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“Kieran, no,” Beck yelled, cutting off anything I may have said as he rushed toward us. “Don’t touch her. That’s Jess . . . this is Jess.”
The blades were immediately withdrawn so they weren’t pressed to me, but were still close enough that I couldn’t risk moving.
I forced back every impulse to demand to know why Beck had told this man about me at all. But while I may have made stupid decisions in my life, I wasn’t stupid enough to take my eyes off the man holding my life in his hands.
So I stood there, waiting to see what his next move would be while my heart rate betrayed my calm exterior.
Each rough breath forced my chest to brush against the tip of his knife like a lover’s caress. Something the man’s eyes lingered on when his gaze slowly moved over my body.
It wasn’t the look I got so often. It wasn’t the look of a man unable to stop himself from taking in what he so badly knew he should look away from. It was a look that was as assessing as it was disapproving.
Asshole.
Once his eyes were locked with mine again, he curled his lip and spoke in that same, low tone. “I’ll drop when I’m ready.”
“Ooo, someone likes it with a side of crazy.” I touched the knife pressed to my chest, and mumbled nonchalantly, “Okay then. Ten per minute. Money increases once we actually start doing something. Then again . . . maybe I should raise your price since you’re involving knives.”
That hatred from before swirled in those eyes—and I wondered for a moment if I might have preferred the judgment and disapproval to the look he was giving me then . . .
Because that hatred shook something inside me that I hadn’t been aware of before that night, and I wanted to go back to being unaware of it. Needed to.
“I’m not paying for you,” he bit out, as though he was disgusted by the thought.
“Huh. Sounds eerily like what I was trying to tell Beck. In that case, this has been so much fun, and I would say we should do it again, but, well . . .” I shrugged and let my eyes drag to where Beck was staring at me with a horrified expression before looking back into a pair of lethal eyes. “He pisses me off and you’re just a little boy who likes to play with his knives because you can’t satisfy other needs. So, I think I’ll pass on the repeat playdate, boys.”
Rage flashed across his face. He looked like he would have killed whoever was in front of him—no matter the person—but stopped himself just before Beck snapped, “Jess.”
When I pushed against his wrists, he slowly withdrew the knives, but only just enough for me to move out from between him and the wall.
I glanced at the knife that had been pressed to my throat and ran my finger along it. Sucking in a breath through my teeth, I made a face. “Yikes, you might want to sharpen these.”
He looked stunned for all of two seconds before his eyes narrowed again.
“Hey, just trying to help out the amateur.”
“Jesus fuck, Jess,” Beck said as he rubbed his hands over his face.
I danced away from the men, and in a singsong voice called out, “Good night, boys.” Then I tipped my head and dropped my voice so it wouldn’t carry to them. “Pleasure officially meeting you, Nightshade.”
It wasn’t until I was on the next street that I allowed myself to release the breaths I’d been holding in. The relief was so great when the air rushed from my lungs that it sounded like a pained moan.
I pulled in quick, ragged breaths as I forced myself to calm and finally skimmed through the wallet I had picked as I’d danced away from that dangerously beautiful man.
I didn’t glance at the name or address on the ID, and I didn’t reach for the credit cards or cash. I didn’t want his money, and I’d known who he was and where he lived since I first started trying to figure out Beck’s game.
A defeated huff burst from my chest when I didn’t find what I was looking for. Curling my fingers tightly around the wallet, I started home, unable to keep the memory of Kieran’s stunned face from my mind or the grin from my lips.
Beck’s hands were fisted in his hair as he paced in a tight circle, murmuring to himself as the girl disappeared into the night.
“Who was that?” I demanded once she was out of earshot.
He looked up at me, his stare expectant. “Jessica.”
“Heard you the first time. Who is she and why’s she trying to give product back?”
“What do you mean ‘who is she,’ man?” His hands slid from his head to fall limply at his sides and a lame huff punched from his chest.
I lifted a brow.
