Chapter 7

The walk across the street was brief. He held his gun close to his thigh, sighing like he couldn’t be bothered with such an inconvenience.

There was an affluent neighbourhood nearby where he was been staying, but he had to drive through this sketchy neighbourhood on his way there. Lucien didn’t mind. He was no stranger to the streets.

That’s why when he stepped into the darkness where the altercation was happening, he didn’t hesitate to cock his gun and pop a bullet into a bastard’s leg.

There was a hoarse scream, and one of the men crumpled to the ground, clutching his leg.

At the gunshot, his friend flinched so bad, he dropped onto his ass, scrambling back against the wall as he shielded himself with his hands.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Lucien found the little box he kept there and grabbed one of the cigs inside.

He put the skinny stick between his lips and held up a lighter. A flame appeared, burning the end of his cigarette.

A stream of smoke blew up in the shadowy alley as one man stared up at the mysterious villain-like person over him, and the other man clenched his leg in agonising pain.

Both were too afraid to find out who they’d just been attacked by. There were many powerful men in Miami. It seemed like they’d provoked him by trying to take the girl.

Silently, Lucien took another drag of his cigarette and raised his gun, pointing it at the other man’s face.

The man’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t even scream. He was wanted and had been keeping a low profile lately.

Wordlessly, Lucien nudged the gun twice to the left.

Getting the message and trembling with overflowing gratitude, the second man scrambled to his feet and grabbed the one groaning in pain.

Together, they limped out of the alley and vanished before he could finish them off.

Sighing, he took another drag of the cigarettes he kept trying to quit. Slowly blowing out smoke, he looked at the girl on the dirty ground. What was she doing here this late at night?

She was unconscious, her dirty, blonde hair hiding her face from his gaze. He could tell the two miscreants hadn’t hurt her much, so, judging from the stench of alcohol wafting around her, she was just insanely drunk. So, she’d passed out.

He sighed again. He couldn’t leave her here. Tucking his gun into his waistband, he reached for the girl, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

Turning around, he made his way out of the alley and toward his car across the street.

Chucking the cigarette onto the street in front of him, he walked over it as he pulled open the backseat car door.

He tossed her back there and then paused.

Glancing back at the alley, he noticed the backpack on the floor. He hesitated for a moment. With a muttered curse, he finally shut the door and walked back across the street, picking up the bag.

When he was back in his car, he shut his door and tossed the bag back. He glanced at her face once, but she was facing the seat, making it hard for him to see.

With another sigh, he shook his head and continued driving.

He’d get the girl food and then send her on her way. He had things to do.

One thing about Miami that Lucien would always appreciate was the beaches.

He’d parked his car outside a convenience store on a hill overlooking Sunny Isles Beach. Sitting on the hood of his car and watching the sunrise, he expertly ignored his ringing phone. He’d be back in Connecticut by tomorrow, the company would survive without him until then.

Coming back to this city always felt bittersweet. He was nothing like what he’d been when he’d left. He’d been a hungry youth with nothing more than the clothes on his back, desperate to make more money than there were stars in the sky. Without joining the dark world of sin here in Miami.

And now he’d made all that money, he was a king in the business world. Lucien Sinclair. His name had been worth nothing, and now it was a name respected by anyone in his tax bracket and feared by anyone who’d ever crossed him. His reputation preceded him, they loved to paint him out to be a cold, heartless businessman. Perhaps he was.

There were two things he hated: Liars and thieves. Those who identified as either or both stayed out of his way, and he liked it that way.

The last liar he’d known had shattered his entire world, and Lucien had never recovered.

He sighed. Damn it. Looking at the ocean always made him think of her. He was about to sink deeper into thoughts of the only woman he’d ever loved when a sound caught his ear.

Valencia woke up in a strange car.

As soon as her eyes opened and her vision focused enough to show her that she was in an unknown place, she jerked up with a gasp.

The headache sliced into her head almost immediately, making her wince as she touched her head.

Swallowing hard through a parched throat, she spotted a bottle of water between the front seats and snatched it up. Only when she was gulping down as much water as she could get into her mouth did she pause and remember she’d woken up in a strange car.

She stilled, her vision clearing completely and her headache easing enough for her to focus on the sight before her.

Slowly lowering the bottle, Valencia stared wide-eyed at the man sitting on the hood of the car. Who the hell was that? There was no time to figure it out, he couldn’t be anything good.

She vaguely recalled last night. There had been a gunshot, and now she was here.

Her bag!

Gasping, Valencia looked frantically around herself. Her gaze landed on the crumpled bag on the floor, and she snatched it up. Ripping open the zip, she anxiously searched the bag.

A sigh of relief parted her lips, and tension seeped out of her muscles. Everything was there.

Looking at the man sitting outside the car, she studied him for a moment. He was staring at the rising sun. He wore a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was a cigarette in his mouth, but it wasn’t lit. She studied the side of his face. His hair was black and just barely touched his shoulders. His skin was a rich olive tone, his brows were thick and black, drawn together in a dark frown. He looked like a villain. The kind of man who moved in Eliott Cross’s circles, the kind of man who could be a VVIP client at Club Riviere. What if Eliott had decided she wasn’t worth a million dollars and had sent someone to get it back?

Her anxiety rose the longer she stared at him, and she decided to stop wasting time.

Without alerting him, she clutched her back to her chest and quietly pushed open the backseat door.

She slowly got out of the car and, without closing the door, turned around and raced across the empty parking lot of the convenience store.

When she neared the street, she threw a glance over her shoulder.

The man on the hood hadn’t moved an inch except his head, which had turned in her direction.

He was watching her escape.