The Night Before I Knew Him

June

There's something about cheap tequila and half a degree of confidence that makes me think I can get away with anything.

"Okay, June, your turn." Leila waves her phone in my face. "Truth or dare?"

I lean back against the velvet bar booth, head buzzing from the last round of drinks. We're four girls deep into celebration, lipstick smudged, heels lost, and so drunk. So so drunk.

"I pick dare," I say, because of course I do.

Leila's eyes light up. "See that guy at the bar? The one in the dark gray suit, second stool from the end?"

I glance - and almost regret it.

Second stool from the end. Jacket undone, tie missing, shirt collar open just enough to see a sliver of chest. He's got one hand wrapped around a tumbler of something dark, the other twitching on his knee like he's trying to hold still. But his stillness is loud. Charged. Like a switch waiting to flip.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" I ask, my brows furrowing.

Leila snorts. "He's hot. And definitely older. You said you wanted to be bold tonight."

"I also said I wanted to survive the night."

"It's just a number, June. Not a marriage proposal." Kayla laughs, reapplying her lipstick.

I glance again.

His face is unreadable. Sharp jaw, cold mouth, eyes that don't seem to be focused on anything at all. There's something coiled in him, something fierce. Or maybe something barely held back.

Still, I can't run away from a challenge. Especially not on a night like this, when I've just landed an internship at the biggest business enterprise in Las Vegas. When I feel electric and drunk and slightly untouchable.

"Fine," I agree, standing. "But if he arrests me with his eyes, you better post bail."

I walk up slowly, pretending my legs don't feel like jelly and my stomach isn't turning somersaults.

I slide into the seat next to him like I belong there with my chin high, eyes sparkling from the dare.

He doesn't look at me right away. Just swirls the drink in his hand like he's trying to hypnotize it.

"Hi," I wave, displaying my signature flirty smile.

There is silence, then, a "No." Flat, deep and dismissive.

My lips part, half a nervous laugh caught in my throat. "I haven't even asked anything yet."

He turns, slowly. His eyes are sharp, gray, like metal under ice. He looks at me like he's already exhausted by my existence, which, frankly, only makes me more interested.

He groans, "You were going to ask for my number." It's not a question. It's a psychic read.

My pulse skips two beats, "So what if I was?"

He leans in, voice low and hot with whiskey and intent. "Ask for a night instead."

My eyes slightly widens. Not because I'm shocked. But because... I'm not.

This man is raw restraint, the kind of person who probably keeps an iron grip on everything until one thread snaps and it all unravels. And I wonder, maybe, if tonight's that thread.

There's no smirk. No flirtation. He means it. Every syllable feels like a dare.

I am getting excited.

I should laugh. Or walk away. But there's something about the way he looks at me, like he's trying not to. Like I've already made something in him snap.

So I say, "One night."

His brow twitches like he didn't expect me to agree.

I lean in. "What's your name?"

He downs the rest of his drink. "You don't need it. Let's go." He stands up and I follow.

I wave a goodbye laced with a victory smirk subtly at the girls, noting their surprised expression at my success.

***

It's a hotel.

Not far from the bar. Clean. Modern. Two blocks away, but a whole other world.

The staff hands him the key without a word. I don't ask why. I already guess this man doesn't do things that haven't been planned ten steps in advance.

We don't speak in the elevator. His jaw ticks, and I swear he's grinding his teeth. Like he regrets this already. Like he's angry with me, or himself, or the world.

Maybe all three.

Inside the room, the lights stay off. Just the faint city glow coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He tosses his jacket over the chair, rolls his sleeves up to his forearms. Still not looking at me.

"Last chance to leave," he says, his tone undetectable.

"Are you always this dramatic?"

He steps forward and I flinch, not in fear, just in anticipation.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?" I asked, trying to break the tension. I peeled off my coat, draped it over the arm of a sleek leather chair, and turned back to face him. "Or is this your thing? Brooding silence and expensive suits?"

The corner of his mouth tugged revealing not quite a smile. "You always make jokes when you're nervous?"

"Only when the guy looks like he could ruin my life."

His eyes sweeps down, slowly. Like a touch. "Can I?"

I swallow. "I guess I'm about to find out."

His eyes locks on me like he'd already decided what he is going to do to me.

And maybe worse, like he already had.

So no warning. No buildup. One moment he was standing across from me, the next, he was in front of me - heat rolling off his body, one hand gripping the side of my throat, his cold thumb tilting my chin up.