Bound by power and desire

Chapter 2

The bar was dimly lit, and oh lord, I was grateful for that.

It was the kind of hidden gem reserved for the elite, where ordinary people went to hide and the wealthy went to find each other.

Crystal chandeliers hung low, casting fractured light across mahogany tables. The air itself felt expensive, sterile enough to be exclusive. Even the music was a low, sultry hum that seemed designed to swallow secrets.

I finally took a sip of my barely touched drink. I was still on my first glass. Still busy looking for where I went wrong. Hoping I'd done something wrong. Anything wrong.

But nothing came.

I closed my eyes as the amber liquid burned my throat, almost as much as the betrayal burned me. The whiskey was smooth. Expensive. The kind of drink I could never justify on a detective's salary.

Perfect for a night of self-destruction.

Sienna had never hidden her disdain for me. She'd never had any reason to conceal it, she was enabled so thoroughly by my father.

The endless bullying in school. The way she always found an opportunity to spit on my face, literally or figuratively. The way she'd steal my clothes, my friends, my dignity.

I'd survived all of that.

But Adrian?

Why?

The one who held me. Who kissed me. Who told me my stepmother and stepsister's behavior was more about them than about me. The one who made me believe I was worthy of love.

I took another sip. Then another. The glass was almost empty now.

"Rough night?"

I looked up.

His face seemed to cut through the fog of my mind. Devastating. That was the only word for it. He was very tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out his tailored jacket. Dark curls fell across his forehead in careless waves. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass.

And his eyes.

Green. A deep, piercing green that seemed to see straight through me. A flicker of something crossed them. Amusement? Curiosity? Too late, it was gone.

I slowly nodded and set down my glass.

"Can I?" he asked, already pulling the chair across from me.

I nodded gently, afraid that making a sound might actually make me burst into tears. The tears were right there, just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest crack.

He sat down, leaning back with an easy confidence. He didn't order a drink. He didn't look at the menu. He just watched me.

"Looks like you're trying to erase a feeling," he said.

My throat tightened. Tears prickled at my eyes, and one rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away with the back of my hand. Ugly. Pathetic. Get it together, Davenport.

"I just want to forget," I whispered. "Whatever it is I'm feeling."

He stared at me for a second. Just stared. His eyes roamed my face like he was memorizing every detail. Oh lord, I wasn't even completely out of a heartbreak yet, and these green eyes were already haunting me.

"And it's clearly not working," he said.

I nodded gently. The honesty in his voice stung more than any lie could.

He leaned forward, his voice low and controlled. The kind of voice that belonged to someone used to being in command. Someone who expected to be listened to.

"My name is Sergio," he finally said.

"My name is Kendra." I managed a weak smile. "It's a pleasure."

He chuckled. The sound was warm and unexpected. "Is it really a pleasure?"

Maybe. It's not because I'm heartbroken that I wouldn't be happy to meet a hot stranger at a bar."

My own words surprised me. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "My boyfriend moved on before discovering my stepsister terror, so..." I trailed off, shrugging. "Here I am."

Oops. I didn't plan to say that. Not that early. Oh lord, was it the whiskey or the heartbreak? Probably both. I fixed my gaze on his unreadable face, searching for judgment. For pity.

I found neither.

"Sorry to hear that, Kendra." He tilted his head. "But you know your boyfriend isn't drowning his sorrows in alcohol, right?"

I smiled bitterly. "Right? He's cuddling right now with my hot sister. Maybe I could just do the same."

He raised his brows. Something shifted in his expression, interest, perhaps. Or surprise.

"Are you serious? That's pretty fast."

I chuckled. The sound was sharper now. Edgier. "Why would I waste time on someone who's hurt me? Who will do the same again if given the chance? I've wasted five years, Sergio. I'm done wasting."

"I'm sorry."

I thought it was almost sincere for a minute. The tone was honest, yes. But his eyes were still unreadable, narrowed as if processing something. Calculating. Weighing.

Then he leaned closer. His voice dropped even lower.

"I have a penthouse not far from here," he said. "If you're really serious."

Heat rushed through my veins. A wild night to forget something? And I wouldn't actually be out of money and senses in the morning.

Absolutely sign me up for that.

I set down my glass and held his gaze. Let him see I wasn't backing down. Let him see I'd made my choice.

"I'm serious," I said.

He gave me a slow nod before standing. He helped me up, his hand was warm, his grip firm, and we headed out.

The cold night air hit me like a splash of ice water, seemingly dragging me out of my bubble of heartbreak. Somewhere, the world just went on. Oblivious to my hurt. Cars still hummed down the street. People still laughed outside nearby restaurants. The universe didn't care that Kendra Davenport's life had just imploded.

He opened the car door for me before settling into his seat. The leather was soft. The interior smelled like cedar and something else, something expensive and masculine.

I didn't ask where we were going.

I didn't ask his last name.

I didn't ask anything at all.

Because asking questions was what Detective Kendra Davenport did. And tonight, I wasn't her.

I was just a woman trying to burn away the memory of two people who had never really loved her.

Sergio glanced at me as he pulled into traffic. A small smile played at the corner of his lips.

What have I just agreed to?

The thought flickered through my mind and vanished. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel.

I just wanted to forget.