Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

“In that case,” he says, “I won’t insult the lady.”

I let a warning linger in my tone. “Best not.”

He turns back to Cas. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“We just got here,” she says. “Happy birthday.”

The redhead throws back her head and utters a low moan.

“She comes easily, this one,” Oliver says, pulling his hand from under her skirt and offering his fingers to her sister or twin or who the fuck ever to lick clean.

While she sucks on his fingers, I say, “Happy birthday. I sent you a gift.”

“I got it.” He grins. “Most thoughtful of you.” He pulls his hands from the redhead’s skirt and mouth, and taps her on the ass. “Show Ian what we did with his birthday money.”

The women climb to their feet and lift their skirts, revealing clit piercings. They’re each sporting a golden ring with a diamond pendant dangling from the hoop. The girl on his right utters a shriek when he pulls roughly on the ring.

He laughs. “Only got it this morning. It still hurts, doesn’t it, cunt-cakes?”

The skin of her neck has turned blotchy. She bites her lip and nods.

Leon mumbles something that sounds like happy birthday and grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Ruben offers his wishes, slanting a look at the girl on the left.

“I’ll leave you to your guests,” I say, eager to get Cas the hell out of here before Oliver starts snorting coke from the cracks of his women’s asses. It’s a trick he shows off every year.

“Not so fast,” he says. “We need to talk business.”

Ah, fuck. “On your birthday? I thought we sorted out everything. ”

“Something new came up. It’s not every day I have the privilege of seeing you, and as you very well know, our business can’t be done over email or phone.”

I clench my teeth. Leon touches his jacket where it covers his belt. Like me, he has hidden blades. Oliver stands. Four men in black suits follow suit. Two of his bodyguards lead the way to a door behind a red curtain while the others follow after Oliver, casting glances around.

Rubbing my thumb along Cas’s spine, I whisper in her ear, “I’ll take you home as soon as I can.”

She gives me sidelong glance and a small smile. “I’m good.”

Once we’re all in the room, the guards take up positions by the door. A glass table in the center is set with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and lines of neatly cut coke.

Oliver takes a discontinued five-hundred dollar bill from his pocket and offers it to Cas.

“No, thanks,” she says.

He passes the bill to one of the redheads, who rolls it and sits down on her knees to do a line.

“Sit,” Oliver says, waving at the half-moon bench at the far end of the table.

Leon scoots in on the left. I let Cas go before me and shift in on the right. Ruben stands, ogling the half-naked women’s nipple decorations.

Oliver takes the chair that looks like a stage piece made out to be throne. “I’d like to buy her.”

Cas stiffens next to me.

My first reaction is to want to punch his face in and break the glass top of his table with his skull.

“Anything you want, honey,” he says, addressing Cas. “I have a reputation for keeping my women very happy. Isn’t that so, cunt-cakes?”

One of the redheads drapes herself at his feet, humming her agreement.

I’m up before Leon has time to grab my arm. Oliver may be used to buying women for his harem, but insulting Cas by assuming she’d be interested is taking it a step too far.

“You will not disrespect my girlfriend again,” I grit out.

“Ah.” He laughs. “Just to be clear, it’s serious?”

I lean in. “Let me make this even clearer for you. Anyone touches as much as a hair on her head, and I’ll send him to the bottom of the Zambezi with his dick shoved down his throat.”

He raises his hands. “Sit down. Chill. I get it. You’ve staked your claim. I was just wondering if the pretty lady has a say.”

“I do,” Cas says, giving him a level look. “You heard Ian.”

“Okay,” Oliver singsongs. “In that case, I’ll stop bothering you.”

He flicks his fingers. The woman on her knees jumps to her feet and serves champagne, handing us each a glass.

“To me,” Oliver says, raising his glass.

We all follow suit, but I barely wet my lips with the liquor. I wait an appropriate three seconds after the toast to say, “Why are we here? Your guests are waiting.”

“Business before pleasure, right?” Oliver leans back and crosses his legs.

Cas fishes for something in her clutch and produces a tissue with which she dabs her lips. At the flick of Oliver’s fingers, the woman leaves the champagne in the ice bucket and hands around cocktail napkins.