My body tumbles until I’m discombobulated and the earbuds fall from my ears. Bright light blinds me as I’m freed from the rug and land on my back, staring up at the ceiling.
The scents of leather and carpet cleaner hit my nostrils as I bolt to my feet, tilting to one side like I’ve had too much to drink. I spin around, searching for an exit, but a big hand lands on the bare skin of my shoulder.
His palm is hot, like it was just yanked from a pocket or clenched in a fist. His touch sends tingles racing down to my fingertips.
Whoa. That’s never happened before.
I jerk away, stumbling forward to catch myself on the arm of a leather chair. “Please don’t kill me. Whatever you need me to fix, I’ll fix it.”
My head bowed, I say the words to the ripped-jean-covered legs of a man standing a few feet from me, even though I have no idea when I decided trying to reason with him was a good idea. With self-preservation running the show right now, all bets are off on me behaving rationally.
I brace for a blow or some form of verbal assault, but none comes. Other than the faint sound of the Proclaimers drifting up from my earbuds on the floor, a heavy silence blankets the room.
I wait for the man in the ripped jeans to move. To come toward me. To kill me. But he doesn’t.
“Fuck.” It comes out softly, like he’s speaking under his breath and doesn’t mean for me to hear it.
“Please,” I whisper, finally finding the courage to look up at the rest of the body connected to the pair of massive denim-clad legs. “Please don’t hurt—”
My voice goes silent as I stare into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He could make a fortune off those eyes alone. Mostly because they’re set in a ridiculously attractive face that shouldn’t be attractive at all due to a slight crook in the nose and the faint white line of a scar stretching across one of his sharp cheekbones. Shaggy dark blond hair hangs in his face as his lips press into a harsh line.
This beast, albeit a gorgeous one, is going to kill me.
The voice in my head delivers the final verdict, a conclusion it reached because somehow, to the bottom of my soul, I know this man isn’t afraid to cause another person pain. Raw, savage energy flows off his body in waves, and my teeth threaten to chatter at its intensity.
Beautiful and brutal. That’s what I’d caption the shot I’m mentally taking right now of the last face I may ever see.
This is it. I should have listened. But I didn’t. This is all my own damned fault.
I bite down on my quivering lip and straighten my shoulders as tears well in my eyes, tears I won’t allow to fall.
Not yet.
First, I’m going to bargain with the grim reaper.
Two
Legend
I’m going to kill him. After everything I’ve done for him, I’m going to fucking kill him.
I was already rocking on the edge of ruin, but that was nothing compared to this. There’s no way out.
I always thought if I ended up in prison like they said I would, it would be for one of the crimesIcommitted. But, no. It’ll be twenty-five to life because Bump kidnappedNYC Magazine’sMost Influential Woman Under Forty—and she’s only thirty-one.
Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck. My. Life.
Scarlett Priest—a blond image of untouchable class—stands in my office at Legend, my new club that’s already circling the drain. She stares me down, even as she trembles with fear of what she must assume is her impending death. Because what the hell is the woman supposed to think after someone fucking kidnapped her?
Rage burns through my veins, and Bump takes a step toward the door, like he’s about to run for cover. At least he’s smart enough to know that he fucked up even worse than he ever has before. If Bump were anyone else, his head would be on the chopping block.
Now what the fuck do I do?Damage control.If that’s even possible.
“Whatever you need me to fix, I’ll fix it,” she says again. Her voice shakes, but the words come out clear. “Please, just don’t kill me.”
What’s going through her mind? I have no clue why she’s offering to fix whatever I need her to fix ... except she must have heard Bump.
“What did you hear?” I ask.