Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
They picked a hell of a time to try for intimidation—when the whole damn thing is only hours from destruction.
“Hey!” Nathanial calls as I push through them and continue on without so much as acknowledging their presence.
Truthfully, I plan to continue ignoring them, but my brother Kane suggests otherwise.
“They want to rattle your cage, but they haven’t thought it through thoroughly enough.” His voice fills my ears. “Engage with them for a minute—I think they’ll end up giving us information.”
Kane, who’s swiftly taken to the new level of his powers, has really started to perfect the art of doing ride-along intention checks for me. I don’t even have to ask him and Rook to listen in at this point—they just always are. If he says it’s in my best interest to entertain a conversation with our sperm donors, I believe him. Even if I’d rather eat fucking rocks.
Spinning slowly from the path ahead of them, I reply. “Yeah?”
“We just thought we’d give you a little familial advice for tonight,” Ronan says. “Seeing as the three of us have been through more Selections than you’ll ever dream of.”
I nearly scoff. No doubt about that.
“What he’s trying to say is that you shouldn’t get your hopes up that you’ll get the one you want this time,” Cassian, my piece-of-shit father, adds with a smirk that sets a dimple in his cheek.
Instantly, I consider radical facial reconstruction.
“Yeah,” Nathanial taunts. “The mouthy redhead you like so much, especially. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I haven’t had a challenge in a while. I’ve decided to put in the work to bleed that attitude right out of her.”
Easy, Rook warns, the rage I feel penetrating his brain from my own.
I know they’re trying to egg me on, but talking about my mate like she’s some vial to be drained is grounds for fucking war. Maybe I don’t need to wait. Maybe I can—
Easy, Rook repeats. Keep your focus.
There’s a part of me that hates how fucking right my eldest brother is, but the fact remains—he’s right.
On a beat, I school my features and meet Nathanial’s eyes.
“Bid on who you like,” I say, offering a shrug. “I’ll do the same. We’ll see who wins.”
Nathanial’s smile falls at my nonreaction, anger reddening his cheeks instead.
And I don’t stick around to see or hear any more—both for them and for me. This is a powerful place to leave the interaction, but the truth is, any more restraint required of me might just make me combust.
“Good job, dude.” Kane’s praise bounces inside my ears. “So fucking proud of your ability not to make that stupid fuck eat his teeth.”
I growl. You guys just be ready. Like we discussed, I think it’s going to be easiest for Romy, Blair, and Kylie to control the women as they’re coming offstage from the bid. They’re ready with what they need?
“Yes,” Kane confirms. “They’ll be waiting to usher the girls out of there and to a secure location as though they’re taking them to their bonding villas. Rook and I will be waiting to back you up when the guys start to realize they’re missing.”
And where are you staging? I mentally question.
Just outside the observation room you’ll be in, Rook answers. Kane and I did some recon yesterday after everyone retreated to their villas. There is a supply and linen closet right across the hall.
All right, boys, I reply, fixing my sleeves, and entering through the garden entrance of the mansion to be escorted upstairs. It’s almost showtime.
Romy
“You look good. Damn good,” Hillary encourages as I stand in front of one of the full-length mirrors with hair and makeup to the nines—that she convinced me to do in anticipation of a night with Cal—six-inch heels my mother insisted on, and the skimpiest piece of fabric I’ve ever considered using for clothing.
All the calm I felt before is gone, and seeing myself like this, I can’t imagine it’s got any chance of coming back.
My stomach flips, and my legs start to shake as I spin around and head back to my makeup chair, unable to look at myself in this condition anymore. It’d be one thing if I were getting all dolled up to surprise Cal in my bedroom or something, but the idea of parading my ass in front of a hundred vampires in the next ten minutes while they compete to win me brings on a whole different vibe entirely.
I look down at my number—yes, my freaking lot number just like some head of cattle—and force the threat of puke back down my throat.
Ten.
A number that means in no uncertain terms that I’ll be among the first group to take the stage. Hillary is sporting fifty-seven, and if they hadn’t assigned them to us twenty minutes ago with very explicit instructions that we’re not to switch, I’d be begging her to do just that.