Page 4 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

So I sip my drink slowly and pretend Dardan’s legs are just a shitty, lumpy chair. I try not to notice when he leers at me.

That’s what I’m doing when he jolts as if electrocuted. He practically throws me off his lap in his haste to stand. I clutch the chair back, trying to keep from toppling over in my stilettos.

All eyes lock onto a figure gliding toward us through the dim light. He moves with predatory grace, like a dark raptor stalking its prey. Two grim-faced men flank him.

A collective intake of breath ripples across the table, followed by a hoarse whisper from somewhere on my right:Luka.

Even the pronunciation of the name is fierce, the vowels long and strong.

His rich, dark hair seems to have grown out from a severe military cut—the hair of a soldier too long in the field—and his chocolatey eyebrows point to the sides like swords.

His perfectly tailored charcoal suit accentuates his athletic build; a crisp white triangle peeks elegantly from the breast pocket. His dress shirt is classic white; his tie is black, broken only by a strange gothic tie clip inset with a gleaming red stone.

Everybody’s standing now. Those trapped behind the booth are doing their best to stand or to at least straighten to give the appearance of standing, as if this Luka might smite them down if they don’t show the proper deference. They’re also falling all over themselves to greet him.“Didn’t expect you!” “So nice to see you!” “To what do we owe this honor?”

Luka rumbles his acknowledgment with a severe gaze that seems to assess the past, present, and future of each speaker.

His presence is intense, like weather or electricity. He changes the atmosphere in a new and dangerous way.

I stiffen, telling myself I’m not impressed.

This guy is just a criminal, no different from the criminals who preyed on my mom during her long stretches of drunken gullibility and no different from the criminals who lured my sister away from me, away from the dreams we had.

Loser, loser, loser.

Right then, Luka’s brown eyes snap to mine.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

His gaze pins me where I stand, mesmerizing. Merciless.

A shiver licks up my spine.

His masculine beauty cuts hard as diamonds. His lips are cruel. But his deep brown eyes... are the eyes of an angel. And I have this strange sense that he can read me with those eyes, even my inner thoughts.

But then I pull my mind back together and straighten.

He can’t read thoughts, and he’s not special. And if he thinks I’m impressed now that his gaze is on me, he’s wrong. If anything, I hate him even more, though I keep my expression perfectly pleasant because I’m here for my sister. And also? Not an idiot.

As if in a dream, he comes closer. Now he’s close enough that I could slap his face. Not that I would. Or even could. The nearer he gets, the more immobilized I feel.

And those eyes.

The way he’s looking at me, I feel translucent, like one of those tiny, see-through fish where you can see its big heart pounding inside its skin.

Even Dardan’s arm on me seems less corporeal—more fog than flesh—like Luka is the only solid thing in the room, and if he wanted Dardan’s arm off, he could make it vanish with one harsh thought.

I swallow, knowing I should say something.It’s nice to see youseems odd when we don’t know each other.

“Greetings.” I force a smile.

Did that sound weird? Sarcastic? Something you’d say to an alien?

Thoughts seem to flit behind his dark, angelic eyes.

Somebody says something about a plan, and he finally turns away from me, leaving me almost gasping for breath, a fish out of water.

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