Page 26 of Ruling Scar
“I think you should let me go.” I pray the suggestion isn’t weakened by my wisp of a voice.
He leans forward. Everyone here thinks he’s about to whisper sweet nothings to me. “Open your legs for me, Lennie.”
I blink at the directive. Like I said, I’ve read all the literature. I’m not against dirty talk, but fear paralyzes me.
I don’t like his attention.
Right here, right now, at this table in the middle of the room, he expects me to open my legs. What’s he going to do? Snake his hand up my dress?
Yes, Lennie.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand.
I take my arm back and he lets it go but his smirk widens.
The bastard enjoys watching women squirm.
And to think they say romance is dead. Turns out they’re just talking about Leopold’s soul.
Fuck him.
“I have to go.”
“Oh, do you,” he coos with mock sincerity.
My heart thuds in my chest. “I have a meeting.”
He doesn’t quite laugh, but he’s amused all the same.
Until I say, “Ren Callahan wants me to meet with her.”
His eyes never shift back to the merry, fun Leopold I once knew. Something deadens in them as he stares at me blankly.
Adeline might’ve joked earlier, but it is Ren who offers me protection tonight.
And I could almost cry in relief if I wasn’t so focused on moving my shaky legs out from under the table.
A sadistic smile crawls onto his face. “I’ll see you soon, Lennie,” he calls after me.
Like hell, you will.
CHAPTER 7
Lennie
Itumble into Fujimori’s.
Ren stops dancing on one of the booths, an outstretched hand holding her phone up as it blasts music. Abe stands next to her and I must interrupt another argument regarding the status of Fujimori’s getting a jukebox.
Isolde leans back in her preferred chair, a hand loosely wrapped around a beer bottle. “I thought you had a date?”
Ren jumps down. Her heels are off which means she’s done with meetings for the day. She gives Nat a run for her money, always looking put together in suits, with her pretty styled hair. But when she’s done for the day a silly, hyper version of herself comes out to play.
She grins and pauses the music. “Did it not go well?”
I shake my head, panting.
“Can’t be worse than my worst shit date,” Isolde says. “When we finally got to it, you know what he kept saying to me? You’re so moist.”
