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“Hey gorgeous,” a slight slur in his greeting.
Perfect. He’s already drunk. This will be easier than I thought.
“Hi,” I purr, swirling my drink with the toothpick the olives are on.
He sits down and his hand slaps the table. That’s when I notice his knuckles, how bruised and red they are from getting into a fight.
My anger rises, knowing that this is the man who hurt my brother. It has to be him.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?” he touches my hair and I try not to flinch. He tugs a curl like most people do.
I hate how strangers invite themselves to touch my hair. They think it’s fun and it isn’t a big deal, but I’d like for someone to ask if it’s okay to randomly touch me.
“I love your hair. It’s unique. Like you.”
“Mmm, thank you.” I sip my drink, acting like I’m interested. I pretend to just see his hand and I gasp, gently touching the top of his knuckles. “Oh my gosh, what happened? This looks sooo painful,” I make sure to emphasize the o’s, wanting him to think I care.
I hope it fucking hurts.
“It’s fine,” he bites, the words clear and crisp as if he hasn’t been drinking all day. “A punk got in my way and took something that belongs to me. He looks a lot worse than my hand.”
Caplan does look a lot worse. I’m worried about him. His eye was swelling pretty badly and if it isn’t better, I’ll have to take him to the doctor, which he will refuse because we can’t afford it.
“I hope you got what you were looking for.” I trail my fingers up his arm and with my free hand, I down all of my martini, needing a kickstart to the night.
“Another martini?” he asks me, snapping his fingers at the bartender.
“I’d love one. Thank you so much for taking such good care of me.” Ugh, this is so painful to do, but I need to get him alone. I want him to think he’s going to get lucky and then I want us to strike a deal. He gets the stone back in exchange for Caplan’s life.
Another drink is set down in front of me, the bartender giving me an odd look as he tilts his head. Concern shifts quickly over his eyes, the lights flashing across them just in time for me to see, but just as fast as it appeared, the concern disappears.
I pluck an olive from the toothpick and roll it around my tongue, the saltiness spreading across my taste buds, pairing well with the gin.
“So what happened? Why did that guy attack you? Is that what happened?” I keep my voice calm and sweet as if I’m just some stupid girl who is here for a good time without a care in the world about her safety. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Don’t men love that?
“How about I tell you in a private room?” The way he asks leaves no room for doubt about what he wants. His accent is thicker and huskier, his eyes roaming down my body as he licks his lips like he is a feral dog about to make me his bitch.
I’m no one’s bitch.
By the end of tonight, it’s me who is going to own him.
My blood is thirsty for revenge. My fingers are trembling to grab the knife and threaten the man who dared to lay his hand on my brother, a teenage boy who doesn’t know any better. I’ve never confronted anyone like this before. I’ve never been the type to paint myself as brave. I think there’s a line between bravery and stupidity.
A very fine line.
I wonder if bravery only counts if the goal is achieved, and if I fail whether I’ll be considered stupid.
I have no doubt this man will kill me or someone in his mafia will find me, track me down, and do god knows what to me.
I was ready for that. I was ready to pay for whatever crime I was about to commit.
Slipping off the seat, I tug my dress down slowly and his eyes stay glued to my thighs, watching the dress hug my curves.
“I’m ready when you are.” I take another sip of my drink.
“Give me a minute, Baby,” he grins, a sly, pervy smile stretching his lips that has a cold grasp settling in my bones.
“Gladly.” I bite my lip, giving him a once-over to act like I’m interested.
