Page 54 of Heartless Sinner

I met him and he reeled me in straightaway. And I loved that he had a home in Denver. Such wasted time. Time I will never get back.

I shove the thoughts away. I can’t afford to wallow in my sorrows. Everything I do next will be about survival.

At the moment, I don’t know who to fear more—Micah or Anton.

I don’t know what game either of them is playing—especially Micah.

My only hope is that his presence continues to keep Anton's wolves at bay for another day. The irony of depending on one monster to protect me from another hasn’t escaped me.

The bell above the door chimes, and my shoulders bunch before I recognize Mrs. Henderson's familiar shuffle.

Still, my eyes betray me, darting to the glass windows, scanning the parking lot for a black Mercedes or unmarked vans. Looking for the men who want to own me.

Just get through the day, Scarlett. Just get through the day.

The words echo in my head, hollow as a promise in the dark. My reflection in the chrome napkin dispenser looks like a ghost—pale, haunted, already half-gone.

It doesn’t matter. I can fix myself with a good night’s sleep when this is over. Right now, I have to focus.

But focusing feels impossible at the moment when every shadow could be Micah and every stranger could be one of Anton's men.

The truth is, I don't know if there's anywhere far enough to run from men like them.

The bell above the door chimes again. I instinctively look up and this time, I realize I was oh-so right to be paranoid because Micah Delarosa is walking through the door.

Dressed in full black, he looks like the prince of darkness manifesting from my nightmares. But as our eyes lock, my damn body betrays me again and heat spirals deep in my core.

I straighten so fast my spine cracks, every nerve in my body freezing.

I clutch the wet rag to my chest like a shield, even though it soaks through my cheap polyester uniform.

People's heads turn like dominos falling, drawn to him like moths to deadly flame. Of course, they would be drawn to him. Micah Delarosa can command the attention of a room without trying.

He’s power wrapped in a Kiton suit with that daunting presence and a devil-may-care swagger. Everything about him speaks of a man who takes what he wants.

But he doesn't belong here. Thereshouldn’tbe anything in this dive that he wants.

His world is penthouses, private yachts, and country clubs. Not here among the cracked vinyl booths and coffee-stained menus. Yet here he is, invading my sphere of existence again.

When Micah walks right up to me, my nerves spike with tension, making me feel like I may snap into several pieces.

“Morning, bellezza,” he says in that easy, laidback tone that feels wrong given what’s happened over the last few days.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is child-soft and church-silent.

“Is that what you say to a friend who’s let you off the hook? I assure you, not many people get such chances from me.” His eyes flicker with interest. It brightens the hazel hue in the sunlight.

“Friend?” I raise my brows and stare back at him, trying to figure him out.

“You’re right. We’re not friends. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“What do you want from me?” My lungs are so tight I can hardly breathe. It doesn’t help that he’s standing so close.

“Why don’t we go and sit and talk about that?”

“You want to talk to me?”

“Yes.” Holding my gaze, he leans in and pulls the rag from my grasp.

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