“That’s abuse of power. Shouldn’t he be off by now?”
“He isn’t.”
“But—”
“Tell me, Gabriella.” A full-body shiver runs through me at the way he says my name. There’s this tinge of reverence that makes no sense to me and his eyes look at me with hunger. It’s all there for a split second, but on my next blink, it’s as if I’ve imagined it all. His handsome face is blank and his facial expression expectant. “What did you order, and from where?”
My tongue seems tied for some reason, but I do hand over my phone before he asks again, leaving open my Uber Eats pick-up screen with my pending order. “This Indian place isn’t far at all. It’ll be at your door before you reach it.”
“Why?”
Theodore hands over his card blindly to the cashier while I wait. He grabs my bags and then has me lead the way to my car without answering my question. It isn’t until everything’s inside the trunk of my car and I’m behind the wheel that I’m graced with another charming smile.
It’s alarming how easily that action disarms me.
“Everything I do, Miss Moore, is because I want to. Simple as that.” He raps the top of my car twice and pulls back. “Drive safely, and I’d like to see you at the gallery tomorrow around ten.”
“Why?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Will I like this surprise? That’s the important question here.”
He shakes his head, a smirk curling at his lips. “You’ll have to show up and see.”
“That’s no fun.”
“It is for me, sweet Gabriella.” And then he walks away without letting me respond. Not that I could, because once again I’m left watching him. Too occupied with his muscled back just like the rest of him, the cords of muscles beneath the thin grey shirt are a distraction I can’t escape from.
This also leaves me with two very important observations...
How easily distracted I am in his presence.
How easily I forget all my problems the moment he’s near.
13
King
I
’ve been watching my pretty girl from the shadows for a little over a week. I’ve been listening to the world around us appreciate and take note—discover what I’ve known all along—that Gabriella Moore is a gem walking amongst filth.
The Astor Galleries know this.
Her best friend has always been jealous of it.
Men around her covet what belongs to me, and my patience is beginning to run thin. I’ve been accepting of her teasing and allowing key players to participate. Love the thrill of being taunted by those around her to come a little closer and expose myself, even though I won’t. Not yet.
Instead, I play the game she innocently isn’t aware of participating in and anticipate her every turn.
She moves. I move.
Gabriella is unaware of the demon whose strike outweighs her gentle moral compass. A lesson she’ll learn soon enough as I’ll always devour my prey whole. No empathy. No soul.
But then again, it’s been this way since the first time our paths crossed.
Her shallow breaths are coquettish.
Her walk is sensuous without trying.
My pretty girl is the definition of effortless and I’m only but so strong to resist such a gift. Even with eyes full of unshed tears and a pale complexion a few days ago—the result of shock from her nightmare and the stress brought on by those around her—the little artist is exquisite and much too trusting. She’s innocent in her search for acceptance, and I’ll teach her just how useless that way of thinking is.
My girl is above all others, never an equal.
She’s a queen. My queen.
Soft music plays from her dimly lit bedroom window tonight, and I smile. Are you giving into sleep, little one? I know her habits—routine—and this one always leads to her passing out. This is how she decompresses after a stressful day and right now, she’s up on her bed drawing in a private sketchbook comparable to a diary while our guest on the ground whimpers at my feet.
He’s scared. A shaking, pathetic excuse for a male, and my lip curls in disgust.
How did he ever think he’d be good enough? How can a man who pisses himself at the sight of me end up any other way but as he is now:
Tied up and gagged. Scared and shaking.
“This is the only chance you get to explain, Mr. Roy.” There’s an indiscernible noise that escapes him, his throat bobbing harshly. “What’s that, Tim? I can’t hear you.”
