His stare intensified, and he shifted his weight as though he had something to say.
“Exactly. He’ll go.” Sam swept her hair from around her shoulders and set it to draping down her right side, giving him a better view for one last look at her breasts. “Won’t you?”
When he didn’t comment, Sam smiled and wiggled her fingers.
“See you inside,” she said, and rolled up the window.
“Maybe we should listen to him,” Charity said as the Porsche passed the small gathering of people. “I mean, he’s camped out down here on Killer’s Highway, warning people away. Clearly he thinks this is a bad scene.”
Samantha scoffed. “He’s just hanging out with his boys before heading to the party the rest of them weren’t invited to. He’ll go. Anyone invited to this party would be stupid to decline. The host is an internet mogul or something. He’s really well-to-do.”
That meant insanely rich.
“Okay, but does this internet mogul have a basement he likes to chain people in? Because swank party or not, that’s not an awesome way to spend a few months, you know?”
“You are so weird,” Sam said, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror as she pulled up the drive. “Devon’s probably trying to manipulate us. But you can’t shit a bullshitter.”
“I don’t think that’s a saying.”
“He’ll show up, don’t worry. He’ll hang out with his guys, like I said, then bounce and hit the party to pick up the drunk girls.”
“There’s so much wrong with that statement…”
“I’m ready for this moment. I will go home with him tonight.”
“Okay…but you’re my ride.”
“It’s fine,” Sam said, although Charity wasn’t sure how it was fine.
Around another blind bend that must’ve resulted in more than a few accidents, Sam rolled to a stop next to a keypad. She reached out of the window and entered the code.
“You had it memorized?”
“Of course,” Sam said.
A large gate decorated with what looked like arrows shooting into the sky shuddered to a start, swinging open. The road went a ways further, down an incline, before it opened up into a large driveway. High-dollar vehicles were parked along the side, and the house, glowing excessively, lazily stretched out fifty yards in front of them. The house looked so modern that it might pass for a spaceship. A path dotted with flowers wound toward the impressive front entrance nestled between columns, welcoming the wayward traveler—if that traveler happened to own an island and a sweatshop.
Charity tried to melt into the Porsche’s bucket seat. She resented agreeing with that clown with the Range Rover, but it was clear that she didn’t belong here. This was a dozen steps above Sam, and Sam was a marathon above Charity. Charity would stick out in a very bad way. She said as much.
“C’mon, you look great,” Sam said, getting out of the car.
“What millionaire wants to live at the end of that death road, anyway?” Charity climbed out of the car. Her dress pulled down, nearly exposing her breasts, before cinching up, not far from giving a crotch peep show. “Why do guys get to wear clothes that cover their bodies, and fashion tells women to basically go nude? I mean, don’t guys usually have to pay for that pleasure?”
“You’re so weird,” Sam said again—it was her favorite observation of Charity—and her hips swayed as she made it to the front of the car. “To answer your question, a millionaire that wants privacy.”
Devon’s urgent tone resurfaced in Charity’s memory. He’d been so adamant that they should turn around.
“Or maybe a millionaire with a lot of secrets,” she murmured, looking back the way they’d come.Chapter FourDevon stared after the Porsche as it disappeared around the bend. He should’ve tried harder to get his message across. Samantha never would’ve turned away, but he’d seen the wariness and intelligence in the other lady’s eyes. She had street smarts, he could tell. She might’ve listened. She might’ve let one of his guys take her back to the main road so she could get a cab.
“Who was that chick?” Dillon asked.
“The one on the right, the pretty blonde, was invited. Samantha Kent,” Devon said without inflection, hiding his unease. “Her daddy is some big-shot CEO. She has a trust, I think, but Vlad isn’t after her. He wants her dad. He’s going to try to use the daughter to get what he wants from the old man.”
Vlad was a cunning, ruthless elder vampire who thought nothing of breaking magical law in the Brink, what magical people called the human world. Vampires were prohibited from changing humans, but the elder didn’t intend to ask for permission, either from the humans he planned to change or the shifters who regulated magical law in the Brink.
“I meant the other one. She doesn’t belong,” Dillon said.
“No, she doesn’t.” Devon leaned against his SUV and kept from clenching his jaw. “Jessica Young was invited. That was not Jessica Young.”