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“Oh yeah?” he slurs. “And who the fuck is gonna stop me? Huh? You?”
Ransom shrugs, his eyes glinting. “If that’s what it takes, then yeah.”
The man stands up from his chair, lifting his chin like he’s about to go toe to toe with Ransom, but something he sees in those blue-green eyes makes him back down almost immediately, taking the wind out of him.
“Whatever,” he mumbles, dropping his head and slinking away through the crowd.
Ransom watches him go for a half second before turning his focus back to me, and my stomach drops with a sickening lurch as our gazes meet.
Why is he here? Did they change their minds about killing me? That guy Malice wanted me dead for sure, and maybe he managed to make his case overnight, sending the one who argued to save me to do the job.
Ransom seemed to be against it last night, but why would he stick up for me and put himself at odds with his friends?
I take a small step backward, on the verge of dropping my tray and running, but Ransom reaches out before I can do anything.
“Come on,” he murmurs, plucking the tray from my hand and dropping it anyway. Then he tugs me through the crowd, pulling me into a room near the back where the cleaning crew keeps all their buckets and mops.
It’s a small, cramped space, not meant to fit two people and a bunch of cleaning stuff. The closet is filled with the scent of various cleaners and stale water, but somehow, over all that, is the scent of Ransom.
It fills my nostrils, blocking out everything else with the scent of something almost spicy and sharp, with an undercurrent of grease and motor oil. It’s unique but not bad, and it makes my heart thud heavily in my chest.
This close, I can’t deny how handsome he is. All three of the men from last night had a beauty about them, but the other two were sharper, like you could cut yourself just by looking at them too closely. Ransom is more classically handsome, with looks that seem designed to draw a person in.
But despite that, I’m still terrified of him. Gorgeous or not, I know he could kill me if he wanted to without breaking a sweat. I saw what he helped do to the Russian last night.
“W-what do you want?” I demand, trying to sound annoyed at being dragged away from work instead of like I’m about to piss myself from fear.
He gives me a crooked smile.
“Don’t worry, Malice didn’t change his mind,” he says, as if he’s read my mind. “And neither did Victor. They just wanted me to come here tonight to make sure you remember our deal.”
“Right. And to let me know that you know where I work. And probably where I live too.” I snort, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Ransom’s pierced eyebrow twitches upward, and his smile widens. “You’re smart. I like that. And brave, even though I’m sure you’re freaked the fuck out.”
He’s right about that, but I’m not about to admit it. It already feels like he knows too much about me, like he can read me too well.
“I remember our deal. I won’t say anything to anyone,” I assure him. I bite my lip, then continue in a rush. “My boss asked about it. But I said I didn’t know anything about what had happened.”
The smile fades from Ransom’s face, his brows pulling together. “Why did he want to know?”
“He…” I swallow. “He was the one who set me up with the job. He sent Giselle—the madame, or whatever—my name.”
“Ah, I see.”
He narrows his eyes, gazing down at me with such an intent expression that it makes my skin flush. There’s a muffled cheer from outside, which is usually a sign that one of the more popular dancers must be about to start her set. Ransom looks past me, like he can see through the door to the main area of the club where the dancers and the patrons do their thing.
“You need to quit this job,” he says finally.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Regardless of whether your boss believes you or not, you need to put more distance between yourself and this place, especially since he’s the one who sent you to the whorehouse last night. We don’t want anyone connecting the dots that put you at the brothel before it got torched.”
“I can’t!” I tell him, my heart thudding heavily against my sternum. “I need the money. I’m already behind on trying to pay the rest of my tuition for this semester, and if I lose this job, I won’t even be able to make rent.”
Ransom steps closer to me, and I instinctively step back—but I only make it about two steps before my back hits the door. He rests his palms on the wood on either side of my head, boxing me in as I crane my neck to keep looking at his face. I’m of pretty average height, and this guy and his two friends are all tall, over six feet.
There’s heat in Ransom’s eyes as he stares down at me, but it’s not the heat of desire. It’s something that makes my blood run a little colder with fear.
