Page 9 of Perfect Martinis

His phone is still in his other pocket, and it's locked but it shows previews of messages.

One is from someone he calls "Sergeant Dickhead".

"Did you find anything on Romano?"

There's more but it's cut off. I've seen all I needed to, however.

Hurt tears rise to my eyes and I blink them back. Men don't deserve to make me cry anymore.

How could I have been so stupid? Lured in by pretty eyes and a charming smile?

He fucked me to get more information on the bar, on me, likely on all my illegal doings that I don't have a fucking choice but to do. I can't risk a gang war between the Sicilians and kkangpae.

Bastard. Utter bastard.

I didn't ask for this life. I'm just trying to survive.

The water shuts off and I don't know what to do. I can't pretend I saw nothing when his gun and wallet are clearly on the floor.

A moment later, he exits my bathroom and walks into the bedroom. A towel is wrapped around his waist, and water droplets cling to his defined abs. His hair is slicked back, wet, and he looks like he belongs in a movie.

"Uh-oh. What happened?" His eyes glance from me to his gun on the floor, and his phone in my hand.

"You didn't think to mention your job?" I ask.

"What? That I used to be an idol?" he says smoothly. I mean, that's probably true. He looks it. But that's clearly not what I'm talking about.

"Don't act like I'm stupid." I shove his phone at his chest. "All I wanted was to tidy your clothes and a fucking gun and badge fell out!"

"So, you also stole my phone because of that?" He arches an eyebrow.

"Maybe I shouldn't have but I had to know if you were a psycho. Maybe the badge was fake," I say. "But no. You're investigating me. Pretending not to know who I am. What did you think? You could make me come a few times and I'd tell you all my dirty secrets ... not that I have any?"

He steps closer and I compensate by taking a step back, but now I'm backed against the end table by the bed.

"Maybe my visiting the bar started out as work. Last night... Last night wasn't work." His eyes are sincere but how can I trust him?

I shake my head. "You still weren't honest with me. For all I know, you could've got up in the night and went snooping through all my things!"

"I didn't."

He steps closer and I have nowhere to run.

"Get out." I want to be assertive but my voice is barely a whisper.

He grins, bending to pick up his gun and my whole body freezes.

"Are you sure you are angry? Or are you turned on just a little?"

The safety is on. I keep repeating that in my mind as he drags the cold metal down my face, my neck, my breast, all the way until it presses against my pussy.

I take a shuddering breath and he laughs.

"That's not fear in your eyes. Why would I turn you in now? I like you like this. We could even have an arrangement..."

"No." My voice rises in volume, but only a little. "Get out. Don't ever come back. You found nothing on me, on my bar. You have no basis for a warrant. And if you return, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

The gun presses against my swollen clit before he withdraws it. "Fine, jagiya. But you haven't seen the last of me. I'll prove it to you: I don't want to put you in jail."

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