Page 5 of The Devil's Pawn

A handsome, tattooed stranger greets me, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a flirty smile.

Where the hell did he come from? And how did I not notice him before? He’s not the type of man a woman can ignore.

Thick brows frame large, round eyes, the color of rich mahogany—strong, yet comforting. His hair is combed back, but a whisp of it falls slightly past his forehead, the rest of it full and tempting at the top and buzzed at the sides.

My eyes fall to his right arm, which is filled with tattoos. There are elaborate black vines and black roses filling the top of his hand and knuckle. A skull hides beneath the flowers on his forearm, and the sharp vines continue up his arm like tiny teeth.

He screams masculinity and hard edges, but the softness in his smile and those eyes is what draws me in.

He’s as intricate as his tattoos—a complication I shouldn’t find attractive, yet I do. One thing I’ve come to enjoy while working as a resident in a hospital is reading people, and his story already smells like trouble.

“I probably could use a strong one,” I snicker in response, no joy left in my voice. “But it’s also crazy late and I need to eventually get home in one piece, even though I wish I didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just assesses me with his sultry gaze, his fist resting under the dark brown stubble that rides up his angular jaw.

He’s dangerously beautiful. That’s the only way to describe a man like that. The kind of man who looks both sinful and sensual. The kind who holds both danger and temptation in the spark of his gaze.

The hint of his floral tattoo covers the skin of his neck, the rest hiding beneath his gray t-shirt that I’d very much like to remove just to see what’s beneath.

That’s a reckless thought.

What does it matter how attractive he is? I’ll either be dead or married soon. On any other day, I’d enjoy the attention from a man like that, but not today.

Not anymore.

Not ever.

My life is over.

And soon it will be for good.

A realization hits me: I have no intention of going home. I’ll find a way to die today. It’s the only way I’ll ever truly live.

He lifts his glass of honey-colored liquid and brings it to his mouth, his eyes still on mine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can drink for the both of us.”

He takes the liquor and downs it in one sip, drinking me in with his eyes at the same time. I can’t stop myself from watching the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Placing the glass back down, he lifts a finger to call for the bartender, but his darkened gaze is still on me, assessing me so ferociously, it’s as though he knows me.

But that’s nonsense. We’ve never met before.

I have the sudden urge to hide, like he can see me. All of me.

And I don’t mean my skin. I mean my heart. My soul. All the pain I hide there.

I’m immersed in it. Suffocating.

The power of his intense gaze is practically ripping away the fabricated layers of my life, leaving nothing but bare bones that rot with my every breath.

“You must have a good story to be here dressed like that,” he adds, his stare cascading over my body, lingering on the thin shoulder straps of my tight black dress.

His jaw tenses. My body flushes from the perusing way his eyes ride down my curves, like he’s already picturing me without my clothes on.

“Long story.” I clear my throat as my eyes dart from the hollows of his cheeks to the rippling, brawny muscles of his chest and arms that are practically exploding from under his tanned skin.

The smirk on his face bends over his full lips once I find his eyes, and I realize he’s caught me gawking. Color rushes to my cheeks, and I instantly turn to the bar, my entire body all warm and flushed.

His chair drags across the floor, pulling closer until the side of his knee touches mine. His breath cruises over my neck.

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