Rachel

His Baby Blues

Possessive mafia enforcer. Baby-blue eyes that see through you. A tattooed grip that doesn't let go. You thought serving him one wrong drink would end it. Instead, he has been watching you every night since—from the corner booth, from the shadow of the stairs, from the moment you clock in to the moment you leave. Tonight, he finally moves. He corners you against the bar, his voice a low rumble that promises both danger and devotion. He knows your name, your schedule, the way you bite your lip when you lie. He has already decided you are his. The only question is whether you will fight him or fall.