Syndicate of Sin

Chapter 3

So much for wanting to take me out somewhere nice to spend time with me.

Sure, we might’ve been at the fanciest, most upper-class club in all of Manhattan, and I might’ve been on my second glass of Afterglow Elixir sweet white wine that was way too expensive for our budget, and some guys from across the bar might’ve been looking me up and down the entire night and making me feel good for the first time in two weeks, but Ben was nowhere to be found.

might’vemight’veway might’ve He had disappeared almost half an hour ago, telling me that he needed to use the restroom. My fingers turned white against the glass as I tried to think of the best-case scenario. Ben was just taking the biggest dump of his life—not in there, f*****g some girl—while I sat here, stupidly waiting for him.

A couple of the men dressed in black stared at me from across the bar, their wandering eyes dark and sinful. I swallowed some more of my wine and pressed my knees together, knowing that I shouldn’t ever feel this way about any man who wasn’t my fiancé.

But he hadn’t paid much attention to me since we had gotten engaged, had left me alone for weeks now, barely touching me when he got home for the night. The most I had gotten was a kiss on the forehead lately.

I tore my gaze away, heat crawling up my neck, and pushed my empty glass to the edge of the counter. f**k tonight. Maybe I should’ve waited a couple of more years to get engaged or pushed a little harder last night when asking him where he had been.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.

After glancing over my shoulder toward the back hallway where Ben had disappeared, I frowned and nodded. I didn’t expect he’d be coming back out anytime soon.

“Make that two,” someone said from beside me. His voice was deep and charming, sending shivers right down my spine.

And when I looked over at him, I knew why. He was one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. Dressed in gray suit pants and an off-white dress shirt that looked to be a size too small—or maybe his muscles were just a bit too big—he had eyes of the devil, a smirk so sinful that I was sure I had only seen it in my nightmares, and luscious black hair that curled over his forehead.

The bartender placed two glasses of Afterglow on the counter. “Here you are, boss.”

Boss.

Boss.He sat down in the seat beside me, his long leg grazing against mine. “I’m Cristian. I—”

“I’m not interested,” I said, cutting him off and glancing over at his godly sculpted face and those intense brown eyes that seemed both cruel and filled with fervor.

While his jaw clenched, he let out a low chuckle that seemed to warm me in all the right places. “I’m not here to hit on you—yet. I’m just here to talk, Roxie.”

yetI tensed when he said my name, the sound of it so smooth on his full lips. “Do I know you?” I asked, gripping my glass tighter and trying damn hard not to feel that heat crawling up the insides of my thighs, gathering in my core, making me lust after a man who I didn’t call my fiancé.

“I know your boyfriend,” he said.

“Fiancé,” I corrected.

He curled his lips into another sinful smirk and sipped his drink. “Not for long.”

I raised a brow at him, kinda, sorta feeling a little buzzed and really freaking ticked off tonight. Whoever this Cristian was, he had another thing coming. I wasn’t about to sit here and take his s**t.

“What’d you say?” I asked, placing my glass down.

Cristian looked me up and down slowly, his smirk widening. I expected him to shake his head and tell me to forget about it, that he hadn’t said anything, that he was just kidding about it all. But instead, he leaned in closer to me and placed a hand on my knee, his large fingers curling into my inner thigh.

“Not for long,” he repeated.

Pressing my lips together, I glanced down at his hand on my thigh and felt my heart lurch in my chest. His fingers were so big, so thick, so rough against my bare leg. He moved them in small, soothing circles and made me clench.

“What the hell does that mean? And why are you touching me?” I asked.

He leaned in even closer to me, his lips grazing against my ear, fingers moving a couple of inches up my inner thigh. He paused for a moment, his low chuckle making me shiver again. “Because I own you now, principessa.”

principessaI clenched and swallowed hard. “Nobody owns me.” Not even Ben.

Cristian pulled away just enough to stare into my eyes with his stormy, dark ones. “Ben didn’t tell you yet?” He chuckled down at me. “I didn’t really expect him to though. He’s a b***h about it.”

“Ben is—”

“He’s a b***h, an asshole, a f*****g stronzo.” He brushed his finger down my lower lip and gazed at it with so much more damn passion than Ben had ever stared at me. “And you know it too, don’t you?”

stronzo.everI slapped his hand away. “Ben is not an asshole or a stronzo or whatever you just called him. He loves me, and you should probably leave before he comes back out here and finds you touching me like this.”

stronzoCristian’s smirk just widened even more. “I’m terrified, principessa.”

principessa.I pushed my hands into his chest, feeling the alcohol take over. “You should be. Now, leave me alone.”

He stood beside me, towering over me with his bulky frame, and placed his finger under my chin, raising it until I was staring up into the eyes of the devil. “I don’t think you understand. I own you now, principessa. Ben’s wrongdoings are yours, and the devil loves making people pay for their crimes.” His breath warmed my ear. “Especially sinners like you.”

own youprincipessaMy breath caught in the back of my throat, and I found myself trying to form words … any words … but I couldn’t. Something inside of me told me to run as fast as I freaking could, get out of this club, and leave Ben here to burn for whatever he had done to this man.

But I stayed glued to the spot, staring up into the eyes of Manhattan’s cruelest devil.

He placed his drink on the counter and nodded to the bartender. “Don’t worry about her tab. I got it.” And with that, he gave me one last lingering look and turned around, the handle of a gun—a f*****g gun—sticking out from the back of his waistband.

a f*****g gunAnd from that moment, I knew Ben really had f****d up. We were screwed.