But there’s something else, too. Something my survival instincts are screaming at me to ignore.
Because the man is unfairly attractive. Black hair swept back from his face, not styled with product but like he has a habit of running his fingers through it. All hard angles from cheekbone to chin. Eyes the color of winter sky, intense and fringed with dark lashes. His shoulders stretch his black T-shirt in ways that suggest he spends serious time in a gym.
He looks like a problem I don’t need. Which is probably why I can’t stop noticing him.
I didn’t fully appreciate it yesterday. I was too frazzled from Viktor cornering me outside the coffee shop, too busy being suspicious of this stranger who appeared out of nowhere right after.
Now I’m still suspicious. Just... slightly less frazzled.
At least here, I’m safe. Viktor tried to cause problems at the bar twice before, and my boss banned him. The bouncers know his face. They’ll never let him through those doors.
Small mercies.
“Another soda?” I ask when Matteo empties his glass.
“Water.”
I fill a glass and start to set it down. He reaches for it at the same moment.
Our fingers brush.
Heat shoots up my arm. Not the uncomfortable Vegas-summer kind. Something deeper. Electric. The noise of the bar fades for a heartbeat, maybe two, and I’m suddenly aware of how close he is. The faint scent of soap and something woodsy. The roughness of his fingertips against mine.
My breath catches.
Then my phone dings in my pocket, and the moment shatters.
I step back, pulling the device out before I can think better of it. The preview shows a text from an unknown number.
This is Viktor...
My shoulders tense. I should absolutely delete it without reading because nothing good has ever come from Viktor’s messages.
But I can’t stop myself. Some sick part of me needs to know what he’s saying. Maybe it’s the need to confirm he’s as unhinged as I think. Maybe it’s hoping I’ll find something specific enough to actually do something about.
I open it.
This is Viktor. Stop blocking me, you ungrateful bitch. You think you’re too good to answer? You belong to me. You’vealways belonged to me. I’m the only one who would ever put up with your bullshit, and deep down, you know it. Stop playing games before I lose my patience.
I feel myself shrinking, and I hate him for it. Hate myself more.
Eight months ago, I thought I was falling in love. Viktor seemed charming, interested, different from the string of losers I usually dated. He said he worked in “import-export.” Vague, but I didn’t push.
The more attached I got, the less he bothered to hide. Phone calls he used to take in another room started happening right in front of me. Men with hard eyes nodded to him when we walked into restaurants. Cash appeared in thick rolls instead of credit cards.
By the time I understood what he really was, I was already in deep.
A few months in, he asked my dad about using the shipping company to move product across the Mexican border. Dad refused without hesitation.
Some small, quiet part of me whispered that the timing wasn’t coincidence. That maybe I’d been a means to an end all along.
I buried that voice. Told myself the business thing was separate from us. That what we had was real, even if he’d made a bad judgment call.
I kept clinging to the man he pretended to be.
Then he stopped pretending entirely.
The psychological games came first. Little comments about my appearance, my job, my family. How I was lucky he put up with me. How no one else would want damaged goods like me.
