Page 107 of Sadistic

He's pretending to look at watches, but his eyes keep finding me.

There's something about him that screams predator, even though he's doing nothing overtly threatening.

"That guy's giving me the creeps," Dalla whispers, following my gaze.

Every time I glance his way, he's watching.

Not leering, not obviously staring, but aware.

Too aware for my liking.

Like a cat tracking a mouse.

He moves closer, now examining cufflinks just one counter over from the shoes.

"Let's go," I say quietly. "Something's wrong."

But as we turn to leave, I realize we're boxed in.

Another man blocks the path to the escalator, a third by the main exit.

They're not obvious about it, just strategically placed shoppers, but the trap is clear.

My heart starts racing.

"Rev," Dalla's voice is tight with fear.

"I see them. Stay calm."

My skin prickles with warning as the man from the jewelry counter approaches.

He's carrying a small gift box, movements casual but purposeful.

His shoes—expensive Italian leather—barely make a sound on the marble floor.

"Miss Peerson?" His voice is smooth, accented. Not quite Spanish, but close. Cuban, maybe.

I don't confirm or deny, but he smiles like he knows exactly who I am.

"You look just like your photos." He stops a polite distance away, but it doesn't feel safe.

Nothing about this feels safe. "I'm Bembe Reyes. I believe we were supposed to meet at your wedding."

Dalla's face drains of color. My heart hammers against my ribs.

The Culebra cartel leader.

The man who ordered Erik and Anders' deaths.

The man whose invitation Doran took back because of our fight.

"Shopping for wedding shoes?" He glances at the display. "How optimistic."

"What do you want?" I'm proud my voice doesn't shake.

"Just to talk. It seems my invitation was... revoked." He looks genuinely regretful, but his eyes are cold as winter. "Your husband-to-be insulted me. Rescinding my invitation after I agreed to peace."

"I didn't know about the invitation until after," I say carefully.

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