The walls of the candlelit lounge were painted in shadow and sin.
Raina sat still as stone, the low hum of a Spanish bolero spilling from unseen speakers. Her black dress clung to her skin, still damp from the rain that had baptized her outside. The scent of clove and gun oil wrapped around her like a curse his scent.
Damián was across from her, legs casually spread, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tattoos on display like war paint. A heavy pistol rested on the table between them. Unloaded, maybe. Or maybe not.
She didn't ask.
"You looked like you were running from hell tonight," he said, voice deep, low like gravel dipped in honey. "I figured it was time you met the devil properly."
Raina didn't flinch. She leaned forward slowly, picking up the glass of dark rum he'd poured for her. Her hands trembled just slightly. She hid it well.
"You think you're the devil?" she asked with a bitter laugh. "You don't even come close."
Damián's grin was sharp, cruel, beautiful.
"Mi reina, you haven't seen me in the dark yet."
He leaned back, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight. The air between them thickened, tension pulled tight like a garrote wire.
"Why bring me here?" she demanded. "Why now?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her like a riddle he didn't want to solve just savor.
"You were mine the moment you stepped on my soil. I let you run. Let you hide behind that ridiculous fake name and that safe little café job. But you crossed a line."
"What line?"
"You made me wait," he murmured, voice dipped in velvet danger. "Too long."
Raina swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed to get up, to run again. But her legs wouldn't obey. And even if they did, where would she go?
Damián leaned in. His fingers brushed her jaw soft, reverent, terrifying.
"I saw what you did," he whispered. "At the docks. The way you handled that man. You're not as innocent as you pretend. I could smell the blood on you."
She blinked, but didn't deny it.
He smiled wider.
"Good. I like my women a little dirty."
Her breath hitched.
"You don't know me."
"I know enough," he murmured. "You hate yourself for surviving. You punish yourself by pretending to be someone weaker. But I see it. The hunger in you. The storm."
He grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest right over the rapid thud of his heartbeat.
"You match my chaos. You were made for midnight, princesa."
She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him.
Instead, she whispered, "What do you want from me?"
Damián's eyes turned colder than ice.
"Loyalty."
"And if I say no?"
His smile died.
"I own your truth, Raina. I own your past, your escape route, your real name. Say no and I bury it all with you."
There it was.
The trap.
And she'd walked right into it.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
"But say yes and I'll give you power. I'll give you revenge. And I'll fuck you so good, you'll forget you ever belonged to anyone but me."
Her legs clenched together. Betraying her. Again.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"You will," he promised. "But first, you'll crave me."
And then his mouth was on hers rough, brutal, claiming. She pushed him back, slapped him once across the face. Hard.
He didn't even blink.
Just smiled.
"Welcome home, princesa."