Colt; he fancied himself too good to hang with a street rat like me.
But over the years, I’ve seen and heard enough to understand he’s an absolute psycho.
There he is on stage, hiding it all beneath the glamor of a bespoke tux can provide.
Colt’s FBI, but he’s close with Zeph and here, so he obviously also works for Umber.
Is he the dirty agent I’ve been talking to?
The bidding begins, and the room fills with laughter and playful banter as guests compete for the chance to win a date with a bachelor.
When the angry man-bun guy’s turn comes, the bids soar, his charm and good looks making him a hot commodity.
Still, I hate the sight of him, although I can’t pinpoint why. He’s a complete stranger to me.
I glance over as a presence slides out of the shadowed corner to my right. My lips curve as I take in my favorite Umber trainer. Tristan, a true master of disguise. His typical frown mars his face, but he nods a greeting and leans against the bar, matching my pose.
“Shadow, you’re looking…” His eyes narrow at me. “… exposed tonight. When did you get home?”
My lip curls at yet another person calling the US my home.
“I’m not home, Tris. I’ve been summoned for a job. Returning home to Germany can’t happen soon enough. I fucking hate this town.”
A woman almost as tall as Tristan settles on my other side.
Her distinctive copper-blonde and metallic brown hair shining under the bar lights.
Thick mascaraed eyelashes give her bedroom eyes, which splay against her pale cheeks as she eyes me up and down.
Her subtle rose scent awakens my senses, and I give her a slick smile.
Coming here tonight may be worth it after all.
Her bright green eyes meet mine and a small smile curves one side of her mouth.
“What’s a guy like you doing in a dump like this?” she says, mirth lighting her voice.
I chuckle, glancing around at the opulence of the ballroom.
Shrugging a shoulder, I say with in complete seriousness, “I like to slum it.”
She flicks her tongue across her bottom lip, then bites it.
“I hear the suites upstairs are much nicer. Care to check one out?”
“My suite’s on the twenty-seventh floor.” I down my drink and set the glass on the bar, then present my elbow to the woman whose name I couldn’t care less about. “I’ll show you the wa?—”
“Not if you want your heart to continue beating you won’t,” Tris rumbles under his breath, his face stone cold, showing none of the emotion his words betray.
I pause and the woman giggles. There’s only one woman Tristan would act this way over.
“Fucking Chameleon. I’ll give it to you. You had me fooled.”
Tristan was the one who gave Sable and me our code names. Shadow and Chameleon. Which was only fitting because he turned me into a shadow and taught us both how to be chameleons no matter the situation.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Sable says, her voice low as her eyes flick around the room as she bumps my shoulder with hers in greeting.
When Sable and I trained under Tris, we bonded, both of us going through our own hell while Tristian worked us to exhaustion.
On our down time, she offered me comfort to help take the pain inflicted by Kiera away.
Until Tristian saw me kiss her and promptly beat the shit out of me.
Telling me the only reason he let me live was because he put too much work into making me the best assassin to come along since he was still on assignment.
He spouted some bullshit about Umber having a no dating clause.
But I saw the obsession in his eyes when he looked at Sable.
If I had realized it sooner, my healthy sense of self-preservation would’ve kept me far away from her body, no matter how tempting.
It was just one more thing that bonded Tristan and me.
The room erupts in applause, and she grins like the cat who got the canary. Sable pushes away from the bar, but before she can get two steps away, Tristian calls out to her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She looks back over her exposed shoulder at us. “I’m gonna go win myself a hot bachelor to play with tonight.” She looks back at the stage, ticks a finger in the air and listens while the auctioneer calls out her bid, then glances back at us again. “I’m thinking man-bun hottie.”
Tristian stiffens next to me but says nothing in response. I give ‘ man-bun hottie’ a once over and don’t see the hype.
That’s the type of tool women want?
Once Sable is too far away to hear us, I turn to him.
“Fuck, she almost got me killed. Again! You still haven’t locked that shit down, man?”
He growls, his eyes never leaving her as she settles in next to Esther.
“Open your fucking mouth again, Shadow, and see what happens. Asshole,” he says, voice full of gravel.
I laugh, the thought of the ass beating he served years ago amusing me.
“Fuck you, Tris. You know I’m your favorite killer.”
He says nothing as he walks away, and I chuckle again when he posts up against a wall as he watches Sable bid on a soon to be dead man.