༺༻Chapter 12:Drink together༺༻

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧁༒༻༺༒꧂

Zayne let out a scoff at Priya's words and took another drink of wine. 

"Call me what you want, officer. But don't you dare act like I'm the villain here." 

He brought the bottle down onto the table with force and the intensity in his dark eyes was fierce. 

"I've seen what the other side does." 

Priya leaned back a little and crossed her arms. "Just give me one peg." 

He froze. 

For the briefest moment, he seemed taken aback—his eyes widening at the casual way she made the request. Then he seemed to find her amusement funny and a smirk appeared on his face. 

Not breaking eye contact with her, he grabbed a glass and poured her a drink. 

"One peg, officer?" he said smoothly, teasingly. 

He handed her the glass, their fingers flicking against one another for just the slightest moment. A spark. A flicker of something unnamed.

"Is it right for a good cop to drinking with a wanted criminal?"

Priya held the glass in her hand, her face nearly expressionless. "I don't drink a lot."

His grin was widening.

"First peg," he said while leaning back and continuing to gauge her, "you’ll see why I’m not the monster they try to make me out to be."

He raised his glass - holding it slightly toward hers.

The room was silent except for their glasses clinking.

Dangerous Temptation

Zayne watched her drink and was amazed. The wine caught slightly in her throat, and he stifled a laugh and instead leaned closer. His voice a little lower, more intimate and warmed by the alcohol.

"What do you think of it?"

The room felt smaller. It felt warmer.

Priya tilted her head back to let the burn make it's way down her throat before responding. "Trouble."

He chuckled.

"Do you have a cig?" She asked.

Zayne paused for a moment, then reached in his pocket and tossed her a pack. He trailed his eyes as she opened it, taking one out and easily sliding it between her lips like it was something she did routinely. It wasn’t a trick. She wasn’t trying to show off. That was interesting to him.

"Smoke?" he asked, lighting his own.

She exhaled smoke in a steady stream, looking off over his shoulder. "I only smoke when I remember love."

His eyebrows rose just a little. Of all of the reasons he had heard, this was different. He leaned in, lowering his voice, "You smoke when you remember love?"

Almost all women he had known smoked to appear sexy. She smoked to forget something.

 

"You smoke like a mafia." He observed as she took deep, long, drags of her cigarette. She engulphed the smoke and "blowed" it out, the smoke curled about her face like a halo of sinful smoke.

 

She smirked at his comment, her lips firmly blocking the filter, and exhaled like someone who had done this all of her life.

Zayne reclined onto the deep, plush, velvet couch, trying to get comfortable. However, the decorative pearls sewn onto the edge of the couch pushed into his skin and aggravated the new welts on his back—the same welts he'd earned from punishing himself. He lost control with a quick hiss before he could hold it back. 

Priya arched an eyebrow at him, letting out a curling puff of smoke as she lazily turned him.

"Why did you just hiss, Mr. Kim? Is my cigarette measling your royal nose... or is there something else?" 

She had a playful tone; a mix of sarcasm and intrigue. 

Zayne quickly straightened himself and made an effort to appear calm.

"No, I'm fine," he mumbled before dismissing it.

He got to his feet, striding over to the bar counter. He poured himself a glass of wine in a measured manner and dumped a few roasted nuts onto a little crystal plate.

Priya smiled, taking another deep drag.

"Mafia Kim," she said, her tone languid and sweet, "you might want to put a little ointment on those whip marks. They look... sore."

His hand froze in mid-air.

He turned and stared at her.

"How do you know about that?"

She laughed, and elegantly tapped the ash from her cigarette.

"How do I know?"

Her gaze slid down his back.

"Sweetheart, your white shirt is practically ratting you out. Those red marks are peeping through, it's like they’re yelling come notice me."

Zayne's breath caught in his throat. He didn't realize his shirt was so tight when he sat, nor did he think the morning light conspired to expose him.

Priya crossed her legs and leaned back, surveying him like a drawing to finish. 

"But if I remember right... in the throngs of morning, only the g*n was in informed. So..." she tilted her head, smoke curling the bottom of her jawline. "Where did the whip come from?"

Zayne turned away.

"It's nothing. Just leave it."

But they had locked eyes again - and this time held. Unspoken truths flowed air-like electric currents between them, sharp yet intimate - and she was reading him - and dammit he was letting her.

There was something about her... that aroused him.... that troubled him.... that intrigued him. 

Priya took another slow draw as she exhaled a steady stream of smoke, all the while sustaining her gaze on him. She tilted her head, gaze burning. 

Zayne resumed a slow walk back to the sofa and sat down, being careful to avoid leaning against the pearls this time. He held his glass of wine in one hand, but she had all of his attention now.

He reached over and brushed the cigarette from her mouth. "Careful, Inspector. You're almost looking like one of us now."

Priya met his eyes, unfazed. "I wanted to be one," she said. "Since I was a teenager."

His cigarette stilled at his lips now. He hadn't seen that coming.

His dark eyes narrowed as he took a long drag off his cigarette, the ember glowing between them. "You wanted to be a mafia girl?" His voice was low, fluttering somewhere between a growl and curious. "Why?"

Most girls dreamed of being actresses, doctors, lawyers. But this? 

She released a deep breath. "I appreciate their vibe. Their heart. Their rough side." 

He studied her intently in silence for a long moment. 

Then, he smirked, and shook his head, and flicked the ashes into the tray. "Do you know what they really are?" He dropped his voice velvet sharp. "They kill. They steal. They cheat." He leaned in slightly, lips twisting into something that was hard to read. 

"They're dangerous." 

His eyes glowed in the dim light as they locked onto hers. 

"Like me." 

Zayne watched, fascinated, as Priya pressed the flaming tip of her cigarette against the medical tape that was wrapped around her wrist, gently extinguishing the ember's glow with a quiet hiss. His brows knitted together. He had seen men do this before—ruthless killers proving that they felt no pain, that nothing could break them; but seeing her do it felt...different.

Zayne’s dark eyes were fixed on her—calm, unreadable, yet burning with something raw. Her gaze met his, unflinching. For a moment, the entire world around them ceased to exist. No mafia, no duty, no scars—just two souls caught in a quiet storm.

Was it fate… or just a dangerous coincidence?

Were their paths truly crossing by chance… or was this the mischievous design of a higher power?

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂ ꧁༒༻༺༒꧂

         ༶•┈┈┈༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓┈┈┈•༶

            ༺ To be continued… ༻

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧂༒༻༺༒꧂

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