Chapter 2

C LARISSA

“ Y ou alright?” the crazy guy from earlier asks.

He’s the kind of guy a sane person would fear, but not me. I’ve been around enough predators to know that even though this guy is crazy, he won’t hurt me. How he came down like a ton of bricks on that perv from earlier tells me as much.

“I think I twisted my ankle or something.”

His arms sweep under me, lifting me like I’m no heavier than a cotton ball. He cradles me in his arms, rushing us away from the crowd down a small, dank corridor. This is probably the part where I get chopped up into tiny pieces and left for the vultures, like the victim in a horror movie.

We reach a black steel door, and he places me gently on the ground, still holding me up with one arm while he punches the buttons of a keypad. The door slides open.

“Whoa, this is a pretty lush-lookin’ office,” I say, taking in the brick walls, dark mahogany table, and rich brown leather furniture.

He shrugs, placing me on the large sofa. “I like to be comfortable here. It’s where I spend most of my time.”

“I should scream, shouldn’t I?”

“Only if you want me to hurt you.”

Fear races through me. “You’d hurt me?”

He smiles. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

“I can’t say I never would. If you asked me to, I’d say yes.”

He removes my shoes, catching me off guard with his gentle touch as he rolls my ankle to examine the damage. It’s a shocking display of tenderness from a guy who seemed capable of murder not too long ago.

“You’re a little fucked up, huh?”

He glances at me, his eyes churning like a deep blue ocean in the middle of a storm. “You don’t know the half of it.”

I shiver from his stare and his touch.

“Looks like it’s twisted. Keep your weight off it, and it should be fine in a few days.”

“Cool. I’ll be on my way, then.”

I move to get up, but he’s lightning quick and cages me in with his arms. “I’ll take you home.”

“No offense, big guy, but you just beat the shit out of a man for no reason, then manhandled my ass to get me into this cigar lounge of an office. I’m not about to tell you where I live.”

“I don’t need you to tell me anything. I can find out whatever I want with one phone call.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Vance.”

“No, I mean, who are you? Like, what’s your deal? You walk around the palace like you own it.”

“I do.”

“No, not just the club. It’s as if you can buy and sell anyone or anything. Like, real power.”

Vance shrugs, pushing off the sofa and offering me his hand. “I promise I won’t hurt you. My word is my bond. I won’t break it.” When I don’t take his hand right away, he quickly adds, “I also don’t take no for an answer.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, then said I can’t say no to you.”

“You can say no when it comes to sex, and I promise no physical harm will come to you.”

His words aren’t reassuring, but for some reason, I believe him. Danger isn’t a new concept for me. I was born in it.

I place my hand on his massive one, and he pulls me to him. He smells good, like hot chocolate and sin. He opens a door in the back of his office, and a black town car with a driver is waiting outside. Vance opens the door for me, gesturing for me to get in. The vehicle is swanky. The thing has a mini-fridge, and it’s roomy as hell—more like a mini limo.

Vance follows me inside, closing the door behind him. “Tell the driver your address.”

“763 Shreveport Lane.”

“That’s not a good neighborhood,” Vance says matter-of-factly.

“It’s fine. I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s not a joking matter, Clarissa.”

Hearing him say my name causes goosebumps to break out on my skin. I’m not sure if they’re a result of fear or excitement.“How’d you know my name?”

He smiles as he hands me my wallet.

“You stole my wallet?”

“Just in case you tried to tell me the wrong address.”

“You’re a bona fide stalker, you know that?”

Vance winks, and his full lips pull into a sinister smile. “Wasn’t before today.”

Vance doesn’t say a word during the drive. He simply sits and watches me. I squeeze my tights together, not sure what’s happening to me. His gaze roams over me, almost orgasmic in its intensity. If someone could make a girl come from a look, it’s this man. It’s unnerving how he stares at me like I’m a tiny morsel he can’t wait to devour.

“You don’t live in a pleasant neighborhood,” Vance says, finally moving his gaze to the run-down sidewalks surrounded by buildings with broken cement stairs and missing bricks in the walls.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, but you don’t need to. Not anymore.”

His words catch me off guard. I don’t understand what he’s saying. Relief floods through me as we reach my apartment. The sooner I’m out of the car, the quicker I can get some fresh air. Sitting here with him, I feel like I’m being lulled into a false sense of security, intoxicated by his proximity.

“Okay, well, this is me. Thanks for the ride.” My hand reaches for the door handle.

He grabs my wrist and turns it gently. “Wait.” He pulls out a cream-colored card with a fine black cursive print from inside his jacket and places it in my hand. “If you ever need anything, call that number. It goes directly to me.”

“Um, thanks,” I say, making the words sound more like a question than a statement.

“I mean it, Clarissa. Use it.”

The car door opens. The chauffeur offers his hand, but before I can take it, Vance’s voice booms with a menacing tone, “Don’t touch her. I’ll help you out.”

Why is this guy so weird? He takes my hand and walks me up my apartment steps, watching quietly as I open the door.

“I’ll be seeing you, Clarissa. Sweet dreams.”

I go inside, letting the door shut between us. Walking upstairs into my lonely apartment, I look out the window. Vance is leaning against the car, his eyes taking me in. I should be scared. I should call the cops.

Instead, I take off my top, letting him see me in my black lace bra through the safety of the glass. My hands roam up my body and latch onto my breasts. My hands knead as wetness pools at my center. What would it be like if he came into my apartment in the middle of the night and touched me while I slept?