While I may have been a perfect Vivian replica in this case, Six was no Edward, though he could play the part well. Vivian got paid, not killed, and ended up with her prince, while I was going to end up six feet under.
Six responded in words I didn’t understand. Gibberish to my ears. I took a few years of Spanish in school, a language I’d long forgotten, minus how to order a good margarita at my local Mexican restaurant.
Welcome to France!
The man bowed and stepped back, opening his arm out, gesturing for us to proceed. Whatever he said must have been pretty good, because the wary smile was dropped in favor of a more reverent attitude.
My stilettos clicked against the marble floors, hips sashaying as I played my part of arm candy. Amazing how I always thought of myself as pretty average, maybe a bit above, but linked with Six, I felt like the sexiest woman in the room.
Maybe it was the blonde hair or the makeup. Could’ve been the two-thousand-dollar dress I was wearing, or thousand-dollar Christian Louboutin peep-toes, or even the nine-hundred-dollar clutch. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel like myself.
I wasn’t Paisley anymore—I really was Lacey.
With my head high, I acted as well as any Oscar-winning actress.
Pretentious as anyone else in the room. Elite and selfish, caring for nothing but the man on my arm and what he could buy me.
Another suit wearing man stepped in front of us, cutting off the direction we were headed. “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”
English!
Six arched a brow at him. “The only assistance I require is for you to remove yourself from my path and point me toward Samuel Winston.”
Damn, he could play just about any part. And the Oscar goes to Six.
“May I ask your name?”
“Sean Collins.”
He disappeared through a set of elaborately carved wooden doors and reappeared almost immediately, ushering us forth. As we stepped into the room, I was once again struck with awe. Tall ceilings, massive fireplace, lush décor, and occupied by only two people.
A snotty looking blonde sat on a chair while a Fifty Shades of Grey like man stood in front of the fireplace.
“Mr. Winston, a Mr. Collins for you.”
“Thank you, William.” His voice was deep, and held an air of authority.
The only thing that ran through my head was the conversation Six and I had on the first day we met.
Cocky. Mr. Christian Grey wannabe was cocky, arrogant, and probably an asshole as well.
When he turned, I almost stepped back. Black hair, seemingly glowing green eyes, and an aura of power. With the fire roaring behind him, he resembled the devil.
As soon as the door closed, the blonde stood. It was amazing the similarity of presence they projected. When I turned to look at Six, I pulled back. The air around him had changed as well, almost matching theirs, only his lacked the cocky edge.
There was almost a competition going on, and it was blatantly obvious who was the oddball—me.
“Six, it’s been a while,” the devil said as he stepped forward, angling toward the blonde.
She smirked at the devil as continued his approach. “Maybe for you. I was with him a month ago.” She gave Six a wink. “Under the name of Evan Arden, wasn’t it?”
“Nine.” He nodded to the man, then turned to the woman. “One.”
Nine? One? Six?
“Huh.” The noise escaped and seemed to draw their attention to me.
If they were anything like Six, they knew I was there, but just ignored me. I wasn’t worth their gaze.
The blonde’s face soured. “Are you sure you want to discuss business in front of your toy?”
Six shrugged. “Just meat.”
A smirk grew on the blonde’s face. “True.”
Great. After two weeks of being with the psycho and being “married” to him, I was still just cattle.
Moo.
“Did we miss orders?” Nine asked.
“Three is dead.” Six wasted no time getting to the point.
Three?
Things started to make more sense and less sense in that moment. Three was the word that Six spoke when he saw the body on the slab right before he kidnapped me and blew up my work.
There was no startled gasp or change in their expression. No one seemed upset. What appeared to be another of their rank was dead, and they were unfeeling, unconcerned.
They really were monsters, and I was trapped in a room with three of them.
Nine quirked a brow. “You think it means something.”
“A Cleaner sent to clean up another Cleaner? To erase any evidence of us?”
The way he said Cleaner threw me off. It was spoken as if it was a title and not a housekeeping position.
“That’s to be expected,” Nine said as he walked over to a cart that held a decanter. He pulled out the stopper and poured some of the amber liquid into a glass. “They don’t acknowledge our existence in any way.”
“They don’t want any blood on their pristine, white hands,” One added.
“Then someone tried to erase me,” Six said.
That got their attention.
Nine had raised the glass to his lips, but he lowered it. “Cleaning house?”
One’s eyes were wide. “Have you talked to Jason?”