Dynasty (Boys of Winter 1)

I zone them out. After all, it’s nothing different than what I’ve already experienced a million times before.

Lingering stares from the guys turn into desire, and I block them all out as I walk through the party. All the people here are dressed in designer clothes, lounging over the graves, and using their tombstones as coffee tables. I’d dare say that this party was meant for the rich kids who live on the other side of the city.

I certainly don’t belong here, but then why the hell would I skip an opportunity like this? Hell, just digging in one guy’s pocket could buy gas for my Ducati for the next month.

I get straight to work.

I start making my way through the busiest part of the crowd, constantly bumping into people and swiping what cash I can from open handbags. I laugh to myself. These people are clueless, but what’s more, is that people like this wouldn’t even notice if a bit of cash went missing. God, I’d love to live with that luxury. People like me are constantly counting our coins, making sure we have enough just to get by.

I do a full circle before realizing that while there’s plenty of tables dedicated to mixing drinks, there’s not one damn table that can feed me.

I groan and make my way around for a second circle. I bump and move against people, feeling like I have the world at my fingertips.

My shoulder barges past a guy, but before I have the chance to dip my fingers into his back pocket, the guy spins around, his hand curling around my wrist and holding it between us. My head snaps up and I meet his dark stormy eyes.

He holds me close, his stare unwavering, and in an instant, chills begin sweeping over my body. I can’t help but wonder if this was the driver of the Escalade who had knocked the breath out of me from his stare alone.

I swallow hard, the seconds seeming to tick by as he holds me, or maybe it just feels like forever. Everything else zones out as all I can focus on are his eyes. I couldn’t even say what his hair looks like, only that long black strands are falling into his eyes, and judging by the way I have to tilt my head to meet his ferocious stare, I’d dare say that this guy is as tall as they come.

It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, but something tells me that he can read my mind as though the words are written across my forehead like a tattoo.

At least thirty seconds pass, each of us stuck in the moment before he finally releases my wrist and turns away. I stumble back a step, staring at his broad shoulders as he dismisses me in an instant. His friends stand with him, but I'm spellbound, stuck gaping at him breathlessly until someone tumbles into me and forces me to react. The last thing I want to do is eat dirt in front of the rich kids that I'll no doubt see in school tomorrow.

My stumble pulls me out of it, and without a backward glance, I make my way over to the edge of the party to where people are more scattered and the noise isn’t so loud. I drop down into the grass, parking my ass beside an old tombstone, and take a second to breathe.

Who the hell was that guy? Surely it’s the same guy from the Escalade—or at least one of them.

I can’t resist reaching over and brushing my hand over the moss-covered stone to read what it says. Janet Moustaff died in 1978 from drowning and was only 37 years old. I let out a sigh. “Well, Janet,” I murmur as I pull out the stack of cash that I’d managed to collect over the last half an hour. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting with you, but to be honest, it doesn’t look like anyone has in a while. Who the hell is supposed to be looking after this place anyway? They’re doing a shitty job of keeping it clean.”

Having said that, I glance over at the tombstone beside hers and wipe my hand over it before squinting as I struggle to read what it says, but as I do, my heart breaks. John Moustaff died 1981 from a lonely heart. He was only 42.

I finish cleaning off their tombstones and look back at Janet’s. “Well, at least you have each other,” I tell her, knowing that even in death, she has so much more than me. I let out a sigh and get back to counting the cash.

“Talking to the dead?” a deep voice asks from behind me.

My eyes widen, and I shove the cash inside my bra before spinning around and looking up at the guy who is slowly approaching me, hands raised as if to tell me that he means no harm.