Perfect Villain (Dark Lies Duet 1)

“Who said I had one?”

“You. Just now when you claimed you’ve taken a risk. Plus, we all have one.”

She huffs and shuffles from one leg to the next. “Fine. I haven’t. Happy now?” she feigns annoyance.

But I read right through her little show. She’s more than intrigued, and soon enough, I’ll take what’s rightfully mine. Her.

“No,” I say a second later.

“Then, Christian, I don’t know what to tell you. But thank you for the coffee. I need to get going.” Siân attempts to walk around me, her breath hitching when I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from getting away.

We make eye contact, neither of us saying a word. Her face is close to mine. Her lips are parted and her eyes glazed over—all the signs of attraction rearing their pretty little heads. I could kiss her right now, and that daredevil side she’s trying so hard to keep at bay will allow me.

But not now. She’s not ready yet.

Siân breaks the moment and glances down at her hand, a frown forming on her face. She removes something from between the cup and the sleeve. It’s a thin folded piece of paper, and when she opens it, a phone number is scribbled beneath the name Angela.

Her eyes widen, and I swear I notice a twinge of jealousy, but she pushes it away. “Looks like someone is interested in you,” she deadpans.

I take the scrap of paper, ball it into a fist, and watch as a sigh of relief washes over her. “I’m good.”

“You don’t want to call her? She’s pretty and really sweet.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I only stare at her, enjoying the way her cheeks heat from the conversation. She doesn’t want me to call this woman any more than I want to myself. It’s a charade and a pretty damn bad one.

“You know what I want,” I whisper into her ear while digging my fingers into her side. She must have forgotten she was still in my arms because she flinches when I do.

Siân wets her lips but doesn’t break our embrace. “Who said I was available?”

I smirk and mimic her, licking my bottom lip, then stroke her cheek. “And I told you that sometimes you just have to take what you want. No matter what.”

She gulps so loud I hear it over the music and talking that surrounds us. Stepping back a little, I hold my hand out to her, and she peers down at it quizzically.

“Your phone,” I answer before she can ask the question.

“Why?”

“Can’t cash in on that rain check without your number?”

She doesn’t move. “I don’t know, Christian. I have—”

Already knowing what she’s about to say next, I cut her off. Fuck her boyfriend. She belongs to me, and soon enough, she’ll realize that.

I tilt my head a little and draw in a breath. “We’re taking risks, remember?”

Siân’s shoulders drop with her exhale. She’s contemplating my request, her doubt and interest battling each other to take hold. As she thinks through all the consequences of accepting what I’m asking for, I take a moment to open the app I’ve used in the past. It’s a cloning program that makes what I do easier. Knowing the ins and outs of potential victims’ conversations keeps me one step ahead of them and any shit that may arise.

“Aw, come on, Siân. It’s not like I’m some crazy stalker. Take the risk. You won’t regret it.”

She exhales and reaches into her bag. “One cup of coffee?” she asks for reassurance.

“I’ll start with that.” I grin.

Siân tips her head and places her phone in my outstretched hand.

“See. And no one died.”

She cringes at my statement but pulls it together. With both phones in my grasp, I hold them side by side and press the button to start the cloning process. A moment later, the software completes, blinking green letters bouncing back at me: CLONING SUCCESSFUL. A sinister chuckle bubbles in my throat, and it takes sheer willpower to keep it down. Then I quickly program my number and call myself from her phone to keep up the ruse.

Siân offers me a soft smile. “Bye, Christian.”

“I’ll be seeing you around.”

As she exits the store, I follow her, admiring the sway of her hips on the way to campus. My phone vibrates, breaking my concentration. My father’s name shows on the caller ID, and I answer it without a greeting.

“Che cosa?” What?

His voice blares into my ear, his rant nearly inaudible. He’s pissed. Though he always is. I came to America for one reason, and it didn’t involve finding Siân. She is merely a non-sanctioned detour. This call, however unwanted it may be, reminds me of the job he sent me to manage.

“Va bene,” I grunt. “Rilassare. Sara’ gestito.” All right. Relax. It’ll be handled. I end the call, not evening giving him the chance to offer a retort.