Page 70 of Merciless Desires

But my lies don’t fool my racing heart.

In his arms, I find sick salvation. But if I stay too long, I may lose myself completely.

CHAPTER 1

Natalia

The diner is bustling tonight, filled to capacity with the usual mix of truckers, locals, and wanderers just passing through. I top off coffee mugs as I make my rounds, pausing to chat with regulars seated at the counter. The familiar buzz of dinner conversations mixed with clanks and scrapes of cutlery on cheap china feel like home to me. This is my refuge, my anchor amid the drowning emptiness that has defined my life for the past year.

Ever since Mom died, I feel untethered, set adrift on an ocean of uncertainty. She and I were close. Best friends. I’ve never had many friends. I scoff under my breath at that, not wanting to examine the fact that my mother was my closest and maybe my only friend.

The past year has been tough, but I'm okay. I mean, I work a lot but there’s comfort in the routine. The same patrons, same greasy food, same elevator music piped through the sound system. It’s monotonous, but there’s also reassurance in the consistency. No sudden changes to upset the balance of my existence. Besides, with no savings and the mountain of Mom’s medical bills to pay off, my only choice was to remain at the diner and pick up extra shifts whenever I can.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

He’s here.

I don't even need to see him to know. I can sense his presence.

For the past week, he's come in every evening, always taking the corner booth that gives a full view of the diner. His eyes track me like a hawk, sending prickles down my spine with their intensity. I've managed to pawn him off on other servers so far. I know it's strange, but everything in me tells me to stay away from that man. My instincts scream danger.

It's not one specific thing, it's everything combined—the expensive watch, the scarred knuckles, the heavy silver ring embossed with a wolf's head, the black suit, the jagged scar slicing through his left eyebrow...but mostly it’s the acute, predatory focus in his gaze.

Everything about him hints at connections I want no part of, and so far I’ve kept my distance, exchanging tables with Maggie or Ellen anytime he's seated in my section. If he notices, he doesn't seem to care, intent on watching me circle the room.

Tonight, luck is not on my side. The diner’s packed with antsy kids, hungry patrons, and customers either impatient for meals, waving me down for refills, or waiting for their checks. This leaves me no chance to switch tables with another server. Taking a deep breath, I paste on a smile and approach his booth.

"Hello," I say brightly, laying a napkin and silverware on the table. "I'm Natalia, I'll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink?"

He doesn't return my smile. His eyes drift over me slowly, and my skin sprouts goosebumps as if traced by fingertips. When his gaze lifts to meet mine again, I feel pinned by their darkness.

"No food. Coffee. Black." His voice matches the rest of him—smooth with a hint of a Russian accent and refined yet hard at the edges. He has an underlying air of sheer danger.

I give a quick nod and turn to escape the unsettling effect of his focus, but his next words stop me. "You've been avoiding me."

A nervous laugh escapes my lips as I glance back. "No. No, of course not I..." I trail off at the intensified scrutiny of his expression, like he's peeling back every layer of my lie. Heat crawls up my neck.

"My apologies for not properly attending to you sooner," I amend stiffly. "I'll bring your coffee right over."

Before he can reply, I slip away quickly, feeling those eyes follow me across the room. What is his interest in me? From what the others tell me, he doesn't say more than a few words each visit and has barely touched his food on previous nights, seemingly content just watching me work.

Unease twists my stomach as I prepare his coffee. There's an almost possessive edge to his observation, and it triggers the instincts I've honed over years of my mother drilling into me to “keep your eyes open and trust no one, Natalia.”

Most patrons are harmless, and I've dealt with rude and entitled customers before. I know how to shut down inappropriate behavior quickly. But this guy’s different. He’s not rude or offensive. Just scary.

Squaring my shoulders, I return to the corner booth, turn his mug upright, and pour from the freshly brewed pot, forcing a smile. "Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else."

He wraps a broad hand around the cup, and my eyes are drawn to his scarred knuckles. "What time are you finished?"

The blunt question catches me off guard and I jump a little. "I'm...not sure yet. It's been busy tonight." I search his stony features, looking for some clue as to his intent. Finding none, I harden my tone. "I need to check on my other customers. Excuse me."

I turn sharply before he can respond, a small act of defiance. Let him read the hint and back off. Of course, the prickle on the back of my neck tells me his gaze remains locked on me as I make my rounds.

The next twenty minutes pass at a crawl. The crowd thins, though my watchful observer remains tucked away in his corner. Maggie shoots me a sympathetic look.

"Still being eye-stalked by Secret Agent Smolder over there?" she asks quietly with a flick of her eyes toward the corner booth.

I glance over my shoulder at him, then quickly avert my gaze so he doesn’t catch me staring.

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