Her lips tilt. “Depends. Are you asking for yourself or taking requests?”
I huff a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “Bold. I like it”
“Good for you,” she fires back. “Are you going to keep staring, or do you actually have a purpose here?”
God, she’s quick. Everyone else tries to impress me. She doesn’t care what I think.
Refreshing. Maddening.
“Maybe I just wanted to see the woman who watches everything without lifting a finger,” I say, glancing at her untouched glass. “It’s a risky move for someone in a dress like that.”
She narrows her eyes. “If you think I wore this for anyone else, you’re wrong.”
“No?” I lean in slightly. “Interesting, considering how many men are wishing otherwise.”
Her lips twitch.Fighting a smile.“Are you going to tell me your name, mysterious stranger?”
“Asher.”
“Just Asher?”
“For now.”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Well, Asher, I was doing something before you interrupted.”
“Watching?” I drag the word slow.
A flush spreads across her chest, but she doesn’t look away. “Yes. Watching. It’s more interesting than you, anyway.”
A low laugh leaves me. “Careful, Kitten. You almost sound like you don’t like me.”
Her jaw clenches. “Kitten? Really?”
“It suits you. All soft curiosity and sharp little claws.”
She glares. I grin.
Perfect.
Before she can snap back, Cami reappears in a golden blur. I lean in close enough to breathe her in—clean skin, faint flowers, and something warm and entirely her.
“We’ll finish this another time, Kitten,” I murmur.
Her jaw tightens, and I notice her trying to come up with a retort, but I don’t let her get it out. With a wicked smile I turn, disappearing into the sea of bodies behind me, and leaving her to handle Cami’s stream of questions. As much as I hate to leave, knowing that I walk away from her dumbfounded, irritated, and now, intrigued is the best of feelings.
She’ll look for me. They always do.
Turning my back on the chaos above me I walk down the hall toward where they took the guy, my eyes meet Maverick’s across the room. He keeps pace with me in silence. He knows the look in my eyes. We’re beyond the point of subtlety. Past diplomacy. This is personal.
The intruder sits tied to a chair in the middle of the room—breathing hard, and trying too hard not to look afraid. The effort almost makes it worse. Fear isn’t something you can swallow down in a place like this; it seeps out through your posture, your eyes, and the way your fingers twitch against the metal. He’s failing on every front, and he knows it the second I step fully into the room.
He tries to stand when I move closer, some pathetic last attempt at control, but I plant a hand against his chest and shove him back into the chair. The legs shriek across the concrete like they’re protesting on his behalf. I let the sound hang in the air before I speak, my voice low and steady—quiet enough to make him lean forward. “What’s your name?”
He keeps his mouth shut, jaw clenched, and gaze flicking toward the door like he’s calculating whether he can run. Maverick ends that fantasy quickly. His slap cracks acrossthe room—sharp, fast, and humiliating. Not meant to break him. Just meant to remind him who sets the rhythm in here. It’s not him.
“Name,” I say again, letting the word roll out a little slower this time. “And what were you doing sniffing around Violet?”
He gives me a lazy shrug like he’s bored. “She was just there,” he mutters. “Didn’t know she was marked territory.”
