Page 17 of Masked Seduction
ABRAM
“Is this man bothering you ladies?” My voice is flat and accent neutral. No hint of the Russian bite that usually sharpens my words. I don’t want to be recognized. Not yet.
Jenna turns to me, unmistakable, even behind the mask. She’s even more stunning here than she is in my office. The red hair, the tight little dress hugging those damn curves. Her friend’s beautiful too—tall, model-thin—but Jenna burns like a flare in the dark. She looks up at me, mouth parted slightly, her expression flickering between surprise and sultry.
The man beside her stiffens. “Who the fuck are you?”
He shrugs my hand off his shoulder and squares up to me. He’s taller than I expected, but he’s sloppy. His pupils are blown wide, posture unsteady. He reeks of cheap cologne and beer.
“She’s with me,” he says. “Back the fuck off. I’ve got dibs.”
Jenna snaps before I have to. “Nobody has dibs on me.”
There’s that fire. Real heat, not just a show put on to appear brave. Her voice cuts through clean and sharp, like a woman who’s had enough bullshit for one night.
I want to smile, but the prick doesn’t let up. He scoffs, gesturing at Jenna like she’s something on a clearance rack. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. No one has dibs because no one wants them.”
The blood in my veins goes molten. I breathe in through my nose, slow and steady. The club isn’t for violence. It's for pleasure. But every part of me wants to break this man’s wrist just for touching her.
Instead, I lift a hand and snap my fingers once. Two bouncers materialize out of the shadows. Big, silent, efficient.
“Escort him out,” I say. “And his friend.”
“No, man, this is bullshit.”
The bouncers don’t move, waiting for my final word. “Escort them out,” I repeat firmly.”
The mouthy one’s nostrils flare. His neck flushes an ugly shade of drunk-red, and he turns to me with a sneer. “Why don’tyouescort me out, fucker?”
I tilt my head, studying him like a puzzle. He’s rail-thin, all bark, and probably thinks he’s tougher than he really is because no one’s ever shown him otherwise. I could drop him in two seconds flat, but I’ve been in enough fights to know better. Even the ones you expect to be easy can go sideways. A bad fall. A cracked skull on the edge of a table. One mistake and you’re knee-deep in lawsuits and blood.
Not worth it. Not for trash like him.
“Last chance,” I tell him. “Walk out. While you still can.”
He’s past listening. He swings his fist sloppily at me—a wide, drunken arc—all shoulder and no control. I pivot, smooth as oil, his momentum working against him. A quick sidestep and his ribs are exposed. I drive my fist into his gut with brutal efficiency. A muted grunt escapes him as all the air is driven out of his lungs. He crumples forward, gasping like a fish on a dock.
No one on the main floor notices. Good. That’s exactly how I like it.
I grab his shoulder and place my mouth near his ear. “You’ve got two choices,” I murmur. “Walk out or be wheeled out.”
His buddy’s frozen in place but not stupid. After a few seconds, he steps in and pulls his friend upright, steadying him as the fool wheezes and gurgles, still trying to catch his breath.
“We’re going,” the friend mutters. “We’re going.”
“Smart man,” I say, brushing invisible dust from my sleeve.
They stagger away under the bouncers’ silent escort, the stupid one still hunched over, still wheezing. I watch until they disappear into the hallway.
Only then do I turn back to her.
She stands nearby, those wide, startled eyes fixed on me. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she’s forgotten how to close them. I let my shoulders ease, just a fraction.
“You alright?” I ask, my voice low and with the American accent.
She nods once. “Yeah. I think so.”
She’s breathless and a little flushed. The color in her cheeks does something dangerous to me. Makes me want to see what else I can coax out of her.
