CHAPTER 6:I DON'T WORK WITH FOOLS

Vespera POV

The lock clicked shut behind me, the heavy sound echoing through the dark room like a trap springing shut.

My breath hitched in my throat. The alcohol buzzing through my blood suddenly turned ice-cold, replaced by a violent shock of pure adrenaline. My knees gave out, and I tumbled forward, catching myself on the edge of a massive, crisp mattress that smelled nothing like the damp, mildewed sheets of a cheap motel. It smelled like sandalwood, expensive leather, and rain.

"Who... who are you?" I gasped, trying to scramble backward on the bed. My vision was still swimming, dark spots dancing across my eyes as I tried to press my back against the headboard. 

"How do you know my name? Let me out!"

The shadow standing near the doorway didn't move right away. He was tall—far taller than Everett—his broad silhouette completely blocking out the faint streetlights bleeding through the heavy window curtains.

"I suggest you calm down," the deep voice murmured. It was smooth, rich, and dangerously calm, sending a strange, uncontrollable shiver straight down my spine. "You're the one who forced your key into my lock, Vespera."

Panic clawed at my chest. I scrambled for the light switch on the nightstand, my shaking hand knocking over a glass bottle before my fingers finally caught the small plastic switch.

*Click.*

Warm, soft light flooded the room.

My breath caught completely in my throat.

A man was standing near the bathroom doorway. He wasn't wearing a suit. In fact, he wasn't wearing much of anything at all—just a single dark towel wrapped low around his waist, dripping wet from a recent shower. Droplets of water glistened on his broad, muscular chest and traced the dark lines of his sculpted abdomen. His dark chestnut hair was slicked back, damp and messy, falling slightly over a forehead that framed thick, dark eyebrows.

Along his sharp, sculpted jawline ran a faint, pale scar—a jagged mark that gave his imposing frame a dangerous, hardened edge. But it was his eyes that made my heart freeze in my chest.

They were silver-gray. Cold, sharp, and intensely focused, like two pieces of polished steel cutting right through the dim light of the room.

"You..." I rasped, clutching my torn green dress against my chest as if it could somehow protect me. "You're... you're not supposed to be here. This is Room 104."

The stranger leaned back slightly against the bathroom doorframe, folding his broad arms across his chest. He didn't look flustered by my presence. He didn't look surprised at all. He just looked at me with a terrifying amount of patience.

"Look at the door handle, little bird," he said softly, his deep voice vibrating through the quiet room. "This is Room 204. You walked up two flights of stairs, not one."

My stomach plummeted. I looked down at the brass key still clutched in my trembling hand. The faded plastic tag didn't say 104. It said 204.

The booze had completely tricked my eyes.

"Oh God," I whimpered, burying my face in my hands as a wave of utter humiliation crashed over me. "Oh no... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—I thought this was my room."

I tried to push myself up off the bed to run for the door, but the moment I stood up, the room tilted violently. The whiskey hit my brain like a heavy hammer. My legs went completely limp, and my high heel caught on the edge of the rug.

"Whoa," the man's voice dropped, losing a fraction of its cold distance.

I reached out blindly for support, but there was nothing to catch me. I braced for the hard impact of the floor, shutting my eyes tightly.

Instead of cold floorboards, a pair of warm, incredibly strong arms caught me mid-air.

The heat of his bare skin against my frozen, rain-soaked shoulder felt like a shock to my system. He pulled me up effortlessly against his chest, his grip firm and steady. I could feel the hard, steady rhythm of his heart beating right through his chest, the faint scent of his expensive cologne washing over my senses, making my head spin even faster.

"Easy," he murmured, his hand resting on my waist to keep me upright. "You can barely stand."

"Don't... don't touch me," I choked out, though I didn't have the strength to push him away. Tears of frustration and physical exhaustion welled in my eyes. "Please. I just want to go."

"You're shivering," he noted quietly. His gray eyes swept down over my torn, wet dress, taking in the purple bruises blooming on my upper arm where Everett had clamped his hand down hours ago. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his grip on my waist shifting just a fraction to be gentler. "And you're bleeding."

I blinked, looking down. A thin trail of red was trickling down my ankle where the broken heel had cut into my skin.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Nothing matters tonight. Just let me go back to my room."

"And let you fall down the stairs in the dark?" he asked softly, his tone laced with a faint, dangerous authority. "I don't think so."

My heart pounded frantically against my ribs. He was a complete stranger—a massive, intimidating man standing in a cheap motel room with nothing on but a towel—yet he didn't move toward me like a predator. His posture was controlled, his eyes watching me not with malice, but with a deep, calculating intensity that felt almost suffocating.

"Why do you care?" I demanded, my chest heaving as I looked up into his striking face. "You don't even know me. I'm just an intruder who barged into your room."

A tiny, almost invisible smirk touched the corner of his scarred jawline.

"I know exactly who you are, Vespera Bennett," he said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling whisper that sent a surge of heat straight to my core. "The whole city knows who you are tonight."

Panic flared up again, hotter this time. "Did Everett send you? Are you working for him?!"

I tried to twist out of his hold, but he didn't let me go. He shifted his stance, stepping closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between us. The contrast between his burning body heat and my icy skin was overwhelming, making my breath hitch in my throat.

"Everett Kane is a fool," the stranger said coldly, his silver eyes flashing with a sudden, dark disdain that caught me completely off guard. "And I don't work for fools."

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open, completely lost in the maze of his gaze. "Then who are you?"

Instead of answering, he reached down slowly with his free hand. His long, calloused fingers gently brushed against my chin, tilting my face upward until my eyes were locked onto his. The touch was soft, incredibly respectful, yet it carried a weight that made my breath completely freeze.

He leaned down slightly, his silver-gray eyes scanning every inch of my face with an intense, burning curiosity that seemed to see right through every wall I had built.

"Someone who has been waiting a very longtime for you to finally leave him," he whispered.

My legs gave out immediately.