Page 11 of Raziel

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The camera was still rolling.

The rapper tapped my arm, frowning. “Jit, you know him?” He pointed.

I looked over my shoulder.

And there he was.

Raziel.

Leaning against the wall just behind the red velvet rope that marked the VIP entrance, watching me.

His face was cold.

I felt a shift in the room—a drop in temperature.

My heart sped up.

I’d been trying not to think about him.

He told me to leave him alone, and I was doing just that. I wasn’t about to beg one man to fuck with me when there were so many others in the world.

He didn’t even seem like the club type.

What was he doing here?

Was he looking for me?

I shook my head.

Impossible.

I sat back on the rapper’s lap.

His hand looped around my waist.

I watched Raziel walk—no, swagger—across the room in silence.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, staring me dead in the face.

The rapper scoffed, fooled by the expensive suit. “Nah, we busy.”

His boys laughed, hyping him up—

Until Raziel pressed steel to his forehead.

The laughter died instantly.

I slid off the rapper’s lap before things could escalate.

“Chill, Ra.”

Raziel tilted his head. “You protecting him?”

I grinned. “No. He ain’t worth me protecting or you shooting. I met him an hour ago. Just having some fun.”

Raziel holstered his gun, snatched my wrist.

Nobody stopped us as he dragged me to the elevator.

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