Page 4 of Merciless Sinner

“You’re sweet.”

If she truly remembered me, there’s no way she would call me that. I’m probably one of the most dangerous men she’ll ever meet, but I suppose it’s nice to pretend I’m however she sees me.

“Thanks for helping me.” Her smile brightens when I hand her the last of the sachets.

“You’re welcome.”

We stand, and I tower over her five feet and four inches by an entire foot. As she looks up at me, she slides a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you around.”

“What’s your name?” I ask quickly, visibly throwing her off. Although I already know what she’s calling herself, asking for her name gives me a foot in the door for when I next see her.”

“It’s Alice,” she replies. She’s still smiling, but there’s a slight rasp of hesitation in her voice.

“Good to meet you, Alice.”

“And you.”

I step back, away from her. “See you around, too.Soon.”

I allow my gaze to drift over her perfect body, hidden by the uniform she’s wearing, before I turn with all the reluctance in this world and leave.

I grant myself one more look, finding she’s still staring at me with curiosity, but I turn away and keep walking through the door.

After being without her for so long, those few moments weren’t nearly enough, but since I can’t do what I want to do, the mere seconds we spent together will have to be enough for now.

Next time I see her—which will besoon—the only mindset I’ll have is to take her back home to New York with me.

She might have forgotten who I am, but she’s still mine.

ChapterTwo

Olivia

Alice…

Every time I give someone that name, I feel like I need to check myself. Although I don’t remember my real name, I know Alice is not me.

I chose the name fromAlice in Wonderlandbecause it seemed fitting to what I was going through.

When I first woke up from whatever trouble I’d narrowly escaped, I didn’t know who I was. Neither did any of the people who were caring for me. The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep it that way—a secret.

As I watch the deadly handsome man whom I was just speaking to walk down the road, I actually feel like I would have loved to tell him who I really am.

He was the kind of rough and rugged handsome you see on a hero in an action film, and he had a deep Russian accent that would make any woman swoon.

And like any other woman, I wasn’t immune to his striking good looks.

There was also something about him that hooked me.

Something that whispered to the deeper layers of my mind I can no longer access. Maybe I’ve finally gone crazy. It’s strange to feel such a thing for a stranger when we barely spoke. But that was how I felt.

It would have been nice if my brain hadn’t turned to mush so I could have asked for his name, too. Maybe not knowing is better.

Given my situation, and my recent debacle, the last thing I should be doing is fantasizing about mysterious handsome men.

Especially one like him who oozed danger from every pore of his large, muscular, tattooed body.

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