“That’s unnecessary. Like I said, we can catch a cab.”
Now it was Kaz’s turn to scowl. “That’s not how we work. Take a look,” he said pointing to her friend. “She can barely hold her head up. Do you really want her out in a cab where she can’t protect herself? My brother wouldn’t touch her.”
He waited for another argument, or at least another excuse, but when she remained quiet, he went on. “Address.”
Hesitantly, as though it was being forced out of her, Violet rattled it off. Kaz nodded to Ruslan, giving him the go ahead. He didn’t argue, but he did send Kaz a look before he helped the girl to her feet and called Nathaniel for Nicole.
When it was just Kaz and Violet left in the office, he studied her, admiring the way she kept her chin tilted up, as though she was looking down her nose at him though he was a good few inches taller.
She was a pretty girl, beautiful really, with wide expressive eyes a shade of green that lightened toward the pupils. With a dainty nose, and pouty lips that were currently turned down at the corners, she was perfectly fine with letting her irritation show. Blonde hair that looked soft to the touch tumbled down around her shoulders in waves, and if not for the fact that he knew the legacy she came from, he might have thought her benign.
But looks were deceiving. He knew that better than anyone. Kaz hadn’t been sure, not at first. He hadn’t anticipated anything more than to find three drunken girls way over their heads waiting in his brother’s office. The last thing he had expected, or even wanted, was Violet Gallucci standing there staring him down.
“And me?” she asked breaking the silence stretching between them.
Pulling his keys from his pocket, he held them up for her to see. “Looks like we’re taking a ride to Manhattan.”
Somehow, in the span of a little more than thirty minutes, Violet’s night had turned to shit in the worst way. This was supposed to be her night, the one where she could be free, forget about the carefully controlled life she lived, but not anymore.
Not when she was about to climb into a car with the one person she knew she really shouldn’t be around. But what other choice did she have? It was only a matter of time before her father found out where she had been, especially with Nicole on her way to the hospital.
The man who’d walked right in and taken charge was leading the way out the back and around the side of the building toward a monstrosity of a car that was parked there. While she might not have known much about cars, she could tell that this one was expensive just off the brand alone.
She might not have liked him, but his car was another story.
The lights flashed as he unlocked the door, and though she had expected him to climb into the driver’s seat, he surprised her as he came to her side first and opened the door, gesturing for her to climb in with a tilt of his head. It was unexpected because she hadn’t thought of him as a gentleman, not in the slightest.
When she was safely inside, and he’d closed the door, rounding the front of his side, she took in the sleek interior. All black leather, chrome detailing, and while it was only a two-seater, there was plenty of space to stretch her legs out.
There was a moment as he climbed in—inserting the key and starting it up, the blue lights of the dash cutting through the darkness—that she became all too aware just who she was seated beside.
And that she didn’t really know him at all.
“It’s a good hour and a half, maybe a little more, of a drive back to Manhattan,” he said, his tone gruff. “Settle in.”
Violet tossed him a look from the side, admiring his profile. “You seem to know a lot about me, but I don’t know a thing about you.”
He flashed a smile—white teeth and sinful in a blink.
“Shouldn’t that be something you learn before you get into a car with a man?” he asked.
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“You had a choice.”
Violet’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so.”
Not the way it played out, anyway.
“You did,” he assured, never taking his gaze off the windshield as he pulled the vehicle out onto the road. “That choice, Violet, came for you when you came this deep into Brooklyn and made your way to Coney.”
Well, then …
Violet looked away when he cut her with a hard look. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Yes, you were.”
“No, I—”
“How old are you now, about twenty-one, yes?”
Violet blinked.
He knew her name.
Her age.
That she lived in Manhattan without even asking.
He knew.
She ignored the drip of panic slicing through her middle. Despite the darkness that colored up his aura, he didn’t scream entirely bad to her.
And Violet knew bad.
“Turned twenty-one today,” she admitted.