Page 81 of Sinister Intentions

Oh God. I was so far out of my comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny.

“Let’s go,” Iset said, stood, and I followed. She led us out toward a side exit, and again, I hesitated. I shouldn’t be trusting her, right?

Iset remained silent, her gaze scanning our surroundings with an almost feral intensity. It was clear she was just as wary as I was, her every move calculated and cautious.

Maybe I could trust her.

As we neared the exit, I couldn’t resist stealing glances in her direction. Up close, I could make out a beauty spot under her left eye. Also, the way her dark lashes fanned out against her cheeks with each measured blink was envy-inducing.

She was beautiful in an almost dangerous way—like a sleek panther coiled and ready to strike, underscored by the very sexy black leather pants she was wearing.

She looked professional, badass, like a woman of the world despite being around my age—everything I wasn’t.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I quickly averted my gaze, focusing instead on the path ahead.

We stepped out into the cool late-afternoon air, the sounds of the city enveloping us. Iset paused for a moment, her head swiveling as she took in our surroundings.

“This way,” she murmured, inclining her head toward the bustling street.

I followed her, my senses heightened as we wove through the throngs of people—business people rushing through groups of tourists snapping photos.

The air was thick with the scents of exhaust fumes and street food, the cacophony of honking horns, and the sheer volume of everything assaulting my ears.

Manhattan was something else.

Iset didn’t seem fazed by the chaos. She moved with a fluid grace, her strides long and purposeful as if she’d walked these streets a thousand times before.

Which she probably had.

I struggled next to her, my heart pounding in my ears as I fought the urge to shrink back, to disappear into safety.

An image of Vince Salvini appeared in my mind, and I scoffed. Vince was a lot of things—all the complete opposite of safety. And yet, somehow, walking alongside him and Picca, I’d felt much safer. And even facing his father, I’d felt secure once he was by my side.

My mind automatically went to the kiss, how he back-hugged me after and told me it never happened, the asshole.

Had all of this just happened yesterday? All in one day? Because it felt like I’d known him so much longer, as if the time we’d spent with each other had been way longer than a day.

“You’re not from here, right?” Iset said and pulled me out of my daydreams.

“No,” I said, not volunteering any more information.

“How did you get into…those online activities? You’re a newbie, right?” she asked.

I glanced at her sideways, and she raised both hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I know nothing about your background; that’s just the impression I got.”

I nodded for as much confirmation as I was comfortable to give. “How long have you been into…those online activities,” I asked.

She grinned. “I started when I was thirteen. I was hiding in my room a lot back then.”

I stared at her. Thirteen? Wow. “How old are you now?”

“I’m twenty-three. You?”

“Twenty-one. What do you think will happen?” I asked right as we turned a corner, and suddenly, the boisterous atmosphere of O’Malley’s Pub spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so calm and quiet despite the early hours.

We entered, and the unmistakable scent of stale beer and fried food wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds of raucous laughter and the tinny strains of a jukebox.

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