Where the Sun Hides
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“What did she take?”
Violet clenched her teeth. “I don’t know. That’s why we were leaving.”
“Does she need a hospital?”
“She needs a bed and water,” Nicole interjected.
“You need stitches,” he said, glancing down at Nicole’s arm. “You’re bleeding all over my couch.”
Nicole just glared.
Violet held back her grin, knowing it wasn’t the time.
“We’re really sorry,” Violet said, hoping to appease to the guy so he would let them go without any more trouble. “We just wanted a good time—this club is supposed to be the hottest thing on Coney right now, and someone must have spiked our friend’s drink. We don’t want problems. We really don’t want the cops involved, so if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be.”
The man’s lips drew into a thin, grim line as he looked the girls over. “I will make sure you all get home safe and sound.”
Violet didn’t like that idea at all. She could still hear her father in the back of her head, repeating his warnings. Keep out of Coney Island, don’t go too deep into Brooklyn, and stay the hell away from Russians.
It was more likely that whoever this guy was didn’t have anything to do with the kinds of Russians her father demanded she stay away from, but Violet knew where the lines were drawn with Alberto Gallucci. She often tested them, occasionally even jumping over them when her father wasn’t looking.
Russians were not one of them.
“We can take a cab,” Violet said. “We took one here.”
The man didn’t look all too impressed with that idea. He opened his mouth to speak, but the office door opened from behind Violet, stopping whatever he was going to say.
“Everything good, brat?”
Violet turned fast on her heel at the new voice.
He was tall—over six feet—and built like he ran a ten-K every day. The black suit he wore hugged his frame, but the jacket was left unbuttoned, showcasing a white silk dress shirt that was pulled taut across his chest.
The man was cut.
Violet swallowed hard and met the man’s stare.
Gray eyes, like the other man’s but more intense, looked her up and down with a slow, predatory fashion. His face was framed by a strong jaw dotted with a couple days’ worth of scruff and sharp cheekbones. His lips, full enough to draw in her attention, curled up at the edges into a grin of sorts.
She thought it looked more like a smirk.
He raised a hand and ran it through his short, dark hair that was tapered at the sides but a little longer down the middle.
But it wasn’t so much the action that caught her attention, but the black ink marked on his hand. An upturned spider that looked to be crawling up under the sleeve of his suit jacket rested upon a web.
Her gaze cut back to his when he dropped his hand back to his side.
He looked familiar. She was sure that she should know him, but in her semi-drunken state, she was coming up with nothing.
The man’s smirk quickly faded into a mask of cool, calm nothingness. He looked past her to the man behind her and said one word that chilled her entirely.
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