“Also,” he turned to me fully, a mysterious smile on his face. “Stop eye-fucking her, alright?"
The words slashed against my ears and heat exploded inside me. What the fuck was he saying?
"What?! I'm not eye-fucking her!" I could barely even repeat his lie, but the way he chuckled and sighed made me doubt myself.
"Brother. I've known you my whole life. You think I don't know what you look and act like when you're interested? Please give me more credit." He pushed his sunglasses down, making sure I could see that confidence in his eyes.
"You aredeadwrong this time,” I declared. “She's a fucking spoiled brat who literallybitthrough my flesh last night! Did you see what she just did in there? She’s fucking insane. I don’t do insane."
“That’s not true.” Andrei stepped closer, lowering his voice. “First of all, insane is right up your alley. Gianna’s fucking crazy too—”
“Stop. Just stop,” I implored him, praying to never hear that name again.
"All I’m saying is, there’s something happening between you two and you fucking know it. I was like the third wheel in there.” He put his hands in his pockets and took a step closer again, as if to hammer down the point. “She seems just as interested as you,and if you fuck her…we're in deep, deep shit. This is legitimately dangerous.”
He suddenly pointed his finger at me while I tried to process the words:if you fuck her.
“Do not touch her. Do not think about her. Donotfall in love." He got right in my face, delivering another wild statement. "Keep your dick zipped up in your pants, and no matter what happens, do not fucking let her touch it because if she does? Brother...that's your death sentence."
This wasn’t the neurotic and careful Andrei. This wasn’t his anxiety speaking. He was dead serious, giving me a warning that he’d never had to issue before.
With one last death stare, he walked away, abandoning me at the front door with the understanding that no, I didn't have a medical problem. Judging by the pressure in my crotch, the thought alone of having her touch my dick made me incredibly hard.
Fuck. This would become a mess, wouldn't it?
4
A Lovely Man
Jade
The demon’s car smelled of cigarettes and expensive cologne—something woodsy. I sat in the front seat in the white pajamas and my evening heels, feeling more out of place than ever before.
His car wasn’t just a car; it was an Aston Martin. That realfancyshit. The interior was all creamy and rich, and the ride was smooth, as if we were gliding, not busting through unknown swamp roads.
I wondered what the hell this guy did for a living. Clearly, something illegal, considering he thought kidnapping me was his best course of action. Kidnapping a U.S. Attorney’s only daughter, might I add.
Man, my father was probablylosingit. I could picture it now—him barking out instructions at anyone within earshot.
“Where do you need to go?” The kidnapper interrupted my inner stream of consciousness with his deep voice, perfectly fitting into the car setting. In fact, him too—he looked like he belonged in this car.
He moved slowly, confidently, like he had all the time in the world. My gaze settled on his hand clutching the steering wheel, tattoos on his long and strong fingers. The ink bled onto his wrist and up his forearm, a snake or dragon intertwined with barbed wire.
Straight nose, chiseled jawline, black hair perfectly styled back. It was a little longer, collecting in relaxed waves on the back of his neck. Did he wake up in the morning and fix his hair? Stood at the mirror and prepared for this diabolical visit where he pulled a gun on me?
“I need to go to a drugstore. Also, can you give me my clothes? From my hotel room?”
“No,” he responded almost immediately. “Get what you need and forget about all your shit.”
How unoriginal—he was on a power trip, high on the authority he wielded over me. Dick.
“Why? Just give me my clothes. I don’t have anythin—”
“No.”
I chuckled, having no other power move. We sat in silence for a minute longer until my tongue itched again. “What’s your name?” I looked him over, mentally trying to come up with a name. He didn’t indulge me with an answer, surprising no one. “You want me to just call you excuse me? Man? Kidnapper? Criminal? Misogynist? Dickhead?”
This man stirred something inside me—an annoyance fueled by the fires of hell.Fuckhim. My wrists and ankles still bore red marks from the zip ties that his little gang of thugs so mercilessly wrapped me in last night.