Remember It

Kane's POV

There she stood—frozen, trembling, eyes wide with fear—but still glaring at me with defiance burning behind those lashes.

Like a cornered kitty.

Terrified out of her mind, but baring her teeth anyway.

Yeah...that's it. A kitty. The perfect word for her.

Last night, the way she teased me, her flushed skin, those lips brushing against mine—I was this close to losing control. I was ready to take her, right there and then.

But just as I leaned in, drunk on lust—

She puked all over me.

Fucking unbelievable.

And the worst part?

I cleaned it up. With my own damn hands.

Scrubbed the floor, wiped her down, even helped her into bed. Naked, vulnerable, right there in front of me, and I didn't touch her.

Not once.

If anyone heard about that, they'd think I'd gone soft. Or worse—impotent.

Normally, I'd have kicked someone like her straight out the door. But there was something about her last night...all curled up, unconscious, tears caught in her lashes. Fragile. Breakable.

A woman like that lay next to me all night, and I hardly slept a wink.

And when I woke up this morning, my body reacted honestly, and I had to admit that at that moment I desired her intensely, and I knew clearly that it was this woman in front of me that I desired.

I figured a cold shower might help.

But the moment she opened her eyes, she screamed like I was a monster. Like I'd already done something unspeakable.

The rage hit me fast—hot and bitter. I shattered a vase before I could stop myself, but all I managed to do was scare her even more...and worse, I hurt her.

Great. So much for self-control.

Fine. I told myself I'd hit pause. Let her clean up, calm down, maybe get some food in her before we talked again. It wasn't easy, but I held back.

Honestly, I must be the most decent damn man on this planet.

And what did she do?

She ran. Slipped out the moment I left to check the security footage.

The second I realized she was gone, all my patience turned to ash. My so-called kindness? A joke. So I did what any sane, slightly pissed-off man would do: I tracked her down.

Pulled the footage. Dug into her background.

Turns out she's a liquor rep—bouncing from bar to bar in short skirts and high heels, smiling pretty for drunk men who think a bottle means they own her.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out how she makes her money.

And the thought of her dressed like that every night, parading through sleazy bars, letting desperate men leer at her, maybe even sleeping with one or two for the right price…

It lit something dark inside me.

If she's selling, why shouldn't I be her client?

But the moment I suggested it—her whole body flinched. She went pale, lips trembling. For a second, I thought she might faint.

My anger fizzled out.

Replaced by...curiosity.

Even now, standing in front of me, she looked like she could snap in two—but that chin of hers stayed high. Proud. Stubborn. She didn't say no, but her expression screamed it.

She didn't realize—that look only made me want her more.

I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers. Just a tease. Just to rattle her.

But her lips...Soft. Warm. Addictive.

Just like last night.

Then—

"AH!"

Pain exploded across my mouth. I jerked back, stunned.

Blood.

She bit me. This kitty actually bit me!

I touched my lip—my fingers came away red.

She stood three paces away, shivering like a leaf in the wind, but her eyes sparkled with fury. My blood stained her lips.

"Sir," she said, voice shaking but clear, "SHOW SOME RESPECT."

Respect?

I laughed, low and bitter, wiping the blood with the back of my hand.

"I only respect people who've earned it."

The words hit their mark. Her fists clenched at her sides, rage flaring behind her eyes, turning the soft vulnerability into something sharper. Fiercer.

"If this is about last night," she said through gritted teeth, each word deliberate, "I'll apologize. I'll pay for the suit. But I'm not for sale. And if you insist on degrading me…"

She paused. Breathing hard. Like a fish out of water, gasping to survive.

I waited, intrigued.

"…then I swear, I'll take you down with me."

Now that got my attention.

The cut on my lip burned, but the anger didn't come. Not really.

What I felt was...entertained.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I took a step forward. She stepped back, just like I knew she would. "You going to the media? Call the cops?"

Another step. Closer. Close enough to smell the faint trace of alcohol still in her hair.

"Let me guess—'He kissed me against my will,' or maybe, 'I walked into his room completely naked, and somehow, he's the problem'?"

But she didn't flinch at my provocation.

"This has nothing to do with you," she snapped, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. "And remember—I've got nothing to lose."

Then her gaze shifted past me—to my car, my bodyguards, my entire world—and she added, almost too softly:

"But you do, sir."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a kind of weight that demanded attention. That quiet fire, that unyielding edge—she looked straight at me like she wasn't afraid, not really. Like she was daring me.

Just like that stray kitten I rescued as a kid—backed into a corner, no claws, no escape, trembling with fear but still baring its teeth, still arching its back like it could take on the whole damn world.

It's a strange feeling, like the anger of being offended, yet also the excitement of discovering a new toy.

God, I hadn't felt this alive in years.

I wasn't angry anymore. I was intrigued.

Not because I believed her threats. Not because I felt guilty. But because I wanted to see what she'd do next.

I wanted to see her claws.

"I'll remember that," I said with a smirk, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it to my lip. "Kane Wolfe. That's my name."

She needed to remember it.

Because one day, she'd whisper it herself.

And beg.