They look at me like I’m a ladybug under a microscope, zoom in on me, try to test me to see if I’ll cower.
And to my embarrassment, I do cower. I can’t help it, the man in front of me who is covered in ink and symbols that I’m too naïve to understand is terrifying. There is something violent about him and hard, hard, hard. I’m even scared to shake hands with him, fearing he’ll break every single bone.
My lips are cracked from the cold and I quickly lick them, whispering, “I need to speak to you.” My voice is puny, sounding like it belongs to a woman who’s not twenty two years old and has her life in order.
His eyes narrow, the corner of his mouth lifting as if being pulled by a hook. “That so?” He speaks with an accent, his words sounding like the popping of bullets. Nodding, I add,
“I’m cold.” He doesn’t move a muscle, like he couldn’t care less whether I’m cold or not. “Please...”
“You are not welcome here,” he gravels and heat travels up my cheeks.
“I know, but you can’t turn me away. Let me come inside.”
“Give me one good reason why.” His voice drips with venom.
“I want to strike a deal with you.”
The words make his eye flare and his gaze glides down my body. He takes his time, letting it linger before returning to my face again.
“Then you are stupid,” he says, making me jerk. “Little girls like you don’t simply strike deals with men like me. Cross that threshold and you’ve just dug your own grave.”
I should turn back but I don’t. I do what he warned me about, I cross the threshold and it seems to take him off guard, like he expected me to give up and run away, screaming. Flinching when door slams behind me, I look over my shoulder only to see his eyes fixed on my frame.
My heart speeds up again and I feel like I’ve just made the worst mistake of my life. What was I thinking? I better come out of this alive. I better not have just slashed the chances of my friend getting saved.
“What brings you to me?” he rasps, his voice making me feel like I’m about to step into a hot bath. “Miss...”
“Andrews,” I say quickly. “Lyla Andrews and there is something I need your help with.”
His mouth curves cruelly. “And are you so sure that I will agree to help you?”
“I have to hope so. And I think you will, unless you have a heart made out of stone and I know that can’t be true.”
He chuckles and the sound gives me goosebumps. “Ah...but you do not know me.” He jerks his head. “In here.”
We walk into a dark room with a lit fireplace and black and burgundy leather couches. He gestures with his hand for me to sit down and I do so timidly, my hands shaking when I take off my shawl. He glances at me, his eyes traveling over my hair, my cheekbones before fixating on my mouth.
I look away, hearing him open up two bottles as I try to stay busy with inspecting the intricate oil paintings on the walls. My heart flips when he suddenly stands right in front of me. I didn’t even hear him cross the floor and he hands me a glass filled with some red liquid.
“What is it?” I ask, accepting the glass.
“Sherry. It will warm your little body up.”
How thoughtful of him...? Hesitantly I stare into the glass, not wanting to be rude, not wanting to piss him off but what if he put something in it?
“It is not poisoned,” he says sharply and my eyes dart to his in nervousness. I gasp when he grabs my drink from me and takes a demonstrative sip.
“See,” he says, with a raised brow. “Now drink, you are trembling.”
Not so much from the cold anymore. More like from him but I obediently take a sip, surprised that I enjoy the fruity flavor. He watches me for a moment, before sharply turning away and sits down on the couch opposite from me.
Pulling his leg up over his knee, he takes a sip of his drink, not even grimacing at the sharp flavor and I know it’s sharp because I can smell it even from a distance.
“Tell me...Lyla,whatbusiness do you possibly have with me.”
The way he says my name is scornful, like he want me to learn what’s best for me and get out of this place with my tail between my legs. But I didn’t come this far, to come this far.
“Truthfully,” I begin, “it’s not even about me. It’s about my friend.”