Page 102 of Ruthless Dream

He lets out a deep breath, his eyes flicking down to watch me. The scowl on his face softens.

I don’t want to admit to him how tired I am. Homework assignments killed me this week, and I’d rather be at home, curled up on the couch, than standing around in high heels.

The food looks good, but I don’t want Cormac’s dark eyes to burn through me when I shove something in my mouth. Plus, this dress is really not made for eating.

I loosen my hand from Ciaran. “I’m going to head to the bathroom.”

He takes a step.

“You were joking about the peeing thing,” I tell him, my brow lifted so he knows I’m serious. A girl needs a little privacy once in a while.

Ciaran’s eyes scan the room. His uncle’s penthouse is dimly lit, and the booze is freely flowing.

“It’s fine,” I murmur, my spine straightening. Since Jack, I’m prepared for every scenario. I will kill a man with my stiletto if I have to. Though, hopefully, I can just go pee in peace.

Ciaran nods his head, directing me to a restroom. It’s not the one I’d been eyeing up, but I appreciate how tucked away it is.

It’s nothing but a tiny powder room, situated in a small hallway that leads to the kitchen. I smooth the fabric of my dress, taking deep breaths. I really want my bed, but that will have to wait.

I fix my lipstick, ensure my hair isn’t a mess, and then prepare myself for more socializing.

The hallway is dark, the silence odd in comparison to the buzz of activity in the living room.

Instead of going back that way, I head to the kitchen. The plan is to just poke my head in, be nosy, and see what it looks like and then head back to Ciaran. I’m surprised at how calm it is; the caterers are already packing up. I guess the food portion is over and we’re solely on to the liquor.

A woman nods to a flute of champagne on the counter, and I smile in thanks.

Because it’s so calm and empty, I wander through, picturing Ciaran and his cousins eating lunch here in between work meetings. There’s a giant butler’s pantry, and I assume the hallway will spit me back out into the living room when voices root my heels to the floor.

“Icarus Knight thinks he owns Las Vegas.”

This voice is new. It’s also so bitter and harsh, my eyebrows raise.

“You sound like you aren’t so sure about that,” Cormac O’Connell says.

Don’t do this, some part of me says. I step into the doorway of the butler’s pantry. Because that’s completely natural, just hanging out here. Definitely not snooping.

“I could say the same about you,” the nameless bastard says. “You’re not a fan of the Knights either.”

“I may or may not have gotten into it with them back in the nineties,” Cormac says.

“So we’re in agreement?”

“I don’t know, Wallen, are we?” Cormac sighs.

I’m on high alert. Cormac is speaking to Wallen. To put it simply—they sound like they’re in cahoots.

Except that’s too light of a word. That’s for little kids running around making a mess of things.

These are two grown men speaking with animosity about another man. Whatever agreement they’re working on will only bring misfortune to whoever Icarus Knight is.

My brows are furrowed, my head aching. I’m pissed when I realize I don’t know the name. And I’ve done everything to ensure I know everyone in this city.

Movement has me pressing my spine into the wall. The door to the pantry is open, but it’s dark. I hold my breath when footsteps get closer.

“Vegas is ripe territory,” Wallen says.

“More like expensive territory.”