6– The Devil's Bargain
1142 Words
Sienna
My knees buckled.
Not dramatically enough to send me crashing to the floor, thank God, but enough to embarrass me.
I caught myself almost immediately, my hand gripping the edge of the chair beside me before I could completely lose my footing.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
A smirk. Just great.
Not only had this terrifying man watched me spiral internally for an entire performance, he was apparently enjoying this too.
Heat crawled up my neck.
I straightened quickly, trying to recover whatever dignity I still had left.
His eyes stayed on me the entire time.
Calm and unmoving. Sharp enough to make my skin feel too tight.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Too quiet.
Too private.
I cleared my throat after a few painful seconds.
“Why did you send for me?”My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Barely.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stood.
And dear God, that somehow made everything worse.
He was already intimidating sitting down, but standing?
Standing made it painfully obvious that this man had probably never been physically threatened a day in his life.
Instinct made me take a step back before I could stop myself.
His smirk deepened slightly. Not mocking;
Amused.
Like he had expected that reaction.
But instead of walking toward me, he turned casually toward the bar tucked against the far wall.
The sound of ice dropping into a crystal glass filled the silence between us.
I stayed exactly where I was, watching him carefully while my pulse continued embarrassing me.
Who even was this man?
And why did he feel more dangerous standing quietly at a bar than Dave had ever felt screaming?
He picked up the glass before finally taking slow, deliberate steps toward me.
Like he had absolutely nowhere else to be.
Meanwhile, I was one heartbeat away from climbing through the walls.
I took another step back instinctively when he got closer.
That finally earned me a low chuckle.
The sound slid down my spine far too easily.
“You’re very nervous for someone who was hanging upside down in front of hundreds of people thirty minutes ago.”
His voice was deep. Smooth.
The kind of voice that sounded expensive.
I swallowed hard.
“That’s… different.”
He stopped in front of me and held out the glass.
“Relax.”
Easy for him to say.
He looked like the human embodiment of expensive crime, emotional unavailability and feverish wet dreams.
Still...
I accepted the drink carefully, trying very hard not to let our fingers touch.
The whiskey burned slightly as I swallowed. Warm, strong and very smooth.
My shoulders loosened just enough to annoy me.
His eyes watched every single movement.
God, this man observed people too much.
“So...” I started cautiously, lowering the glass. “What exactly happens in basement meetings?”
That smirk appeared again.
He looked interested.
“Usually?” he asked. “Far less talking.”
Oh.
Right.
Of course.
Heat flashed across my face so fast it physically hurt.
I glanced around the room awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that we were alone.
In a basement.
With dim lighting.
And a couch that looked suspiciously expensive.
My brain immediately connected dots that may or may not have existed.
Okay.
Fine.
Maybe this was normal here.
Maybe rich men summoned dancers downstairs all the time.
Maybe this was part of the job.
I placed the glass down carefully before forcing myself to slip back into performer mode.
If that was what he wanted, then that's what he'd get.
At least this was familiar territory.
The music from upstairs vibrated faintly through the ceiling as I stepped closer slowly, letting my hand slide along the edge of the bar before turning toward him.
His eyes darkened slightly with interest.
Good.
At least I understood this game.
I let my hips sway gently with the distant rhythm, fingers brushing over my thigh as I moved closer.
Not too much.
I reminded myself not to be overly seductive.
Just enough.
His gaze stayed fixed on me as I reached for the buttons of his suit jacket slowly.
Then suddenly, his hand wrapped around my wrist.
Firm and warm.
Still gentle enough that I could pull away if I wanted to.
But I didn’t.
My breath caught.
“Stop.”
The word was quiet.
Calm.
And somehow infinitely more effective because of it.
I looked up at him slowly.
We were standing so close now.
Close enough for me to catch the faint scent of whiskey and something darker underneath it.
Close enough to notice the scar barely visible near his jaw.
Close enough that my nervous system officially gave up trying to behave normally.
Confusion twisted inside me.
“If you didn’t call me down here for a private dance,” I said carefully, “then why am I here?”
His thumb brushed once against the inside of my wrist.
A tiny movement.
It was barely anything.
Still, my stomach tightened instantly.
“Because,” he said smoothly, “I watched you tonight.”
Dread curled quietly in my chest.
Not fear exactly.
Something stranger, heavier.
His eyes held mine completely now.
“You were angry,” he continued. “Humiliated. Desperate to hurt someone back.”
My pulse stumbled.
How the hell had he seen all that?
“And underneath all of that,” he murmured, “you looked hungry for revenge.”
Sweat gathered against my palms.
The room suddenly felt too warm.
He suddenly seemed too close.
I tried pulling my wrist back gently, but his grip tightened just slightly.
Not enough to hurt. More like a warning.
“I can help you with that.”
I stared at him carefully.
Every survival instinct I had was screaming at me that this man was dangerous.
Not the loud or reckless type.
Worse.
His danger was controlled, too controlled.
The kind that smiled while ruining lives.
“And why would you help me?” I asked slowly.
His gaze flickered briefly toward my mouth before returning to my eyes.
Then he leaned closer.
Slowly enough that I could’ve stepped away.
I didn’t.
My breathing turned uneven immediately.
The closer he got, the worse my nerves became.
My palms were sweating.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs.
I could feel his warm breath.
Completely unaffected unlike mine.
“I’ll help you,” he said quietly.
His voice wrapped around me like a threat. One I would gladly relish in.
“On one condition.”
My throat tightened.
“What condition?”
The corner of his mouth lifted again.
And somehow, that was worse than the smirk before.
He leaned even closer until we were breathing the same air.
My stomach dropped as a sense of dread buried its claws in my mind.
- Writer
