I don’t take my eyes off her for a three-count. I want her to see that I’m choosing to stop, not because I want to, but because I have to. I pull back, the loss of her heat makes me want to snarl and snatch her up.
I pull the phone out. It’s Echo, my third in command.
“This better be good, Echo,” I snap.
“We found the bastard, boss. Basement. Room four. He’s been talking. It’s worse than we thought. He’s been using the Syndicate’s coastal routes to move ‘small stock.’ Using your name to bypass the patrols.”
My jaw tightens until I hear a faint click in my ear.Small stock.Children.
The man is O’Malley. A rat I should have put in the fucking ground six years ago in South Boston when he stole my shipment of cigars. I’d been "merciful" then. I’d let him walk because his wife was sick.
It was a mistake I won’t make twice. People don’t change. They just get better at hiding the rot.
“Wait for me,” I say and end the call.
I look at Atara. She’s staring at me, her chest heaving under that cream knit dress. She’s smart—I can see her processing the shift in my energy. The ‘businessman’ she was just flirting with has left the building.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Good. Go,” she snaps, though her voice is breathy. “I didn't ask you to stay.”
“I’ll walk you to your room.” I grab her arm and lead her toward the door without hearing what she has to say. I walk her down the long, silent hallway toward her suite. She doesn’t fight me, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. We reach her door, and she fumbles with her key card.
When she finds the card, she spins back to glare at me. “What the fuck was that about?”
I raise a brow. “Walking you to your room?!”
She scoffs and throws her hands in frustration. “Dragging me around the hotel like a child!”
I watch the way her boobs lift with her movement and fucking hell… it won’t be nice if I leave here with a fucking hard on.
“Ahh.” Is all I can say and her eyes flash. She seems to have random flashes of cute little angry episodes. She’s like a sexy angry bird.
“Ahh?! Next time you drag me like that, I’ll stab you with my… with my key card!”
I bite my lips to keep from chuckling at her cuteness because she would probably go rabid on me.
“I wasn’t joking, Atara,” I say instead, stepping into her space one last time. “I want you. And I can see you want me, too. Your body is a lot more honest than your mouth.”
She lets out a sharp, defensive breath. “In your dreams, mister. You’re too arrogant for your own good.”
I lean down, my mouth inches from hers. “I have work to finish. It’s going to be a long night. But when I’m done, I’m coming back here.”
I reach past her and tap the door handle.
“If the door is unlocked, I’ll know the answer. If it’s latched… I’ll take my loss and you won’t see me again. Think about it.”
I don’t wait for her to reply. I turn and walk away, the sound of my boots heavy on the carpet. I don't look back to see if she’s watching. I know she is. I can feel her eyes on my shoulder blades.
The transition from the luxury of the hotel to the service basement is a descent into a different world.
Most people think this resort is owned by a conglomerate out of London. They’re wrong. I co-own this place through three shell companies. It’s the perfect spot for "discreet" business. No one looks twice at a black SUV in the service bay.
I step into Room 4.
The smell hits me first. It’s a mix of damp concrete, old grease, and the sharp tang of dry blood. O’Malley is strapped to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the room. He looks like a pathetic pile of laundry—bloody, shaking, and leaking fluid from his nose.
Disgusting bastard.
