Page 13 of Compulsion

“A drink sounds nice,” I agree. “Where do you want to meet?”

His stunning smile lights up my world, and I’m breathless for an enraptured moment.

“The Magnolia Hotel at eight. Have you been to their rooftop bar? The views are beautiful at sunset.”

I return his grin, my own smile a bit punch-drunk and giddy. The last few minutes have been an emotional rollercoaster.

“That sounds great,” I reply.

“I’ll see you then,” he says warmly. “I’ll let you get back to your paintings.”

The world around us slides back into focus. Somehow, everything had fallen out of existence during my intense exchange with Dane.

He shoots me one final crooked smile and turns. I watch him saunter away until he disappears into the crowd of tourists that fill the bustling market.

“You know him?” Franklin asks.

“His name is Dane.” His name leaves my lips on a dreamy sigh. “He comes into the café every morning.”

My friend lets out a soft whistle. “Hot.”

I nod, my face still fixed in a silly smile. My mind is tumbling through the wild events that’ve unfolded over the last fifteen minutes. I’m so absorbed by excitement for my date with Dane that I don’t pause to worry over the fact that I’ve agreed to go out with a customer from the café.

7

DANE

“Where’s the rest?” the thief demands, holding out a grubby hand for the cash that’s still tucked away in my wallet.

“You hurt her.” The words are smooth and amiable as they leave my tongue.

He doesn’t read the condemnation in my calm tone.

Keeping one hand outstretched for the money, he swipes at his sweaty brow with the other, leaving a smudge of dirt behind.

The man is filth, and I don’t bother to hide the disdain in my sneer.

The plan had been for him to steal her wallet so that I could swoop in and save her. If she sees me as her protector, she’ll start to depend on me. She’ll welcome me into her life and be grateful for my help.

Instead, she’d seemed angry that I tried to help her recoup her lost funds. She refused to allow me to buy her paintings.

Something hot simmers in my veins, and my muscles flex with mounting aggression.

“She tried to block my exit,” the thief insists, his frantic gaze searching my body as though X-raying me for my wallet. “I toldyou that I didn’t want to get caught.” His eyes narrow on mine when I don’t hand over the cash immediately. “We had a deal. You owe me the other half.”

“The deal was for you to steal her purse. I warned you not to damage anything. You damagedher.”

The faint pink scratches on her palms flash through my thoughts, and a strange red haze descends over my vision.

My fist smashes into his jaw, and his head jerks back. He crumples to the dirty pavement, momentarily stunned from the blow. My designer leather boot kicks his soft belly, and his shocked cry dies as his diaphragm spasms. Another clinically placed kick to his kidneys ensures that he’ll be pissing blood tomorrow.

He gasps, but he can’t inhale the air he needs to groan in pain.

Something savage heats my chest, a visceral sensation I’ve never experienced before. I’ve known satisfaction in my life, but never anything like this. I imagine this must be what Roman gladiators felt in the arena: pure, primal bloodlust.

I haven’t allowed myself true violence since I was a very young child, when my family first noticed my abnormality. I quickly learned to hide my disconcerting nature. My mother made sure I knew how important it was to conceal the monster within.

But as the thief’s teeth rattle beneath the impact of my boot, I let the mask fall away entirely. I’m fully myself for the first time in my adult life: cruel, powerful, and vicious.

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