For All The Book Girlies Who Dream Of Falling For The Enemy And Tied Up By Their Psychopath Book Boyfriends, R.I.P. To Your Panties.
Celeste
Wearing my black dress and hair pinned straight, my dark red lipstick and black makeup glam that defined my resting face, I walk beside my father and mother, my masquerade mask hiding my green eyes and the upper part of my face, but everyone's attention, perverts to be specific were on me.
Taking a deep breath, I roll my eyes, scanning the room, noticing a specific man drooling over me while his wife laughed beside the other woman.
Pedazo de mierda.
"Fix that face of yours," Mother slaps me on the back, forcing my posture straight, putting a smile on my face, I 'fix' my resting 'bitch' face, "Good, now we're to look for your soon-to-be husband, be nice" Nice my ass, I've lived long enough to know a woman can rule a throne alone, without a man by my side I'll be just as powerful, what is this the 19 century?
My family has always stood by the rules, perfect attitude, posture, fame, money, and marriage.
Like that'll help their four brain cells so far.
My mother is as beautiful as a goddamn goddess, with green eyes, fair skin freckles darting her body, perfect heart-round lips, a...decent personality, and long brown curled hair. Meanwhile, my father was the opposite, at least thirty years older, with blonde ash-grey hair and tan skin.
Surprised he's still with us today.
Don't laugh. I'm joking, you psycho.
My mother is the face of Spain, known as the richest model. My father is the cruelest man I've ever met in my twenty-three years of life. He never cared about his family, only his money, fame, and gambling. I'm surprised he hasn't murdered me yet for speaking my mind.
I learned from the mafia that any man could disrespect a woman. I've watched and spied on every woman I've laid eyes on, how insecure and bruised they were, the hint of fear in their eyes from small little gestures from their husbands, how they followed men behind like lost little puppies.
I'm the complete opposite, if I'm going to get a husband, he will be the one worshiping me, not the other way around, I've faced death multiple times just by being confident and independent, held gun pointed just for speaking facts.
And where are those men and women now? Six feet underground.
"Remember the rules, Cely. You will dance with every man who asks for your hand, you will be polite, and we will find you a husband," my mother stated. I held onto my eye roll before she could turn her back to me.
"I'm polite," I shrug my head as she arches a brow at me. A smirk tugs my lips as she resits her eye roll. "I'm serious, Cely; your father and I have raised you to be the woman you are today, and it's time."
Correction: I raised the woman I am today.
Not holding my eyes, I glance around the ballroom at a black chandelier above us, fancy black walls molded with structure, black and white marble flooring, and a large bar where I'll spend my time. At the same time, the dance floor stands empty, and classical jazz music is played on the speakers.
Multiple rich celebrities, including dangerous men and women, wore fancy dresses and suits, matching the black theme ball. I glanced back at my mother, who was already hissing at my father for taking two glasses of champagne.
Before they could both turn their attention back to me, I made a run for it and headed toward the bar. Sighing, I rolled my shoulders back and took a seat on the stool.
"What can I get you, beautiful?" Dawson smirked up at me while he rubbed a cloth over a glass of beer, "My regular."
"Sorry ma'am we don't serve hot men with tattoos over their bodies" Arching a brow I glare at him, of course, he's mocking me over my fucking ex, Elija, the biggest mistake that has ever crossed my life, beside him meet one of my favorite person, Dawson Dragun.
He's the most annoying yet funny guy I've probably met. He's been my number one best friend, besides Anastasia and his brother Landon.
Dawson and Landon are the IT twins, both assassins, known as The Masked Psychopaths. On missions, they always have a mask or face paint on both faces painted as a dead skeleton, or sometimes Landon will wear a ghost face mask, and Dawson will wear a skull mask; they're both the most wanted criminals in Detriot.
Besides them being twins, Dawson was born with platinum rare blonde hair, and beside him, Landon had dark black hair; both had grey sleepy eyes and fair skin. Landon has a bunch of tattoos and scars covering his body, while Dawson is not inked and has a few scars. That's how I tell the difference; the people get confused since they both have the same face till Landon smiles; you can tell who's who, besides Landon being a complete insane psychopath, Dawson is nothing like him.
He's calm, but Landon isn't. Dawson is a sweetheart, and so is Landon, but he can be a dick; Dawson's smile isn't as sinister as Landon's, but I wouldn't judge him too quickly; Landon loves showing off his crazy side. Meanwhile, Dawson hides it, but I doubt he's as angelic as he acts.
They're known to leave D&L initials carved into their victim's chest, and I guess they're undercover for tonight's mission: Dawson as a bartender, and Landon is dressed as a gentleman spying on his victim. Besides the world, Anastasia and I are the only two who know their real identities since we were all practically raised together.
"Turns out your already the show of the crowd" Blinking I ignore him, what I hate most is attention, but that's quite impossible with my father's reputation and my mother's goddamn career.
Besides that, everyone finds a way to compliment me. Not that I'm complaining, yet everyone takes 'Beauty' for friendship. No one besides the twins and Anastasia took my beauty for friendship.
Everyone else decides to say, how beautiful you are, your gorgeous, Wow I see your mother's genes really worked their magic.
Thank you, thank you, and thank you, but fuck off, one little compliment doesn't mean we're besties; I've gone through friendships who use me for my 'beauty' and money, knowing who my family is, that was always their objective, become friends with Spain's face daughter, use her for money, and leave.
Like Always.
"Here's your regular Miss, Dolores-" he cuts himself as I snatch the fruit martini from his grasp and chug it down my throat, "Woah, that bad already." Slamming the glass down, I glare at him above my mask, "Yes, they want me to find a husband; it's as if they think I could pull a random guy and say, 'Hey, I know we just met. Want to marry me?"
Dawson released a chuckle, "Really, Cely, you're a walking goddess. You can make anyone want to fall for you." he rolled his eyes, giving me a death glare, or is that just his natural face?
"Is that a challenge?" I taunt
"Yes, it is—" I clear my throat before he can finish his sentence. Turning to the random guy on my left, I catch his attention. "Hello there, sir. Would you permit me to take your hand to please my parents?"
"Yes-"
"Is that your brother?" I smile as the guy beside him jerks in my direction. He frowns and glances at his friend "Hm, never mind, both your penis seem too small to my liking" Dawson laughs his ass off as I reflect at him, "That was a deal, hundred bucks" he gestures his hand toward me.
"Hundred bucks, my ass. I have to," Dawson cuts me off with a loud clear of his throat, his eyes gazing behind me, and I could feel a hot vibration staring deep behind my back.
A shiver crawls up my spine, causing me to sit up straight. I've felt this look and presence before, and if it's who I think it is...
I will stab him right in the throat in front of millions of people without a thought. Swallowing, I peek over my shoulder-
My gaze landed directly on a pair of hazel eyes, fully facing him my eyes scan him from head to toe, he was tall, very fucking tall.
The perfect shade of tan skin, a black suit that was built into his body, holy crap, he forced two sizes down into his body, Black loafers and a black masquerade mask, his hands inside his pockets, and I could tell from the lighting, a gun was hiding beneath his jacket.
His hair was perfectly styled and slicked to the side, and his jaw was sharp. It could cut through stone, and his eyes...fuck, his eyes were perfectly shaped into almonds.
Causing any girl to fall to his knees, and then what pulled my heartstrings was his slight smirk on his lips...and his goddamn fucking dimples.
Screw what I said to the other guy beside me. This man could fuck me anywhere he wishes to.
And the shaved-styled beard defined his facial expression even better, sharper. "Worship me" were the words that escaped my throat, my eyes widened in fear, and I instantly regretted allowing my head to control my mouth. A bigger smirk tucked his lips, and I know his ego is growing from it. "That's not what I meant. I meant Words...of Mentally disturbed."
Okay, now what the fuck is wrong with me?
He releases a chuckle, creating something weird inside my stomach. This man is HOT. No, hot is way too underrated for him.
He's a walking lord, and I could definitely tell he was packed underneath those layers of clothes. His suit fit his big biceps perfectly. He was tall and big.
But not big to the max, he was buff very buff, but the perfect type of buff.
"I would gladly get on my knees, but this is a ten-thousand-dollar suit." My eyes widen for a quick second before I relax my face. Girls, he has an accent.
To be clear, he has an Italian New Jersey accent. He sounds like those guys from The Sopranos, but hotter?
"Right, wouldn't want to get your suit dirty" Arching a brow I turn back to face Dawson who's giving me a grin that speaks for itself, Your getting laid tonight.
Rolling my eyes, I realize the random sexy macho guy is sitting beside me, "Three shots of tequila." Three? Oh, he's trying to get lit tonight.
I would join but be gone by my first shot, so that's a big no, no.
"Where you from, sweetheart?" Sighing, I glance back at him, "My mother's vagina" he smiled wider. Oh, come on, has that worked before? How is he smiling? That sometimes freaks guys out, making me look like a weirdo.
"Spain," I corrected myself after a few seconds passed. "Ah, Spain." Dawson hands the guy his shots with some limes beside them, and without hesitation, the sexy man tosses them into his mouth without the limes.
My eyes widened. I couldn't deny I was impressed by his face staying perfectly still.
First red flag, he could be an alcoholic, but fuck me, that was hot.
"Italy, slash New Jersey"
"Ah, I couldn't tell." He chuckled again, "The accent exposes me." Yeah, it does, my guy.
"I've never seen you around here..." I say as Dawson hands me another martini, this fucker is trying to get me tipsy just to fuck this guy isn't he?
"I've been around sweetheart, I'm just hiding in the shadows" He smiles brightly, freaking me out in a turn-on way, God I need help.
"The shadows?"
"Yeah, the shadows," he repeated, "And where is that exactly?" He smiles and gestures toward the room, confused I look around like the dumbass I am, ohh he means he stays hidden?
He looks at me with his eyes, speaking for him.
And their exact words were, are your two brain cells registering what I just said?
Yes, yes, they are.
The second red flag is he could be a psychopath killer, hm, mild.
"That so? Why are you hiding, my friend?" Taking a sip from my straw, his smile slowly fades. "I'm an observer. You see those two over there?" He dips his chin, gesturing toward the men sitting a few seats down. Glancing behind my back, I nod.
"That one is fucking Alexander Mantrin, and his wife has an affair with his son" My eyes widen in shock as I glance back at him, "His son? And he's fucking a guy?" he nods, licking his lips.
My eyes trace the action, causing my thighs to clench beneath my dress. He nods, "Like I said, sweetheart, I stay in the shadows. I also request you head toward the bathroom as quickly as possible." Before I could respond, he pulled my martini toward him, taking a long sip before licking his lips. He gives me another smirk and walks off into the crowd of people, disappearing into thin air.
Swallowing I take back my drink, and take a deeper sip, hoping I can taste him. Spoiler: I can't.
"Better start walking, sweetheart," Dawson mimicked in his accent. Arching a brow, he gestured toward the bathrooms to my right. Your parents are waiting."