She smirks. “I’ll drink to that.”
We clink our glasses together. Our eyes never leave each other, even when we tilt our head back to drink the smooth whiskey.
The liquor isn’t all I drink in—I greedily gobble up her body. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans that hug her luscious hips. She found new heels, thank god. I almost regretted last night just because she lost her heels. A snug red top completes her look. She’s let her hair down in long waves, but she’s not wearing any makeup, not that she needs it. Her lashes are long, cheeks blush pink, and lips redder than any lipstick could match. She is beauty—makeup would only hide who she really is.
Her eyes take in my appearance as well. From my muddy boots to my overworked ripped jeans; my white T-shirt clinging to my body and covering enough of my tattoos that she can’t tell what any of them are. She frowns when her eyes stop on top of my head.
I smirk—she doesn’t like my man bun. I can see her imagination working, wishing my hair would fall down to my shoulders again. Most women hate my hair. They’d prefer me to chop it off. I don’t know why I don’t. Other than I’ve always worn my hair like this, and I’m too lazy to get a monthly haircut to keep up a shorter style.
She clears her throat as if to clear her mind. She’s ridiculous for thinking about my body at all.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods.
I follow her through the kitchen to the sitting room, the only room other than my bedroom she didn’t completely destroy.
“What do I have to do to get you to spend some of your millions to hire someone to clean up this mess?” she asks before we reach the sitting room.
Her eyes meet mine again, and she blushes when she sees the heat in my eyes. She would have to willingly do some very dirty things for me to clean up her mess—things she will never voluntarily do.
Siren sits in the same armchair from last time we played this game. I notice the bottle of whiskey on the end-table and make a mental note to hide it after our game, if there is any left. I’m tired of her having the upper hand.
This time, instead of sitting on top of her or kneeling, I pull up one of the other chairs in the room and face it right across from her. This way, I won’t miss a single expression she makes.
“Ladies first,” I say.
She taps her fingers against her glass as she contemplates her single question. Is she going to try to get answers from me, or is she going to try to get me to let her sin?
She sighs, and I know I’ve already won before she even asks the question. Because tonight she is going to choose answers, even though she’s burning to commit another sin. She thinks, in the long run, having more answers might mean losing this battle but eventually winning the war.
Unbeknownst to her, Siren has already won no matter what answers I give or sins she commits. She’s already gotten me to silently vow to save her. In a few weeks, she will be free while my soul will belong to satan.
“Where are you from?”
I cock my head, trying to understand where she is going with this. Why does it matter where I’m from? It doesn’t. So what game is she playing? Does she think if she gets me to answer an easy question today that I’ll answer a harder one tomorrow?
“Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask?” More like a waste.
She closes her eyes as if it pains her to ask. “Yes, my question is, where are you from?”
This is an easy question to dodge the truth on, while still giving her the truth. Before I came here, I lived in Miami. I spent most of my life there. At least I did when I wasn’t out on one of Enzo’s yachts.
But telling Siren I’m from Miami would be risking Enzo and my friend’s lives. If Julian is listening, he would have probably heard of Enzo Black. He would know he’s from Miami. He could piece together Enzo is my real boss. And I don’t want Julian to know.
Siren doesn’t realize the question she asked matters. She just wants to break through my walls and learn more about me. She wants to see if she can hitch a ride back to my home town. She can’t—I would never take her to Miami.
I could tell her I’m from the ocean, but that would piss her off.
So I answer the only way I can. “New York.” The place I was born. I lived there for less than nine months, but technically it answers her question. It’s where I’m from.
Siren grins. “Zeke, from New York. I can work with that.”
I frown, realizing now why she wanted to ask the question. All that is missing is my last name, and she would be able to search me in any database. She won’t figure out my last name, but even if she did, New York knows nothing about who I really am.
She tucks her legs under her body, happy with her choice of question.
I shake my head. How can she go from strong, gorgeous woman to sweet, innocent girl with one giddy smile and tuck of her legs?
“Your turn,” she says.
I could ask her the same question—use her strategy against her. I already know her first and last name. All I need is a location to find out everything. Although, if I wanted to research her right now, I could. I could find out everything with just her name.
But I’d rather find out everything from her. At least, until I’m forced to find out the truth. I’m nervous to face the truth, though, because honesty has a way of ruining everything. And I don’t want whatever is flaring between us to disappear quite yet.
So I don’t ask her where she is from. I consider my question for a moment, but I know the question I want answered.
“Who hurt you? Who made you hate men?”
Her eyes blink slowly, surprised by my question. She doesn’t realize she wears her pain like a suit of armor. She oozes pride and defiance, a will to never let any man hurt her ever again. She is a woman who doesn’t need a man.
Maybe it was getting kidnapped and then sold that made her hate men? Although, I think her hatred started long before Oscar found her. Was Julian the one that hurt her? Or does her pain extend back a lifetime?
Once she gets over her surprise at my question, her mind goes there—back to the day a man hurt her. Her body trembles slightly as she remembers. Her fear and pain ring through her body. Her eyes cloud over. She is no longer in this room—she’s there. With him—I just don’t know who he is.
I hate seeing her in pain and regret my decision immediately.
“Siren?”
Her head snaps to me, and her vision is gone.
“Who hurt you?” I ask again, with more caution in my voice. Now I must know. Because after I get Siren to safety, I’ll hunt this predator down and kill him for ruining such a strong woman.
“Sin,” she whispers. “I won’t answer your question. I choose sin.”
My shoulders fall; I won’t be getting an answer out of her, at least not tonight.
I nod. “I reserve my sin until tomorrow.” I stand to exit. With her memories of a vile man fresh in her mind, she isn’t safe if I’m still here with her.
She hugs her knees to her chest. “Tomorrow is Friday.”
“Yes, tomorrow is Friday.”
“Julian?” she asks, her eyes pleading me to say I’m not bringing her, but I can’t promise her that. I can’t let Julian know I’m saving her until she’s already safe.