Page 4 of Devil of Vegas

“No need to fret. My men have made sure that yourabsenceis a quiet one. A dancer resting, post-performance, possible overexertion, avoids suspicion.”

“And then?” I stick my chin out at him. “That won’t last forever. I have rehearsals. My instructor will know that I’ve gone missing. So, you’re going to either have to release me or?—”

I don’t finish that sentence because I don’t want to say the words aloud.

“Kill you?”

He reaches out his hand, and I worry for a second that he’s going to wrap his fingers around my neck. Instead, he reaches up and pulls the hairpins from my bun.

My hair falls against my shoulders, and I stand motionless, afraid to move in any one direction as I study him.

There’s a scar under his collarbone, one that looks like it was once deep and brutal, and the hint of a tattoo that peeks out from the cuff of his black suit. His eyes are intense and calculating—he’s dangerous,murderous, as evidenced by the act he committed last night. But there’s something else too. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it hints at being a man who has more scars than just the kind you can see with your eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you, Isla,” he says as he pulls his hand back and turns to stand in front of the vast windows overlooking the city. “It would be a damn shame to snuff out talent like yours.”

“You watched me dance?” I ask in a whisper. A killer enjoying ballet feels incongruous, hence my surprise. Then I rememberthe figure on the balcony that held my gaze during my pirouettes.

“I appreciate ballet as an art form,” he says with his back turned toward me as he continues to stare out the window. “There’s beautyanda pain in it, as I’m sure you’re keenly aware. Talent like yours takes a strength that very few people can appreciate.”

“If you value me and won’t harm me, could you release me, please? I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw. Iswearit,” I plead. “Just let me go and I’ll forget about all of this, okay?”

When he turns toward me, his expression darkens. “I never said that I wouldn’thurtyou. I simply said that I wasn’t going tokillyou. And you’ll have to forgive me for not trusting your word. But I’ve known a few dancers in my time, and I can say with great honesty that they’re not all trustworthy.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I ask, this time failing to hide the tremble in my voice.

“No,” he says as his eyes run over me. “It’s supposed to make youobedient.”

I swallow hard and glance at the door.

“You can’t escape. My men are guarding every exit.”

“Your men?” I ask, still wanting an answer to my first question. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Vincent,” he says as he extends his hand out toward me. The arrogance of him to think that I would want to shake his hand after having just kidnapped me is astounding.

“Vincent? Is that what everyone calls you?” My survival instincts kick in, and I realize that this man isn’t justanyviolent criminal.The polished appearance, the lavish place that we’re standing in, even the mention of having men serving as guards for him. He’s powerful, not just in stature, but in an operational sense, too. City whispers tell of such men, leaders of hidden criminal empires. I might not have just seen a random murder; I might have stumbled onto something much more consequential.

“No,” he chuckles in amusement. “Some people call me something else, but I think you will probably prefer Vincent to the alternative.”

His gaze drops to his awaiting hand, implying a demand, not a suggestion, for me to take it. And when I do, simply to hedge my bets and avoid making him angry right off the bat, he wraps his fingers around my palm in a way that sends a shot of tension all the way to the soles of my feet.

“Try me,” I say as I push away the heat rising within me.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me what other people call you.”

Vincent grins, and he shakes his head gently, as if he’s entertained by my curiosity. “They call meThe Devil,” he says without letting go of my hand. “Does that frighten you?”

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being scared out of my wits, but weakness isn’t within me.

“I’ve danced with devils before,” I say, testing the boundaries of how rebellious I can be without getting hurt. It’s not a lie; I’ve had to survive unpleasant things in the past and I’ll just have to survive this, too.

“Have you now?” Vincent asks with a raised brow.

He releases my hand and walks toward the door, pausing before he opens it and turning back to look at me one more time. His voice is low when he speaks, and his eyes are unreadable.

“Well then, welcome to your new home, ballerina,” he says before closing the door behind him and throwing the lock.

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