Page 94 of The Criminal's Custody

Damon watches me as I do so – his dark eyes soaking me up.

I feel like the only girl in the club right now. The only girl the crime boss has ever set eyes on.

He’s just so... overwhelming.

A man in a dark suit appears, waiting at the side of our booth for my man. Damon gives him an irritated sideways glance and then tells me that the man’s the manager of the club.

The gangster doesn’t sound happy to stop what we’re doing.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” Damon tells me. “I’ve got to talk business with him.”

“You’re excused,” I reply.

Damon gets up and then spends a few minutes conversing with the suited man, a serious expression on his face. I wonder how stressful a job Damon must have. All these businesses he owns. All these men who are under his employ. All these deals and figures and worries that must occupy his head at all times of the day.

But he still finds time for me...

Damon finally gives the nightclub manager a pat on the back, sending him away into the crowd of dancing bodies, before turning back to me.

He sits down next to me, and his hand finds my thigh again.

“Where were we before I was rudely interrupted?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

But before I can reply, we’re approached by a man wearing a backward baseball cap. I instantly recognize him as a world-famous DJ. I’ve only ever seen him going viral onmy social media, playing to record-breaking crowds at music festivals, and now he’s here standing in front of us.

“Nice to see you again, Damon,” the DJ says, shaking my man’s hand. Damon nods at him and then turns to me. He sees how starstruck I am.

“This is Ava,” Damon replies, introducing me.

I don’t understand what I say next. I nervously fumble over my words as I speak to the famous man. I think I remark how much I love the DJ’s music or something. He’s very gracious with a girl who can’t seem to string a sentence together.

“Well, I have to finish my set,” the famous musician says to us, turning back to the nightclub’s dancefloor.

And then someone else approaches. Again, I instantly recognize him. This time it’s a famous late-night talk show host. I’ve only ever seen him on my dad’s TV.

We all do handshakes and a brief conversation. Again, this celebrity knows Damon by his first name. And again, I fumble over my words as I try to converse to this incredibly famous man.

When the talk show host leaves, I spin around to Damon, spellbound.

I knew he was powerful, butthispowerful? It feels like he owns half the flipping city. Even celebrities want a piece of him.

“You reallyarethe King of New York City, aren’t you?” I remark.

Damon leans back into the soft leather of the booth and smiles at me. He likes how impressed I am.

He spreads his legs open like he owns the place.

Well, technically, he does.

“Yes,” he replies proudly. “Yes, I am the King of New York City.”

41

AVA

I wakeup to the distant rumbling hum of men talking and a splitting hangover moving like a freight train through my head that makes me want to be sick the instant I open my eyes. It takes me a moment to get my bearings in my new surroundings as I groan and sit up slowly in the bed I find myself in after last night at that cool star-studded nightclub.

Oh. Right. I’m in a hotel. And not just any hotel, but that super fancy one that Damon has brought me to. The chandelier and the view and all that.

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