Page 101 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

EDIE

Luka doesn’t speak as he leads me to a black SUV parked in the shadows. Storm is at the wheel, waiting for orders.

We get in the back, Luka on one side of the backseat, me on the other, clutching my pink Pusheen overnight bag like it might save me or something.

The city blurs past the tinted windows, neon streaks of light reflecting off wet pavement.

The silence between us is thick and oppressive against my ribs. I keep waiting for the explosion, but he’s too cool for that, I guess. Too controlled.

Somehow, that’s more terrifying.

Would he really kill me? But he told me to pack my things. A dead girl doesn’t need a toothbrush and a change of clothes.

Unless he wants it to look like I went on a trip.

My heart sinks. We had that conversation about caring, and I thought we were really together. But now it’s like somebody else has taken over his body.

I have to get away. But how can I outwit a battle-hardened killer like Luka?

I steal a glance at his profile—the sharp set of hisjaw, perfect lips, dusky brows like angry slashes. A bruise still kisses his cheekbone from that fight. He’s like a Renaissance sculpture of dangerous beauty, all shadows and light.

Quickly, I look away. I have to figure this out. He took my phone, but maybe I can get it back when he’s not looking.

A dark thought comes to me: what if he forces me to unlock it? I try to think if there’s anything incriminating on there for him to find.

But then again, he already wants to kill me. How can it get worse than that?

Then I remember Mary. Things could get worse for Mary. If Bender tries to contact me and thinks I’m blowing him off, what would he do to her?

“Can’t I just tell you why?—”

“No. Ask again, and I’ll make you sorry,” he grates out.

Anger flashes through me. “This isn’t the twelfth century. There are such things as exculpatory reasons.”

“Not in my world,” he growls. Some animal instinct in me knows not to say anymore. He probably wouldn’t care anyway.

Eventually, the car pulls up in front of a penthouse, steel and glass against the night sky. “Where are we?”

He doesn’t answer; he simply pulls me out and leads me through a sleek, glittering lobby. The doorman hands him a package without so much as a glance in my direction. I catch sight of his name on it.

So this is his place—a perfect fortress for a king. Or a prison.

When the elevator doors close, I huddle in the corner, as far from him as the small space allows, but it’s no use. His presence brushes against my skin. We get off on the top floor, and I follow him into his place.

“Put your things on the couch.” His voice is quiet. He moves to the bar, pouring himself a drink. The clink of ice against glass is impossibly loud in the silence.

“Are you gonna kill me?” I ask.

“You’ll find out when you find out,” he says, all quiet menace.

My mind spins. Except... if he was planning on killing me, why would he have brought me to his own home? The doorman saw us come in, and I’m sure there are cameras. It seems foolish, and Luka is far from foolish.

Maybe he’ll toy with me first. Punish me or whatever a man like this does. Which means I have time… to get the hell away.

I put my bag on the couch and wait, wringing my hands and looking around.

I don’t know what I expected from his place, something hard and cold, I suppose. Full-on Spartan. Everything gunmetal gray.

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