Chapter 2

The silent challenge in Dasia's eyes made Carlton freeze. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

Before he could speak, his personal assistant, Alex Vance, shoved past the bodyguards. Alex threw his arms out, shielding Carlton like Dasia was holding a loaded gun.

"Are you out of your mind?" Alex barked, pointing a manicured finger at Dasia's face. "You do not touch him. I will have you sued for harassment so fast your head will spin."

Felix scrambled forward, his face pale and slick with sweat. He grabbed Dasia's wrist with trembling fingers.

"Apologize!" Felix hissed, his voice cracking. "Get on your knees and apologize right now before you ruin us both!"

Dasia's stomach twisted with revulsion at the physical contact. She ripped her arm out of Felix's grip. The violent motion sent Felix stumbling backward.

She turned her gaze to Alex.

"Get lost," Dasia said.

Her voice was low, raspy, and completely devoid of emotion. The single word sliced through the noise of the station.

The fans went feral. A neon green glow stick flew over the security line and slammed into Dasia's shoulder blade. It bounced off with a dull thud.

Dasia didn't blink. She didn't even rub her shoulder.

Carlton watched her. His blue eyes narrowed. The boy's spine was perfectly straight. There was no trembling, no frantic apologies. Just a cold, dead stare.

Alex's face turned purple. He waved frantically at the station security guards standing nearby.

"Get this psycho out of here!" Alex yelled.

Three massive security guards pushed through the crowd. They unclipped their radios, forming a tight circle around Dasia and Felix.

Felix dropped to a crouch, burying his face in his hands. He was hyperventilating.

One of the guards reached out a thick hand to grab Dasia's shoulder.

Dasia's eyes went pitch black. Her left foot slid back half an inch against the tile. Her weight shifted. Her muscles coiled tight, preparing to snap the guard's wrist the second he made contact.

"Stop."

The word was spoken quietly, but it carried absolute authority.

Carlton raised one hand. His long index finger twitched in the air.

Alex immediately grabbed the security guard's arm, pulling him back. The guards stepped away, waiting for the billionaire captain's orders.

Carlton took a slow step forward. His leather shoes clicked sharply against the tile. He stopped less than two feet from Dasia.

The sheer physical presence of the man was overwhelming. Dasia had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. The scent of mint and cedar grew stronger, suffocating her.

Carlton leaned down slightly. He studied the dark, violent eyes glaring back at him over the black mask.

"Whoever paid you to put on this little show," Carlton said, his voice a low, mocking rumble, "tell them your acting is pathetic."

A tiny, humorless laugh escaped Dasia's throat.

She raised her right hand. She pressed her index finger directly against the center of Carlton's chest, right on the expensive fabric of his coat.

She shoved. Hard.

Carlton hadn't expected the strike. His body rocked backward on his heels. A flash of pure shock widened his eyes.

"Keep your dogs on a leash," Dasia said. Her voice was like crushed ice. "Before they bite the wrong person."

The entire station went dead silent. Alex stopped breathing.

Carlton looked down at his chest, then back up at Dasia. A dark, dangerous smile slowly curved his lips.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vintage silver Zippo lighter. His thumb flicked the lid open. Clink. He snapped it shut. Clink.

The metallic sound was sharp and rhythmic.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the station intercom crackled to life. A loud voice announced the final boarding call for the express train to Boston.

Alex checked his watch, panic replacing his anger. "King, we have to go. Now. Don't waste time on this trash."

Carlton's thumb rested on the lighter. He stared at Dasia for three long seconds, burning her eyes into his memory.

He turned around without another word. The bodyguards formed a wedge, and the Blackflame team disappeared down the VIP corridor.

The crowd slowly dispersed, muttering insults. Felix collapsed onto a wooden bench, gasping for air like a dying fish.

Dasia adjusted the collar of her hoodie. She looked down at the floor.

A glossy poster of Carlton Gordon lay on the dirty tiles, dropped by a fleeing fan. Dasia stared at his arrogant, printed face.