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And the woman…
Lightning smashes into my chest and for a moment time seems to freeze as I gaze at her. She’s wearing a uniform, a hip-hugging skirt, and a tight white shirt and tights that grip firmly onto those thick gorgeous thighs. Her hair is deep brown and looks like it’s come loose from a ponytail, spilling wildly around her shoulders. Her wide eyes are glittering green gemstones.
There’s so much personality in her expression, every tic of her face, and I find myself wondering what it would be like learning all the different pieces of her over a long lazy summer, trailing my hand down those curves, touching, pleasing…
I banish those thoughts as her eyes snap to me. I shake my head subtly and feel another whelming of pride with how quickly she adapts to this new situation.
“Come on then,” she hisses, staring at Dobry as she raises the letter opener. “You pathetic, disgusting excuse for a human being.”
I stalk up behind him, moving silently, and then glide around to his side as I raise the gun to his head.
He freezes, his leer turning to an abject O of terror.
“We can work this out,” he whispers.
“Apologize to the lady,” I snarl quietly.
“W-what?”
“Apologize.” I prod the gun against his head, causing him to whimper, as though I’d show this human trafficker, this rapist, this child abuser any mercy now. “To the lady.”
Dobry – cheek dripping crimson from where she cut him – turns to her, beginning to snivel.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I turn to the lady, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
Something stirs inside of me.
Take her, claim her, make her yours.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her. “You don’t want to see this.”
She stands up straighter and looks me square in the eye.
“No,” she says. “I do.”
Dobry starts blabbering in Russian, and at the last second, he opens his mouth to scream.
I pull the trigger and the bullet ends the noise.
His body collapses as though all the bones have been sucked out of him.
“What are you doing?” the woman asks, her voice shaking as any civilians would after witnessing such a thing.
I take out my digital camera and quickly snap a photo.
“Getting evidence.”
I quickly stow the camera away and turn toward the door, panic and something else rushing in my ears. It’s like I can scent this woman past Dobry’s blood, past the reek of alcohol and too much cologne in the room.
It’s like I can sense her goddamn essence, whatever that means.
Something in me roars that leaving her here would be the worst thing I’ve ever done.
Because she’s mine.
Already.
How the fuck can that be true?
I turn back to her. “What’s your name?” I growl, knowing this is a mistake, and yet she’s too goddamn magnetic for me to stop.
“Dakota. What’s yours?”
I smirk. “I can only tell you if you come with me, Dakota.”
“Are you going to hurt me? Are you like them?”
“No,” I snarl. “I’m not like them. Not even a little bit. Are you coming with me or not?”
Anger tinges my words, but it’s not directed at her. It’s aimed at myself, at my stupidity for taking a risk like this.
But I can’t stop myself.
Dakota.
Her name is a song in my mind, and as we gaze at each other it’s like there’s not a dead man lying between us at all.
“Then yes,” she whispers. “I’ll come with you …”
“Damian,” I say, knowing I shouldn’t. “My name is Damian.”
Chapter Four
DakotaI press myself against the car window, cracking it a little so that I can breathe the fresh night air.
I wonder if other women would think of their friends and family now, but I have no family, and any friends have always been casual, more acquaintances.
I close my eyes and tell myself that this isn’t a dream, that it all just happened.
I feel a judder move up my arm when I slash the letter opener down Dobry’s face.
I feel the animal fear, the terror that gripped me as he approached, weeping blood, ready to take his revenge.
I see him fall as the bullet punches into him and see a spray of blood.
And then …
Damian.
I open my eyes and risk a look at him.
My breath catches and my heart picks up again.
His hair is pure silver, swept to the side, his jaw square and clean shaven. His eyes are stark blue, so pale they’re almost the same color as his hair. He’s huge, at least seven feet, his muscles bulging from his night-black … what? Work attire? Jet black clothing that can barely contain those throbbing muscles.
He grips the steering wheel tight as we glide down the road, the lights of the city winking ahead of us.
I find myself wondering how old he is, confused feelings stirring inside of me. After what just happened, the last thing I should be experiencing is a tingling warmth in my lower belly, my crotch giving a twitch and a whisper, my mind flooding with images of Damian pulling the car over and sliding his hand up between my thighs.
