Chapter 8
The drunk man yanked me close, his hot breath washing over my face with the stench of cheap liquor. His grip on my wrist tightened painfully as he pulled me toward the idling car.
“Let go of me!” I tried to twist away, but his fingers dug deeper.
“Think you’re too good for us?” he snarled, face contorted with rage. “Stuck–up bitch needs to learn some manners.”
His free hand grabbed my waist, fingers digging into my still–healing wound. Pain shot through me like lightning. I gasped, knees buckling.
“That’s more like it,” he growled, mistaking my. pain for submission.
His friends hooted from the car, egging him on. The man pushed me against a nearby wall, pinning me with his body weight. Panic surged through me as his face loomed closer.
Where was Jules? My mind screamed his name like a prayer. Jules, please. Jules.
The crack of a gunshot split the night.
The drunk man’s grip suddenly went slack. His eyes widened in shock before he crumpled to the ground at my feet.
I stumbled backward, my scream frozen in my throat, and collided with something solid. Warm hands steadied me from behind. I spun around.
Jules stood there, his expression carved from stone, a gun still smoking in his right hand. His eyes weren’t on me but on the car full of the dead man’s friends. They cowered inside, faces pale with terror before the driver slammed the gas and the vehicle screeched away.
“You just killed him,” I whispered, staring at the motionless body on the pavement.
Jules finally looked at me, his gaze fierce and unapologetic. “I should’ve done more to him for touching you like that.”
“That’s not the point,” I said, my voice shaking. “You’ll be wanted now.”
A smile curved his lips, completely at odds with the situation. He tucked the gun away beneath his jacket and gently guided me toward a sleek black car parked just behind us.
“Let me help you,” he said, opening the passenger door.
I slid in, still in shock, while Jules walked around and took his place behind the wheel.
“I apologize that you had to see that,” he said as he started the engine. The car purred to life, expensive and powerful. “It wasn’t how I planned our evening to end.”
I stared at him, this enigma of a man who’d just killed someone in front of me with the same casualness others might swat a fly. Yet all I could think to say was, “Thank you. For protecting me again.”
Jules glanced at me, surprise flickering across his features.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into trouble,” I added.
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed impossible coming from someone who’d just taken a life. “Trouble? Don’t worry, Monica. This is not going to affect me or you in any way.”
“How?” I asked, incredulous. “You just killed someone. The cops will obviously be after you
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unless you run away.”
“Run away?” Jules repeated, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Jules Prime never runs away. I have my ways, Monica. You’ll see them.”
I opened my mouth to press further but stopped. A memory surfaced–Jules shooting the man who’d stabbed me ten days ago. Yet here he was, free and unbothered. No police, no
consequences.
Who was this man?
settled back into the plush leather seat, deciding to believe him. To wait and see.
“How are you feeling?” Jules asked after a moment of silence. “Scared?”
I considered the question, searching my emotions. The strange thing was, I didn’t feel traumatized by witnessing a killing. Shouldn’t I be screaming? Crying? Demanding to be taken to the police?
“No,” I said slowly, shaking my head. “I don’t feel scared at all. It didn’t affect me the way! thought it would.”
Jules smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “You’re perfect, then,” he said. “Perfect for me.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. How could a man be so direct? We’d just met properly today, for God’s sake. Yet I couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through me at his words, at the intensity of his
gaze.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “What do you mean by that statement? Do you intend to kill more?”
Jules looked at me then, really looked at me, his eyes burning with an emotion I couldn’t name. “For you, Monica,” he said softly, “I would do anything. Be it kill a thousand men.”
The words should have terrified me. Instead, they sent a shiver of something like pleasure down my spine. This man was all about me, focused on me in a way Hank never had been.
No, Monica, I warned myself. Men can be dangerous. They can change so quickly, just like Hank
did.
“Let’s see,” I said, ending the conversation.
Jules nodded, accepting my withdrawal. He pulled out his phone and made a call, putting it on speaker.
“Yes, boss?” answered a gruff voice immediately.
Boss? I stared at Jules, surprised.
“There’s a body outside Café Laurent,” Jules said calmly, as if ordering takeout. “Clean it up.”
“Right away, boss,” the voice replied without hesitation.
My mouth fell open as Jules ended the call. He caught my expression and smiled, but offered no explanation.
Who was this man? A criminal? Some kind of mob boss? And what was I getting myself into by agreeing to marry him?
I stared out the window as the city lights blurred past, wondering if I was stepping deeper into something dangerous–something I might not be able to escape.
2:47 am
