“Call her.” An order.
“I’ll invite Anaya to stay with me tonight.”
“Good girl.”
I rise on my toes and crash my lips against his, coaxing them open with my tongue. He surges forward like a feral wolf, shoving me hard against the counter. Slanting his head, he takes charge and kisses me deeply for a minute.
Reluctantly, he peels his mouth away, groaning, “I really have to go.”
“Okay,” I pant, straightening his tie.
Forcing himself to put space between us, he roams his heated gaze down the length of my body.
His eyes shut for a lingering breath as if the sight of me flushed from his kiss is too much for him. When they reopen, his mask is in place. “Bye, angel.”
“Bye, Nathan.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Nathan
One of the perks of being a member of Kian’s exclusive gentleman’s club, The Mirage, isn’t the high-class gambling, exclusive parties, or even the women.
It’s connecting with the notorious and powerful men. Doing deals and exchanging favors that don’t see the light of day.
Keith Ray is one of those men. The son of a corrupt politician and the king of the underbelly of organized crime in the north, which he rules with an iron fist, alongside his three best friends.
With his reach all over the country, if anyone were going to find Arya’s molester’s information in a few hours, it was going to be him.
He did come through.
Hrithik Sharma. Average-looking guy, aged thirty-two, and works a low-level job at a pharmaceutical company.
I stand in the basement parking lot in the building, waiting for him. He’s working an evening shift and will be coming down at any second.
Ten minutes later, I hear the click of shoes.
He’s humming a tune as he rounds the corner from where the elevators are. Holding a briefcase and oblivious to the threat, he marches ahead.
I silently approach him from behind and tap on his shoulder.
“Hrithik?” I ask when he turns.
“Yeah.” He frowns in confusion. “Do I kn—”
I throw my fist against his jaw, sending him to the ground in a single punch. Sputtering blood, he touches his jaw, and gasps, “What the fuck, man?”
“You don’t know me.” I bend and haul him up by his collar. “But I know you.”
“W-what?” Terror darkens his eyes as he tries to place me and fails. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
Scums like him are nothing but pussies when a bigger bully confronts them. They only know to prey on innocent people. “You touched something of mine.”
“How? I don’t know you!” he croaks out. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
The rage I was suppressing the entire day comes roaring out. The memory of the missing spark in Arya’s coffee brown eyes, the scratches on her body, and the sound of her sobs. All of it converts into a need for violence. To teach this bastard a lesson.
Punching him in the ribs until he howls in pain, I shove him against the car’s door. “Oh, I’ve got the right man. I’ll prove to you.”
