Page 8 of Sinful Lord

“Those videos better not get out,” she spits.

“There’s only one way to guarantee that.”

A heavy pause fills the air between us. For a moment, our smoky breaths swirl in silence.

Then, finally, Yasha gives in.

“You’re a fucking villain,” she says.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Turning on her heels, she reaches for the door and pulls it open.

I let her storm inside.

She’s going to get what I need. Finally.

Shoving my phone away, I turn from the door and look back out into the cold night. Tiny flakes of snow have started to fall again. My car idles peacefully, the inside bathed in soft yellow light.

A deep, crisp breath fills my lungs. I close my eyes.

Melina Kilpatrick’s bright hazel eyes stare back at me. Her intoxicating figure comes into view. I remember her scent. The warmth that radiated off her body the night I returned her painting.

I could have taken her then, but that would have ruined everything.

For my plan to work, she has to want me. Need me.

Choose me.

I can make that happen. Even if it means employing some of my more sinful tricks.

But first, I have to find her. And I have to do it before anyone else can.

The entire underworld is after the escaped Kilpatrick princess. They’ll show up eventually. When they do, Melina Kilpatrick must already be mine. Entirely.

It’s the only reason I helped her escape that overbearing family of hers.

She’ll quickly learn the price of freedom.

It starts by giving me what I want.

Everything.

2

Melina

“You don’t belong here.”

The raspy voice skips through the low beating bass and jumbled din of the underground bar.

I’ve been working here for long enough now to know that those words are meant for me. There’s no point in pretending I didn’t hear them. The more you ignore the creepy customers, the louder they get.

Reaching under the bar, I grab an empty glass and look toward my newest challenge.

He’s a rough-looking middle-aged man, portly and covered in a glistening film of sweat that weighs down the three or so greasy strands of hair he has left on his pale bald head.

“I could say the same about you,” I try to play along.