Page 3 of Claimed

The waiter dropped off food at the girl’s table and gestured toward me. She turned, gaping at me.

I got up and went to her.

She was a splash of color in the drab restaurant. An oversized pink sweater dwarfed her tiny frame. Small and slender. Her skin glowed as though she spent lots of time in the sun. Her hair was a wild tangle of blonde curls stuffed into a messy bun. I tried to jog my memory. I tried to imagine myself choosing this chick over a girl in a low-cut dress. She was beautiful, but unless she’d grabbed me by the balls, I wouldn’t have given her a second glance.

“You paid for my meal?”

“You seemed like you were having a rough day.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers twisting in her lap. “You’re such a sweetheart for doin’ that. I sure hope I can return the favor someday.”

That accent.

It stirred something in my head, but I couldn’t pinpoint the memory. I pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “I’ll collect my debt right now.”

She bit her lip. “What can I do for you?”

“All I want is a few minutes of your attention.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Go on, then.”

My lips twitched. Did Country Bumpkin think I was hitting on her? She’s definitely new in town. If she had any idea who I was, she’d have run toward the exit the moment I’d singled her out.

“My name is Kill.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

I smiled. “Kill. It’s my name.”

“Oh, I see. I thought you’d say Giacomo or Leonardo. Or like, Antoine.” She slid her elbow onto the table, smiling like we were two old friends catching up. It threw me off. Did I know this girl?

The boy stared at me above his book. I glanced at him and returned my attention to her.

“Close. My real name is hard to pronounce and nobody ever says it correctly, so I don’t bother using it.”

She lifted a shoulder, and the overlarge sweater slipped down her arm a few inches, baring creamy skin. “Try me.”

“Achille.”

“Uh-kee-lay. Pretty. Well, thank you so much. I appreciate the gesture.” She leaned forward and grasped my arm. “And thank you for remindin’ me that good people exist.”

“’Course.”

“I needed that. I’ve been so overwhelmed—” She broke off, choked with emotion. “Sorry. I’m not at my best.”

“It’s alright.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I grimaced. I seized a clean napkin from the table and gave it to her. She dotted her cheeks with it, thanking me in a mousy whisper. She breathed in and out slowly.

I watched her pull herself together. I couldn’t look away from her. People rarely showed me their tears unbidden. When she looked at me, caution flickered in her eyes. But there was something else, too. Curiosity, maybe?

“You haven’t told me your name,” I prompted, studying her more closely.

“Violet.”

“Violet,” I repeated, rolling it in my mind. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

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