Dark Captor (Dark Syndicate 2)

I smile, liking him more than I should allow myself.

“You’re too kind, but I wanted to thank you again for coming over to help me in the park. I’m not usually like that. I don’t usually cry in public.”

“What are you like?”

His question throws me a little and I have to think of the answer. The answer to which is I’m a sheltered Bratva princess who lives under her father’s thumb. Never mind the fact that I’m supposed to be marrying a monster in less than six months.

So, what am I usually like?

“Happier…” I answer and I think he knows it for a lie. I guess it’s a half truth. I’m happier in my mind when I’m not thinking about my father and when I’m working.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You look happy now,” he notes, and I resist the urge to laugh. Happiness is not what sent me out here in the night to seek a taste of freedom. “Is it okay now? I mean what made you cry the other day?”

I hate lies and I want to tell the truth, but I can’t. Half-truths are what I’ve lived on all my life.

“Not so much, but I feel better,” I answer and his gaze clings to mine. He looks at me like he can see what’s inside. I notice something in him too, something I recognize as the mask I wear to guard what I really feel. The pain I feel. He’s smiling though so I must be wrong. I’m not in the habit of asking a man out or anything like that, but I like talking to him and I don’t want to say goodbye yet.

“I wondered if it might be okay to buy you a drink,” I offer. “Just to say thanks.”

“A drink?”

“Yeah.” My cheeks flush when he intensifies his stare.

“Can I get the name of my damsel in distress before she buys me a drink?”

“Isabella. I’m Isabella. What’s your name?”

“Tristan.”

He looks like his name would be something like that. It’s strong and manly like it came from the old world. Like something from a Grecian play.

“Nice to meet you, again. Does that mean I can buy you a drink, Tristan?”

“It does, Isabella. Lead the way.”

I swallow hard, unable to believe my confidence with a man like this.

I do lead the way heading back downstairs to the bar area. We go where it’s quieter and he pulls a stool out for me to sit. He sits opposite me and the bartender comes over to take our orders.

“What are you drinking?” I ask Tristan.

“Water,” he answers with a cocky smile.

I laugh and he looks me over with fascination. I’m fascinated too at myself because I’m like a different person to the crying woman I was earlier.

Tonight, might very well be my last night of freedom with the way things are going, so I’ll laugh and enjoy the sound and I’ll smile and enjoy the way it feels to smile. And I’ll enjoy the company of this gorgeous man I’d never usually be speaking to in a nightclub.

“Water? That’s what you want? You don’t look like a water person. I was expecting you to order something stronger,” I say.

“What did you expect me to order, Bellezza?”

“Maybe… Something like…” I think for a moment and look at him, trying to guess his drink. “Whiskey or scotch.”

“Hmmm, you’re close. Okay, let’s do this; I’ll tell you my drink if you dance with me.”