Page 3 of Bought

Everything will be okay...

My words don’t convince me, but still, I press on.

A man with a bald head and a thick, tattooed neck stands waiting for me. Not the refined mafia boss I’m here for. This guy is meatier, harder, even colder-looking than the person I’ve come here for.

His gaze has me prickling with chill bumps, as he seems to take in every hair on my head, each inch of my body down to the toes of my high-heeled boots.

This man has a look I don’t like, and he’s still staring at me. Something about him finally convinces me I can’t do this.

The last thing my desperate little trio needs right now is for me to become a plus one for the city’s homicide rate.

I turn on the heel of my boot, quickly moving back the way I came.

Bootsteps. Behind me. Coming fast.

My heartbeat races to match the thumps hitting the sidewalk as they follow me. Am I overthinking this? Glancing behind me, I see him reaching out for me.

My stomach lurches to my throat. Run. Fast.

“Wait!” he shouts. “Erin.”

My heart stops before my feet. Why does he know my name?

Out of fight or flight, I choose freeze.

I slowly turn back to face him. My whispered words are carried off by a cold gust of wind. “How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you.” His intense gaze locks onto mine.

I steady the rising fear from creeping in. “Why are you following me?”

He gives me a grimace. He must think it passes for a grin. What he says next sends a river of ice rushing through my bloodstream.

A gold tooth flashes. “There is no Fifteen Bachman Avenue.”

CHAPTER TWO

Lucian

I pace the floor like a caged animal, blood thrumming with anticipation and a restless need that makes me reckless. This part always feels the same. The air clouds with tension and my blood runs primal.

Beneath the ritual of the deep-grooming shower, crisp white button-down, and tumbler of whisky to steady my nerves, tonight feels different. There’s a sharpness to it. An edge the drink hasn’t touched.

I tell myself I’m just waiting for release. When the itch becomes too intense to ignore, I call the agency and place an order. We have a good night, endorphins will flood my system, and I’ll send her away with no trace remaining.

Just another transaction, clean and forgettable.

Then back to work, focused and ready for battle.

But I asked for a virgin.

And I can’t stop asking myself why.

I pay for women who understand the rules and don’t confuse the pleasure with anything more than business. No names. No questions. No strings. Just body heat that causes combustion, followed by the calming effects of warm embers.

It’s always been enough.

Until now.