Page 10 of Dirty Game

"Yes, Mr. Bane."

"Varrick." The correction surprises us both, I think. "When we're alone, you can call me Varrick."

I nod, not trusting my voice, and escape to my room.

It's only when I'm safely behind my locked door that I let myself truly shake.

Varrick Bane noticedmetonight.

Not as payment, not as property, but as something useful.

Maybe even valuable.

It should terrify me more than being invisible did.

But as I curl into the expensive sheets that smell like lavender and safety, all I can think about is the monster I work for.

For the first time in my life, someone killed for me.

Someone saw me as worth protecting, worth keeping, worth more than just my virginity or my father's debt.

And God help me, I liked it.

CHAPTER TWO

Varrick

This place lives for the dark—the only people out after midnight are predators and prey.

I press my forehead to the glass, watching the lights crawl across the bridge like ants devouring a corpse.

Five a.m., and I’m still pacing.

The office feels smaller the longer I spend inside it.

Too many deals, too many bodies stacked between these four walls.

I drain the last of my whiskey and let the sip rest on my tongue before I swallow.

Heat, burn, clarity.

The bottle’s on my desk, within arm’s reach.

I don’t go back for it.

I watch my own reflection in the window, dark hair cropped close, jaw clenched, eyes sunk so deep you’d think I sleep with the dead.

Maybe I do.

My shirt’s open at the collar.

There’s blood on my sleeve, just a thumbprint, dried to rust.

I haven’t changed since what happened earlier.

There’s an art to controlling your own violence.

The deeper it runs, the quieter it gets.