Page 5 of Bad Girl Dilemma

Or would it be better if I simply disappeared off the face of the earth? Because one death is bad enough. Two deaths of the people he loves in one lifetime…

God. Breathe.

I inhale through my nose, slow and steady, counting heartbeats like code lines.

And then?—

The car slows.

Stops.

A door slams. Then another. Muffled voices. Footsteps.

A click. The sound of the trunk latch popping. Light spills in, blinding and surgical.

I blink, squinting through the gag, and then?—

Him.

The man himself. Dante O’Driscoll. In the flesh.

Towering. Black suit. Blacker eyes. Shadow-cut jaw and cheekbones carved by God on a hate bender. There’s a rawness to him that feels barely leashed—like he could destroy something with a flick of his wrist and wouldn’t even flinch.

Even though I’d suspected, a part of me had hoped it wasn’t him. That he would be someone less… formidable. Less potent. Less… justless.

That the single image I’d found on him online would be severely photoshopped, the kind that turned troll into hunk. Sadly, he’s Online Hunk turned Hotter Hunk IRL.

His expression is unreadable. No smile. No mockery. Just controlled fury, burning behind cold black eyes. For an abstract,entirely inappropriate moment I wonder if he named his company after the color of his eyes.

He looks down at me like I’m a piece of art he doesn’t know whether to sell or smash.

And then, he speaks—his voice smooth, low, lethal.

“You really should’ve deleted that app, little thief.”

The app…the app…The Club app?

Oh shit…

Oh fucking fuckity fuck!

Dante

She’s smallerthan I expected.

Curled up like a snapped violin string, trying so hard not to tremble. I see it anyway. The twitch of her thigh. The flex of her bound wrists. The jagged inhale through her nose, because her mouth’s stuffed full of premium-grade silicone that muffles all her screams.

She’s scared.

Good.

She fucking should be.

I watch her carefully, silently, as she blinks against the light, trying to square the woman she stole from with the one standing in front of her.

What was she expecting? Some crusty billionaire with a temper, bald combover and a security detail?

Not me.

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