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I look up as he hovers over my door.
“I swear, it’s not a trap,” he says. “If it was, my father’s men would’ve already been coming for your ass.”
I grumble. “Lousy fucking trap if you ask me.”
He snorts. “Hey, I wasn’t the one playing detective outside someone’s window twice in the same day.” He flicks the knife around again like it’s a goddamn toy, and I don’t like it one bit.
A knife is a weapon, a tool to achieve a goal, murder. Specific. Effective. Nothing more, nothing less. But it almost seems like he enjoys the violent part a little too much.
“You could get yourself caught if you keep going like this,” he says.
“And what do you care?”
“I don’t. But…” He suddenly opens the door to the back seat and jumps inside. “I do care what happens to my father.”
I glare at him through the rearview mirror, wondering if this guy has a death wish.
“So if you wanna kill him, I’m your guy.”
* * *
Trustingthis sly fox was the worst decision ever.
I park the car at a diner and exit the vehicle.
“Why are we stopping?” he asks as he hops out too. “I thought we’d agreed to go to my place.”
“Change of plans,” I reply.
“What the fuck do you want to do here?” he asks, trailing me as I go inside the diner.
“Neutral grounds,” I reply.
The server inside looks at us like she’s seen the two worst-looking guys on the planet. Maybe it’s the scars on my face … or the fact that Luca is still spinning that goddamn knife around like a shuriken.
We sit in a booth far away from the entrance, where no one will hear us.
“For a dog, you sure know your way around negotiating,” Luca mocks.
“I’m not a dog,” I reply.
He perches his hand underneath his jaw, casually leaning onto the table. “Then what do I call you?”
“Beast.”
A smirk grows on his face again. “So you don’t have a name? You just casually call yourself ‘Beast’? That’s what my father calls you, isn’t it?”
“It’s whatshecalls me,” I reply.
He narrows his eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for more, but I don’t have anything to add.
“Weird.” When I don’t respond to this obvious taunt, he adds, “You’re surprisingly short of answers.”
Just because he’s now suddenly interested in helping me doesn’t mean I intend to be friendly.
“You wanted to negotiate. Now talk,” I growl, almost ready to lunge at him across the table.
“All right, all right,” he says, blowing off steam as he leans back. “I’m just saying, maybe we should get to know each other. Before we die fighting together.”
