Page 73 of Fatal Bonds

It’s not that I recognize him. But if I’d ever seen him before, I’d never be able to forget that I had.

He’d stand out anywhere in the world, but here, in this dingy, sticky place, he looks so out of place that for a moment, I wonder if he’s real. Tall and lean and with the bearing of a man who has both money and power and wields them effortlessly, he stands just in front of the door, looking at me with an appraising eye. His hair is dark, nearly black, cut expensively and styled back away from his face with just enough product to keep it in place, but not so much that I can’t still see how silky his natural hair texture is. His eyes are a bright, startling green, and for a moment, I can’t look away, not even long enough to take in the rest of him.

Everything about him is expensive. He’s like a ghost from my old life, wrapped in Armani and smelling like cedar and oranges, a devilish smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, as if there’s something amusing about what he’s looking at. There’s a gleam in those green eyes, too, something as predatory as any other man here, but it’s different.

Those men out there are snakes. Crawling on their bellies to poison their prey, unable to do anything but wallow in the muck that they’ll never rise out of. This man is a wolf, hungry and powerful, an alpha in every sense of the word, and something about the way he looks at me sends a shiver of fear down my spine.

Resentment quickly follows it. I don’t know why a man like this is here, slumming it in the pits of despair, when he could undoubtedly afford a black card to any of the exclusive sex clubs in the city. But he is, and whatever money he spends here tonight, I won’t see a dime of it.

“Don’t get up on my account,” he says, a hint of an Italian accent coloring his words. “By all means, stay down there on your knees. It’s a pretty picture,principessa.”

The sarcasm in his voice makes me wonder what he knows about me.Is he a friend, or associate, of my father’s?He could be. It would explain why a man like him is in a place like this—he might be here to torment me, to use me, to report back to my father if I behaved like I’m supposed to.

If I took my punishment like the good girl that I’m meant to relearn how to be.

And yet, for the first time in months, bitter words spring to the tip of my tongue and I can’t bite them back in time.

“Sorry,” I spit out, looking up at him from where I’m still crumpled against the couch. “Five guys just came in here and fucked me in every hole I have before leaving me high and dry, so it’s going to be a second before I pull myself together.”

With that one sentence, I’ve committed two cardinal sins. One: talking back to a customer, and two: letting him know that someone else has had what he wants. No customer in the club is stupid enough toreallybelieve that he’s getting exclusive access to any of the girls, but that’s the facade we’re meant to keep up. Every man who walks through those doors should believe he’s the one and only we’ve ever had or want to have, unlesshechooses to share with others. It’s ridiculous, considering the fact that this club isn’t exclusive in any possible sense of the word, but its part of the rules.

His mouth twitches with amusement again, as if my debasement is somehow funny to him. His gaze flicks from me to the wastebasket in the corner, filled with used condoms from everyone who’s been in here tonight, and helaughs.A deep, rough chuckle that comes from his chest, as those green eyes sweep over me again.

I swallow hard, too tired to play this game. If I piss him off, I’ll be punished, but I’ve been brought too low tonight to care as much as I usually do.What could be worse than this?I think—and even though Iknowthere’s worse, I’m having a hard time remembering it just now.

“What do you want?” I ask tiredly, thinking of Bryce and how when this man is done with me, I’m just going to have to go to him. The thought of having another man in me tonight makes my body tighten with pain, and I hope I can mollify him with a blowjob. I’m good at those, so he might be happy with that.

The man’s green gaze darkens, resting on my face as he stands there. He hasn’t moved an inch further into the room. “You,” he says simply. “I want you.”

I stare at him for a long moment, the words hanging in the air between us. “That’s what everyone who comes back here wants,” I say finally, the words thick with loathing. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“No.” He tilts his head slightly, taking me in once more, as if he’s been waiting for this moment—though I can’t imagine why. “I don’t think I do.”

And then, without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

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