Heartless (Starcrossed Lovers Trilogy 1)

The Constantine table was clearly oblivious to the fact that the real Terence Kingsley was buried deep in the depths of the London slums. To them, he was right there amongst them, with his pathetic camera on the table as a disguise.

The head of the family was modest in her applause, pasting on her regal smirk as she clapped for me. Her brother-in-law was already half drunk at her side, raising his hands in the air.

Elaine didn’t try to alert them. Her eyes were on me, and her breaths were ragged, but she didn’t say a fucking word.

More fool you, bitch. More fool you.

I sat myself back down and kicked back, sipping on yet another mineral water while the table of crappy reality TV stars around me did their best to be caught by the cameras. I hated charity events; they were the very epitome of tackiness and arrogance, everyone patting themselves on the back for being such selfless saints in their overblown lifestyles. That and saying their Hail Marys on the path to the eternal divine.

At least I knew I was an evil piece of shit. My path to hell was already paved in sin. Soon it would be paved in Elaine Constantine’s blood and pain, too.

There were another twenty lots auctioned off by the time the ass of a presenter on stage fucked off and left people in peace. The majority of people were straight up from their tables, doing their usual cheap socialising, and so was Terence Kingsley.

It was hilarious when I stepped up close enough to Caroline Constantine that she reached for my arm.

“Such a noble bid from your shareholder,” she said to me with a smile. “Would that be Winston Warwick by any chance?”

I tapped my nose. “I’m not allowed to say, of course, but you may well be right on that.”

She slapped her brother-in-law on the arm. “I knew it. I knew it would be Winston.” Her eyes were glinting when they met mine. “Don’t worry, Mr Kingsley. I won’t say a word to him. He’s such a generous soul.”

Winston Warwick was a cunt, and I knew it plenty well enough. He manipulated the UK tabloid media so ridiculously that I’m surprised the general populous didn’t scoff at his bullshit, but they didn’t. They lapped up the sensationalist trash and kept on begging for it.

Elaine was sitting at the table alongside the rest of her family, her big blue eyes honed right in on me. My smirk spoke volumes as I stepped away from her mother. I made sure to brush by her seat, close enough that she could feel me.

I wasn’t expecting her to up and follow me as I headed to the next round of morons to chat shit to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed at me before I arrived at the next table.

My gaze must have been cold and vile when it pounded into hers. “Being a saint to the world, of course. Be thankful I saved you a fortune. Maybe it’ll save your ass a few extra days from the Power brothers.”

She visibly flinched. “What the fuck do you know about me and the Power brothers?”

I leaned into her so closely that I could almost taste her neck when I answered. “I know you are in danger at their hands, silly little girl.”

She shrugged. “I’m in danger from a lot of people. They can join the club, can’t they?”

I found myself gripping her arm before she could move away. “Who the fuck else is after you?”

She turned her face to me, and she was close, so fucking close that her lips were just an inch away from mine. She was wearing rich dark red, and it contrasted against her blonde so well that it was a haven of temptation. Her cleavage was rising and falling with her breaths, and I wanted crimson blood all over her tits to match her dress.

Her words were a whisper when she spoke. “Why the fuck do you care who is after me? Just get your act together and make sure you’re first in line if you want to kill me. Don’t want to miss your chance.”

My reply was a growl in a crowded room of giggles and gossip. “I said, who the fuck else is after you, Elaine?”

Her eyes were pools of pain, underneath her bravado. “And I said, why do you care?”

With that, some loudmouth prick slapped my back, and this one was from London, wanting to talk about the National Telegraph. Elaine wasted no time in slipping away.

I managed five seconds of conversation before I excused myself and tracked her down. She was weaving her way through standing guests, pitching her route to the rear double doors with her perfect blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders.

The corridor outside the hall wasn’t empty when I caught up with her, but I didn’t care. I took her elbow and steered her to the side, pushing us down into some staff catering alley.