The words are tossed over her shoulder, slurred but still somehow defiant. She recognizes what I am. The posture, maybe, or the way I assess threats. Or maybe it's just a lucky guess from a drunk girl who's seen enough security to know the type.
She weaves through the crowd like a ship in a storm, listing dangerously but somehow staying afloat. I follow three steps behind, close enough to catch her if she goes down, far enough that she can maintain the illusion of independence.
Outside, the Miami night is thick with humidity. She stands on the sidewalk, swaying slightly, looking for something. Her car, maybe, though God knows she shouldn't drive. The valet approaches, and she waves him off, nearly losing her balance in the process.
"I'm walking," she announces to no one.
"No, you're not."
She spins to face me. Too fast. I steady her with a hand on her elbow, and again that unwanted heat flares at the contact. "You don't get to—"
"Car," I say, steering her toward her own car. I've already had a word with her driver. "You can be unconscious in the back or conscious. Your choice."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Some choice."
Day one with Marisol Delgado, and I already know this isn't going to be just a disaster.
It's going to be a catastrophe in a gold dress, and I've just signed up to watch it unfold. I've been in combat zones, taken actual fire, and nothing has ever knocked the breath from my chest like this half-conscious disaster stumbling toward my car.
In the car, she's already fumbling with her phone, trying to text someone. Probably to override her father's orders, get me dismissed before we even reach her penthouse. The dome light catches the smeared mascara under her eyes, the champagnestain spreading across her dress, the way her fingers shake as she tries to focus on the screen.
I slide in beside her and pluck the phone from her fingers. She makes a noise of protest that shoots straight to my cock. Anger and need tangled together in one desperate sound.
"That's mine," she slurs, reaching for it. Her body tilts toward me with the motion, and I catch another hit of that vanilla-coconut scent, stronger now in the enclosed space.
I pocket her phone. "Everything about you is mine now, princess. The sooner you accept that, the easier this gets."
She stares at me, pupils blown wide from whatever she took, lips parted. The car's interior feels smaller suddenly, the air between us charged with something dangerous. For a moment, neither of us breathes.
"I'm going to make your life hell," she promises. Despite the champagne slur, despite the glassy eyes, there's steel underneath. This broken bird still has talons.
Good. At least it won't be boring.
2 - Marisol
The world won’t stop spinning, and there’s a soldier in my car.
I press my forehead against the cool leather and giggle. Actually giggle. Because this is absurd. This whole night is absurd. I went to my club to forget my problems and now I'm being kidnapped by a man who looks like he's never smiled in his entire life.
"You're not kidnapping me," I say out loud, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter has fully dissolved. "You're… reverse kidnapping. Taking me TO my home. Against my will. That's a thing, right?"
Nico doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. Talking to him is like talking to a very judgmental wall. A tall, muscled wall with short dark hair.
"Carlos!" I tap the partition. "Carlos, am I being kidnapped?"
"No, Ms.Delgado." Carlos has seen me much worse than this. Carlos is a saint. "You're going home."
"See?" I turn to Nico triumphantly, which is a mistake because turning makes the world lurch. "Not kidnapped. Just… escorted. Like a princess. A very drunk princess with a really angry prince."
"I'm not a prince."
"Oh my God, he speaks! Carlos, write this down. The statue spoke."
My bare feet are freezing. When did I lose my shoes? I loved those shoes. They were Louboutins. They made my legs lookincredible. Now they're probably being worn by some cocktail waitress with better life choices than me.
"RIP, shoes," I say solemnly, pressing my hand to my heart. "You were too beautiful for this world."
"You left them on the mezzanine level." Nico's voice is flat. "At approximately 9:40 PM."
