"So, it turns out being an adult on the road toward settling down means I only have grown up groceries in my kitchen," I say.
"Grown-up groceries?" he raises an eyebrow.
"The kind that requires time and cooking," I sigh, dropping back onto the couch and curling my legs under me. "So, I ordered a pizza."
"Good call," Dean says, clinking the neck of his beer against mine. As he takes a swig, he gestures to the TV he's turned on. "Have you seen this?"
"What is it?" I ask.
"That celebrity who's missing," he says.
An image of a pretty woman with dark hair tumbling in slick curls down her shoulders appears on the screen above the reporter's head. The woman's eyes are so green they seem to glow from her image.
"Her eyes can't actually be that color," I say.
"They probably aren't," Dean acknowledges. "The only reason she's famous is because she's beautiful."
"Lakyn Monroe has now been missing for four months. The reality star, thirty, rose to fame with her vlogs dedicated to theme park touring. She has since been featured on several reality and competition shows. Most recently, Monroe developed an interest in social justice and has been very outspoken about issues, including the conviction of innocent people and prison reform. She was last seen leaving a taping of a baking competition series to be aired later this year, where she served as a guest judge. Some bank account activity continued for several days afterward, but then stopped. No one has had contact with her since. Anyone with information is asked to contact the authorities."
Chapter Three Dragon
Six years ago …
Everywhere he went, he was noticed. It was just the nature of who he was.
As soon as he walked into a room, he felt eyes following him. They locked on him, unable to move away, even if the watchers feared him. They watched because they were afraid of what he would do if they didn’t keep him in sight, and they were even more afraid if he saw that they watched.
Those who didn't fear him wanted him. They wanted his skin, his blood, his money, his time.
Everywhere he went, he was noticed.
But not by her. He walked into that club that night as he always did. Always at the same time. Predictable, but deliberately so. Anticipated. Unyielding. Even if something kept him and he arrived late, nothing changed. They were ready for him. Time bent to him.
His table was always ready. Set on a platform blocked by a velvet rope, it was as untouchable as he was.
Only the very select chosen could walk past that velvet rope. They were granted this honor solely for his amusement.
Even the ones who were most afraid secretly ached to be among those he chose. They wanted to know what it was like to catch his attention, even for an instant. Even just long enough to step up to his table. Every night he could have his choice. Every night he could take his pick.
Until her.
As soon as he walked into the club, every eye turned to him. At least, he thought they did. He was already nearly to his table when he noticed her. Standing close to the bar, one foot propped up on the lower rung of a stool, she didn't look his way. Her focus stayed on the drink in front of her. Long, black-taloned fingers played around the rim, twisting the glass, swirling the amber liquid.
Behind him, the men who were nothing more than bodies with less value than his own almost walked into him. That was when he noticed he'd stopped moving. He stood, eyes on every inch of his skin, and watched her. She didn't move. She didn't glance up.
Whispers rose up around them. He waited. She shifted only enough to lift the glass to her lips and tip some of the drink down her slender, pale throat. Her tongue swept a drop from her bottom lip as she set the drink down again.
"Sir?"
He didn't need to acknowledge the voice behind him. Without taking his gaze from the woman at the bar, he lifted his hand over his shoulder and gestured for one of the men to come closer. Hard, throbbing music covered the sound of his footstep, but Dragon knew he needed less than a breath before Kenton did as he was told. He pointed at the girl, then walked to his table.
A hostess in a tiny silver skirt that shimmered like woven mercury released the velvet rope and watched him climb the stairs to the platform. She knew better than to say a word, but her face said everything. She was hoping. Every part of her was hoping. He walked past her and sat down, opening his hand for the drink the bartender had already sent.
It burned down his throat and sharpened his focus as his man crossed to the bar. Dragon watched him carefully. He looked for the neon lights glowing down from the bar to show between them, for the man's hands to stay by his sides. He knew better than to try anything else. She was chosen. She was set apart.
He knew nothing but to expect the same pattern every night. A murmured message. An eager nod. The woman brought to him and slipped behind the velvet rope. He didn't know there was anything else.
Not until that night.
The woman at the bar barely looked over at Kenton. She glanced his way only long enough to hear what he had to say, then turned back to her drink. Kenton paused, then leaned slightly toward her and said something else. The woman looked up at him and replied. A nod in his direction brought her eyes past Kenton's massive frame, beyond the velvet rope, and to the table.
Dragon could see her eyes. Heavy lashes and deep color. But it was her lips. Red and glossy, unapologetic. Vibrant against her pale skin.
