The door of the limousine clicked shut, sealing out the humid night air and the neon hum of the Rogue Casino. Inside, the world was silent, bathed in a cool, sapphire-blue glow that made the leather seats look like shadows.
Damien Kael leaned back, his posture loose and predatory. He didn't look like a debt collector. He looked like a king bored with his kingdom.
"You're the girl," he said. His voice was a low, smooth velvet that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "The one who came to borrow money."
"Yes," I managed to choke out. My throat felt like it was filled with glass.
He didn't look surprised. He just gestured vaguely with a hand that sported a heavy gold ring. "Sit."
I moved like a robot, sliding onto the far end of the long leather bench. I kept as much distance between us as physically possible, my back pressed against the leather seat. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, staring at a small integrated monitor on the opposite wall. I couldn't look at him. Every time I tried, I saw Liam's face—broken, bloody, and pale in that hospital bed. This man had sent the goons. This man had broken Liam's skull.
The silence in the limo stretched for a while. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in my ribs. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, heavy and expectant. Slowly, against my better judgment, my eyes darted toward him.
Damien was watching me with an amused smirk, his head tilted slightly. He looked like he was watching a play and I was the lead actress failing her lines. He knew he had me. He knew I had something to say.
I pulled myself together just enough to raise a skeptical brow at him.
He didn't say a word. Instead, he simply tapped the leather seat right next to him. A signal. Come here.
I opened my mouth to decline, to tell him I was fine where I was, but then I saw the clock on the dashboard. Time was hemorrhaging. Liam's brain was swelling. Every second I spent playing hard-to-get was a second closer to a flatline.
I slid across the leather, my breath hitching as I stopped just inches from him.
It was a punishment. His cologne—something dark, like sandalwood and expensive tobacco—filled my lungs, making my head light. His presence was a physical weight, a wall of pure intimidation that made my entire body go stiff.
He leaned in closer, and I realized he was studying the pulse point in my neck.
"Go straight to the point, baby," he murmured. "I don't have all night."
I stared at the back of the driver's seat, refusing to meet those ice-shard eyes. "I need money. A lot of it."
"For what?"
"My mother," I lied, the words tripping over each other. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell the hunter I was trying to save the prey he'd already mauled. "She… she needs emergency surgery. If I don't make the deposit in an hour, she'll be brain-dead. The doctors said it's now or never."
Damien chuckled, a dark, melodic sound. "Your mother? Did she get herself into a bit of trouble?"
He reached for a crystal decanter, the movement fluid and graceful. As he poured dark red wine into two glasses, the light caught the face of his Rolex. It was blindingly bright, a reminder of the wealth that lived in his pockets while I was being threatened by my landlady over a few hundred dollars.
He held a glass out to me.
I looked at him then, really looked at him, and I instantly regretted it. Up close, his beauty was offensive. It was sharp, masculine, and perfect. My chest heaved, my breath coming in shallow hitches. My fingers shook so hard I had to clench them into fists.
"I don't want a drink," I snapped, my voice cracking.
"You'll have to take the drink if you want me to listen," he said calmly.
I snatched the glass from his hand, the stem cold against my sweating palm. I didn't drink. I just held it like a weapon.
"Proceed," he said.
I was set to continue when he raised his index finger to my face to cut in.
"Look at me first." He murmured.
I froze. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my skin. Slowly, I turned my head. When our eyes finally met, the world outside the tinted windows seemed to vanish. He was staring at me with such intensity I felt like he was reading my thoughts, peeling back the lies about my mother and seeing Liam's broken body reflected in my pupils.
I felt nauseous. I was breathing the same air as a murderer. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask why he'd done it—why Liam? He is a sweet man, why break him like that? But the desperation for the money acted like a gag.
"The surgery," I whispered, forced back into my lie. "She'll be brain-dead. Please."
"How much?"
"Three hundred thousand dollars."
Damien hummed, a low vibration I felt in the seat beneath me. He poured himself another drink, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Five hundred million," he mumbled.
I blinked, sure I'd misheard him over the roar of the air conditioning. "What? What did you say?"
He brought the wine glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his gaze hooded and dangerous. "Five hundred million dollars. Cash, check, wire transfer. Whatever you want."
I let out a sharp, anxious laugh. "I… I couldn't pay back a quarter of that if I lived to be a hundred. I'll be gray and wrinkled before I even clear the interest."
"I'm not borrowing it to you, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping just slightly. "I'm giving it to you."
My mind went fuzzy. "Giving it? I don't understand."
"The money is yours. I have an SUV parked outside—one of the new models. It's yours. Or we can go to the dealership now and you can pick any car on the lot. I have a few condos in this zip code. Pick one. Or two. It doesn't matter."
"Stop," I said, my head swirling. "Why are you saying this? What are you talking about?"
Damien set his glass down. The movement was slow, deliberate. He leaned into my space, his heat radiating off him, pinning me against the seat without even touching me.
"I want us in a contract," he whispered.
The world stopped spinning. It just died. "A… a contract? What kind of contract?"
"A sex contract," he said, his eyes darkening with a sudden, predatory hunger. "For instance, my love, you would fuck me during a fixed date of the week."