Shadow Of The Prey

CH8. Pet Or Beast?

Ding

The elevator doors open just as his lips are close enough to touch mine.
The warmth of them radiating onto mine, his calloused hands against my skin, I turn my head. His eyes focused on me as I display a harrowed look, permeating with evident ferocity and nervousness.

"Mr. Lennox... I did not agree to ownership of a night for this." I speak, pushing him back slightly.
"And I thought we were getting along." He smiles, taking my hand.
"You were wrong to assume that." I rip my hand away, widening the distance between us.
"Don't be like that." He holds his hand out, "As I said, I'm not an imbecile that'll carelessly fondle you."

I stare at his hand and back at his eyes.

I don't have leverage in this moment—I never assumed he'd take the chance for tonight.
A man who throws a party, only to abandon it within the first hour, doesn't correlate with his character.
His eyes that feel as if he's trying to dissect my persona, attentive to every miniscule movement I make. If I take his hand, it would only make me seem too eager and if I don't, he could lose interest.

Losing his patience, I jump as he takes my hand, dragging me behind him.

"Mr. Lennox, what do you plan on doing?" I question, trying to pull my hand away from his grip like the meek Elise would do—but not to the point where I'll break free from it.

He ignores me, continuing to walk.
On the other side of the elevator, stands a large minimalistic suite. The hallway lit by warm strips of light hidden in the edges of the wall panels, and the scent of a subtle warm fragrance of firewood. Smoked-oak wall panels cover the halls that lead to an open living room in monotoned colors.

Leaving the hall to the outstretched space, I notice a stone garden to the right of the room. The only colors amongst the shades in the apartment being the various books on his shelves, and a lone coral camellia bush in the middle of the stone garden.

"Sit." He speaks, guiding me to the sofa.
I give a glare, wary of him like any lady would be.

Without speaking another word, he throws his jacket onto the armrest of the black leather sectional, walking to the bar behind the living room.
I look around the pristine suite—a large television framed with bookshelves on both sides of it, curved wood stairs with glass railings that lead to the loft. Closed room doors in view of the living room, I discreetly scan my eyes for any hidden cameras and details to keep in mind. With no main overhead lighting, only the ambient lights hidden in the edges of the wall panels brighten the room.
The minimalistic suite easily narrows places where a camera could be hidden, and the dimmed space makes it easy to see a blinking green light.

My attention turns back to the target as glasses clatter against each other.

His back turned to me, I can't help but stare at the width of his back. His shirt does nothing to hide the toned muscles of his shoulders and arms, and the dark navy vest accentuating his slim waist that emphasizes his back muscles. He's a man with charm and a masculine figure, making it evident why so many ladies throw themselves at his feet—if not for his bank account.

Yet to me, he's a man speculated with narcotic imports and the sale of young girls.

My eyes shift to my reflection in the window—lit up from the outside glow of lights from the city—a strange feeling rising in my core.
I would probably be a candidate if it weren't for how well the agency trained me. I could be the same as those girls who have no idea on how to survive on their own, who have no idea how to even protect themselves. Girls who could've been the same age I was when I joined UNS. Girls who had a family and an array of futures before them.
Miss. Barrington would be a phenomenal candidate for his dealings, but the only difference is that Agent Viper is never going to be an easy target.