That’s not physically possible, but I keep my mouth shut, determined to keep a low profile and avoid making any enemies until the auction.
The girls make some half-hearted noises of concern. “I mean, obviously, I don’t condone paralysing your own father, but… I mean, come on. Nobody’s perfect. And maybe he deserved it.”
“I can fix him,” one confidently states, and the women dissolve into giggles, eyes darting once more to the entrance at my back, as they adjust their clothes and fluff their hair.
“Why would Kozlov hire someone like that? He sounds dangerous.”
Finishing her lipstick reapplication with a dramatic eye roll, the older of the two shakes her head. “Are you joking? That’s exactly the kind of violent man Kozlov wants to work for him… Nobody is going to fuck withthatguy.”
“Well, I might. Hell, I’d even give him a freebie.” They collapse into fits of laughter once more.
Pretending I’m not curious but failing miserably, I lean against the bar and survey the room.
It’s ridiculous. A man who paralyzed his own father should terrify me, not intrigue me. And yet, something about the way these women describe him—dangerous, yes, but alsodifferent—makes me want to see for myself.
That’s when I notice him.
He’s standing at the velvet rope, arms crossed, surveying the room like it’s his territory. The largest man I’ve ever seen, six-foot-nine, at least, with shoulders that strain against his fitted black shirt, and hands that look capable of violence I can’t even imagine.
He should terrify me. Everything about him screams danger.
But his eyes find mine across the room, and my world tilts.
There’s a pull from deep in my chest, like a hook behind my ribs that’s tugging me toward him. My heart doesn’t race with panic; itpounds, heavy and urgent, in a way I’ve never felt before.
I should look away. He works for Kozlov. He’s part of this nightmare, but I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except stare back at this stranger and feel, for one insane moment, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find him.
The thought is so absurd, so completely irrational, that it snaps me out of whatever spell I’m under, and I force my gaze down, heart racing and cheeks flushing.
What the hell was that?
The urge to approach him is overwhelming and completely insane.
My body doesn’t care about logic. It’s telling me to go to him, to cross this room full of predators, and to let this stranger protect me with those massive arms. Like he’d even want to. Like I’m not just another desperate woman whose body is going to be sold to the highest bidder in the room.
I force myself to look away before Kozlov notices me staring at his new employee like a lovesick teenager.
Get it together, Emma. He works for the man who’s going to pimp you out if he doesn’t get his money back.
I fidget with the stem of my champagne glass, studying the bubbles like they’re the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. But my awareness of Bodhi doesn’t fade. I can feel his presence across the room, feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch I can’t shake off.
Is he watching me?
I risk a glance.
He’s not. He’s working the velvet rope, letting some people through with a curt nod and turning others away with nothing more than a glance. A man in an expensive suit tries to argue his way past, gesturing toward the women visible behind the barrier.
“Leave,” Bodhi demands. One word. No explanation.
The suit’s face reddens. “Do you know who I…”
Bodhi doesn’t move. Doesn’t raise his voice. Just glares at him.
The man wilts. Actually wilts, muttering something about it looking “lame anyway,” before he retreats with what’s left of his dignity.
I shouldn’t find that attractive.
And yet, I can’t stop watching the way Bodhi moves, powerful and controlled, every gesture deliberate. The way his forearms flex when he crosses his arms. The way the other guards give him a wide berth, like even they’re not sure what he might do.
