Page 12 of Depraved

With a deep breath, steeling myself while fighting against the panic that sent my heart racing, I slowly opened my eyes.

At first, I couldn’t make out his face in the dark. But as my gaze moved down, I noticed his broad shoulders, his over six-foot-tall body, and the shit-kicker black leather boots. It was all there, the familiarity of this man. Slowly, I began to recognize him, my mind putting together the pieces, creating the picture of him—the man I had been watching through the dark for so long.

I narrowed my eyes, willing the shadows away so I could see his face. “It’s you,” I murmured, more to myself.

“You say that like you know me.”

“I…you are⁠—”

Then he stepped forward and switched on the light. The sight of him took my breath away. His messy curls hung over his shoulders, dark and thick and unruly. His beard was long and unkept, but it couldn’t hide the outline of his strong jaw. It was him. My stranger in the dark.

Briefly, fear and uncertainty fled from my mind, replaced with the memories of nights I spent by my window staring out at the man who always looked up, meeting my gaze with an unspoken promise. A promise that one day he’d come for me. And now it seemed that day had come.

Fascinated, yet scared, I couldn’t look away from his eyes. Green mixed with the subtle tone of honey. After years of wondering what color his eyes were, I finally knew.

“I know you,” I breathed.

A sly grin curved at the edges of his lips. “I can assure you, ballerina girl, you don’t know me at all.”

A shiver traveled down my spine, my throat dry. I heard the threat in his voice as clearly as I saw the promise in his eyes all those nights he stared back up at me standing by my window.

I swallowed hard. “Wha…what is going on? Why am I here?” My voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper.

He didn’t answer. He just kept staring at me, a half-smile plastered on his face. With his cold, hard gaze pinned on mine, pure malice oozing out of every pore, it crossed my mind that maybe I had been naïve dreaming about my stranger in the dark. Maybe he didn’t come for me with the intent of whisking me away on his motorcycle while butterflies and romance followed us for the rest of our super happy life. Because there was nothing romantic about this moment, nothing dreamy about the way he stared at me. Everything was wrong, not like I had imagined it at all. I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him, but I was. I really was. Under his scrutinizing gaze, there was nothing but uncertainty while my heart raced with panic. My skin was cold, yet damp. My palms sweaty while the rope cut into my wrists.

“Why am I here?”

He cocked his head, wild curls framing his face. “I think you know.”

“I don’t.” I could barely swallow, my throat was so dry.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“I really don’t.”

“Then you’ll find out soon enough.”

The sight of him before me, so close—so damn close, made it impossible for me to look away. For so long I’d wanted to look into his eyes, to finally know what it would feel like to be this close to him. But I never could have imagined fear would be among my emotions.

He moved closer, my heart beating faster with every step he took. I noticed the tag on his cut. President. And another tag below it. Blood Brothers.

I was right. He was the leader. Of course, he was. Even little, innocent me could spot his dominance and authority a mile away in the fucking dark.

His eyes never once left mine as he continued toward me, stopping a few feet away, putting his thick, denim-clad thighs right in my view. From out of nowhere, a flush of heat swept through my chest and up my neck, and I prayed to God my skin wouldn’t turn red.

He crouched down in front of me, and we were eye-to-eye. “It was only a matter of time, ballerina girl.”

“What are you talking about?” I struggled to keep his gaze, my fear urging me to look away. To look down. Anything to show I wasn’t a threat.

He just smiled, not answering my question.

I swallowed hard. “Why do you call me that?”

“That’s what you are, right? A ballerina. That’s what you do.” His gaze raked down my neck before looking back up. “You dance.”

“How do you know?” My voice was almost a whisper, my tied hands shaking in my lap.

He smiled. “There ain’t nothing about this town I don’t know, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to the police commissioner’s daughter.”