Chapter 380
SERAPHINE
I took a deep breath as I stood behind Emerson, my heart slamming against my ribs in a rhythm I could not slow. He knocked once on the heavy white door, pushed it open, and stepped inside, and I followed quietly behind him, my legs brushing together with every step.
The room was vast and dim, bathed in flickering colored lights, the kind of sultry illumination that belonged in high-end strip clubs, red and gold shadows sliding over the walls like living things. A semicircle of plush cushions ringed a low central stage, and sprawled across those cushions sat six men. They ranged from their mid-thirties to a man who had to be pushing sixty, their shirts loosened, their faces flushed with drink, bottles of wine dangling from their fingers like trophies, and every single one of them turned to look at me the moment I walked in.
It was still morning, and far too early for anyone to be partying this heavily, but I supposed that on an island like this, with nothing but sun and sea and money, drinking was the only occupation that mattered.
Earlier, after Emerson had left my room, I had freshened up and forced myself to eat a little. He had returned and told me to get dressed quickly, handing me the outfit he wanted me to wear, and I had put it on in silence, the ropes and straps settling against my skin like a second skeleton. Then he had told me to cover myself with a jacket, and I had obeyed without a word, because there was fifty billion at stake and I intended to earn every last zero of it.
He had driven us here in a buggy that probably cost more than most people’s houses, winding along the white gravel paths of the island until we reached another white mansion, and he had told me, as casually as a weather report, that he was ready to meet his friends.
Now I stood inside, staring at six pairs of hungry eyes, and I had no illusions about what was about to happen. I squared my shoulders and told myself it would be over soon. It always was.


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