The Kingpin's Weakness

And I almost have to laugh at the horror that clouds her expression.

My name tends to get that reaction.

For the first time, I realize she is with another girl and they both argue. Don’t they know it is pointless? I get everything I want. My world is a world filled with yeses. No isn’t an option.

Finally, she is being guided up the stairs and…

Christ.

Her face is beautiful.

Her body is a goddamn meal.

She keeps tugging on the hem of her short, black dress and I get the sense she doesn’t dress sexy very often and isn’t comfortable in her clothes.

No matter. I plan to keep her naked.

My fingers start to burn and I realize my cigar has burned all the way down without me taking a single puff. They are almost at the entrance to my box now, so I stub it out, my attention locked on the door. Waiting for her to walk through. Preparing for my reaction to having her right in front of me.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared me.

My guard opens the door, gently prods her inside and closes it behind him, never making eye contact with me. Like a good little solider. And there she is.

She shifts in her high-heeled Mary Janes, her head bowed forward slightly, leaving her face curtained by a wealth of rich brunette hair. When she peeks up at me through her glasses and sucks in a breath, I get this very raw, very real sense that I’ve made every single decision in my life just so that I could end up right here. With her.

“Hello,” I say thickly. “What’s your name?”

“Scout,” she whispers. “And I’m going to pass out now.”

I lunge, catching her right before she collapses on the floor.

2

Scout

When I wake up, Easton Brawn is looking down at me.

It wasn’t a dream. I’m still in his private box. I’m alone with him.

The devil incarnate. The kingpin. The lord and master of the underworld. The notorious gangster I’ve been reading about in the papers since I was in middle school.

It’s just him and me, sharing air space. No big deal.

Not a hint of what he’s thinking shows on his face.

His corruptly sexy face.

He is a decade older than me, but there isn’t a single wrinkle to indicate that he’s in his early thirties. Almost as if he never shows emotion and therefore his face never creases, never crinkles. Just stays smooth. His eyes are mossy green. Sharp, but blank. Betraying nothing.

There is a faint aroma of cigar smoke around him and an undercurrent of mint. Not like toothpaste or gum. But the fresh herb. Chopped.

“You don’t smell like the blood of your enemies at all,” I murmur, obviously still in a stupor from my trip to unconscious land. “That’s nice.”

He tilts his head. “Have you spent a lot of time wondering what I’d smell like?”

“I was a little curious,” I admit. “Is that weird?”

“A bit.”

“Oh. Can I go now?”

“No.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” I whisper.

Easton Brawn, gangster, lifts a hand and brings it to my forehead, hesitating for a split second before feeling for a temperature with the back of his wrist. “Were you feeling faint before coming in here, Scout?” he asks quietly. “Or do you just find me that alarming?”

I sit up slowly, expecting him to back up a pace, but he doesn’t. And that leaves me face to face with his gold belt buckle. Swallowing hard, I tip my head back to meet his eyes—and it’s a long way up. The papers never mention him being so tall. So…strong. “I find the unknown alarming. It’s why I like science. There is always an answer eventually. Facts. When I walked in here, I had no idea what you want from me. I still don’t. That’s what I find alarming. Not necessarily…you.” I force myself to stop rambling. “Thank you for catching me. I bruise easily.”

He exhales slowly, rubs at the center of his chest. “Goddammit.”

I push my glasses higher on my nose. “What?”

“I was hoping you’d do me a favor and be boring.”

“Sorry.” I open my mouth and close it. This man is nothing like I would have expected him to be. What is wrong with his chest? Is he going to faint, too? “I could try harder. Maybe recite the periodic table?”

“I have a feeling I’d find that adorable and it would only make things worse.”

This whole exchange feels a little bit like a dream. Or like the time my sister and I shared a bottle of champagne on the roof of our building, lay right there until the sun set and the stars came out. It’s a real moment, but it’s more vivid than reality. Crystalizing itself. “I’m a little confused. You’re the one that brought me here, Mr. Brawn.”

“Easton.”

“Oh.” I shake my head. “No, I can’t call you that.”