Chapter 11

The cluster of conversation on the far side of the ballroom fractured the moment Thorne Blackwood’s eyes locked with Heath’s. Every head turned. The string quartet faltered for half a beat before recovering, but the notes sounded thinner now, strained against the weight in the air. Conversations died mid-sentence. Guards in dark suits shifted their weight, hands drifting closer to their sides.

Heath stopped. Thorne turned. They began walking toward each other through the parting crowd slowly, boots clicking against marble, each footfall a separate countdown. The space between them shrank inch by inch, and with each inch, my throat tightened. Heat radiated off the bodies pressing away from them. I swallowed.

Thorne Blackwood moved with controlled power. He was Hispanic. His dark eyes held no warmth, only calculation. On his arm clung a woman who looked like she could draw blood with a smile. She had a thin figure, elegant, with sleek black hair pinned high and crimson lips curved in permanent amusement. Something malicious flickered in the way she surveyed the room. A viper, I thought immediately. She clung to him like a limp, glad to be a trophy in a man’s arms.

Finally, they stood facing each other.

“Moore,” 

“Blackwood,”

Thorne’s gaze slid to me. “And who is this lovely woman beside you?”

I extended my hand for a professional shake. Before I could complete the motion, he caught it and lifted it, brushing his lips across the back of my palm. The contact was polite but deliberate. Heath’s hand shot up instinctively, then froze mid-air. He forced it back down, but not before Thorne noticed. A faint, knowing smile touched the other man’s mouth.

Thorne released my hand but didn't step back immediately. His gaze lingered just long enough to become uncomfortable.

“Take good care of her, Moore.” His smile never reached his eyes. “I'd hate for someone... valuable to get caught in old wars.”

Heath's jaw flexed.

“Mind your own business, Blackwood.”

For the rest of the night, even as they drifted through separate circles, shaking hands and exchanging nods, they watched each other. Every glance like they were testing their edge.

I moved through the ballroom on Heath’s subtle cues, dancing with the partners he directed me toward, smiling through empty small talk while my eyes swept the room. One man’s suit caught my attention. An impeccable cut fabric that cost more than my mother’s hospital bills. As my gaze traveled lower, I spotted the telltale bulge beneath his jacket. A holster. Hidden, but unmistakable if you knew what to look for. My stomach tightened.

More alert now, I scanned again. The signs were everywhere once I started looking. The way certain jackets hung. Some men stood holding their arms discreetly. I counted at least fifteen guns, seven knives, and several smaller ones tucked into pockets or strapped discreetly. This wasn’t a party.

Something was going on.

He told me to look for anything off. But this… I wasn’t ready to hand him that report. I wasn’t ready for what it might mean about him; if he was mixed up in this world, or if he’d lied to me again. Both possibilities twisted like barbed wire in my chest. I had wanted answers, now I feared them more.

Twice I caught a servant slipping messages through a careful chain—five intermediaries at least—until the last one reached Thorne while pretending to top up a drink. The original sender stayed at the far end of the room, back to me the entire time. Red and brown tuxedo, silver-white hair, no more than five-four.

Knowing what I did, and considering what I was wearing, the hair could as much be a wig. I tried to get a better view, but he never turned.

Heath appeared at my side again. “Mia.” His hand brushed the small of my back. “Dance with me.”

The word sent heat licking up my spine despite everything. I let him lead me onto the floor. He pulled me close, his gloved hand firm at my waist, the other holding mine. The scent of him wrapped around me, and my body remembered this feeling too well.

“Who is Thorne to you?” I asked quietly, eyes on his chest so I wouldn’t have to meet that hazel-green gaze.

“An old acquaintance.”

“That looked like more than old acquaintances.”

A faint tug at the corner of his mouth. “Ahh… the fire that burns between old lovers.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re dodging the question.”

He exhaled, spinning me smoothly before drawing me back in. “We trusted each other once.”

He guided me into another turn.

“Closest thing I ever had to a brother.”

His expression hardened.

“That ended.”

I waited. And waited. For him to continue but he didn't say another word.

My fingers tightened around his shoulder. His thumb traced a slow circle against my waist. His eyes dropped to my mouth again. I felt his breath. Just one more inch...

Then Thorne appeared beside us. “May I cut in?”

I didn’t want to say yes. He was the enemy. Heath’s enemy. But refusing might draw more eyes, and something in me needed to know what this man was really like. I untangled myself from Heath’s neck and gave him my hand.

Heath’s jaw clenched, but he stepped back.

Thorne’s hold was confident, not quite as possessive as Heath’s, yet somehow more unsettling. We moved across the floor. Nothing about him screamed monster. He danced well, spoke easily. If I hadn’t seen the tension with Heath, I might have found him charming.

“I see the way he looks at you,” Thorne said quietly.

I laughed. “I’m just his plus-one for the night.”

He spun me through a turn in the music. “He doesn’t look at anyone like that. Means you’re either valuable… or special.” His dark eyes held mine. “You already know the difference, don’t you?” He paused waiting for an answer, after receiving nothing but a smile, he continued “How did you two meet?”

“It’s a one-time thing,” I lied. “We don’t really know each other.”

“Sure.” Another spin. “Tell me, Mia. Does he still keep his secrets close? Or has he started sharing them with you?”

The question landed too close. I opened my mouth to deflect when I spotted something from behind him. Heath’s bodyguard nodded once to him from the edge of the floor.

Heath noticed the signal immediately. The warmth vanished from his face. His eyes swept the exits, then the balconies. Whatever message he'd received, it had changed everything.

Seconds later, he was beside me, his hand sliding across my waist with suasion.

“Time to go,” he said, excusing us from Thorne with clipped courtesy that wasn’t a request. He steered me away, grip firm, while the seven-foot slab of muscle got our coats.

Heath's hand settled at my waist pulling me tightly close. He leaned close enough that only I could hear. “Don’t let him touch you again.”

Before I could give him a lecture of how he doesn't own me, he was already smiling politely at another guest.

My mind was contemplating the suddenness of all of it, when from the glimpse of my eye I saw it, the messenger; he was wearing the same gold signet ring that I had seen earlier. But it wasn’t the man from the office though, it was someone totally different.

Outside on the gravel drive, the night air hit against my flushed skin. “What was that about?”

“We’re leaving.” Another car had already rolled up, behind the limo, waiting for him.

“I saw the exchange with your bodyguard. You didn’t tell me the whole truth. You never informed me about any of this.”

“I told you what was important.” His voice was flat. “That wasn’t.”

“I’m not a fool, Heath. Don’t try that with me. I know what I saw—”

“Vito, take her home.” He cut me off, already turning. “Mia, you have tomorrow off. Don’t come in.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I’ll take a different car. Vito, will make your you get home safe.” He strode toward the waiting vehicle, and in three long steps, he was in. I stood there, annoyance burning in my throat, fists clenched at my sides. What the hell is wrong with you?

The words nearly spilled out. I wanted to shout them, to demand he stop treating me like fragile cargo he could dismiss when inconvenient. But he was already gone.

I marched to the limousine, my cheeks flaming, while still remembering the memory of his almost-kiss in the limo, his hand on my waist, the guns, the messenger, and Thorne’s probing questions, all boiling inside me.

Trust him. Hate him. Want him. I didn’t know which would destroy me first.