Page 12 of The Quoram Effect

“Is this what your meeting with him would’ve been about?”

“Yes.”

“And Benoit sends you to inform him? Offering you as collateral, is he?”

“Of course not!” I snarled, struggling to keep my composure.

Russo’s slow, slithery smirk sent an assault of needles stabbing down my spine, his eyes dipping to the low cut of my dress again. “I may accept his apology if that were the case.”

The curtain snapped open, and a deep, unexpected voice carved through the thickening tension. “There’ll be no collateral, Russo!”

Torz?

Dressed in a navy-blue evening suit with an open-collared shirt, Torz stepped fully into the alcove, whipping the purple curtain shut behind him. My heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and unease as he proceeded towards me, his eyes catching mine before taking the adjacent seat. I held my breath as the back of his hand brushed against my exposed thigh under the table, leaving a clammy heat in its wake.

Had he rushed here?

If he had, he disguised it well. Everything about him, from his hair to his shoes, looked ruthlessly immaculate.

“Benoit,” Russo sneered at him. “I was told you were—”

“There’s been a breach of information,” Torz cut Russo off, the dominance in his voice matching his formidable aura. That was one of the reasons he was so much better at handling Russo than I was. “The docks are being watched, and so am I.”

“Since when?”

“Yesterday.”

“Convenient.” Russo tutted. “I want my supplies.”

“They’ll be with you in eight days, following the Debate Gala.”

“Eight days is not going to cut it!” Russo ground his teeth, the muscle in his neck pulsing with a feuding irritation. The henchman standing behind Russo shifted, reaching inside his jacket, and my hand inched towards the dagger sheathed against my thigh. Locking eyes with me, the blond brute stilled.

Wise choice, big guy.

“Eight days is the best I can offer,” Torz ground out. “I do not like this situation any more than you do, but it’s in your best interest to back down.”

Darting his seedy eyes to me, Russo stood abruptly, straightening his fancy suit jacket. “You should know by now, Benoit, I don’t take lightly to broken bargains. Make it six days. Otherwise, I will come for some collateral, and I will take whatever I want.”

He ripped the curtain aside and stalked through the bar to the exit, his henchman shadowing him.

As we watched them leave, I whispered, “I thought you were laying low.” Anger and relief conflicted inside my chest, unsure if it was mine or Torz’s.

“Chaz came and found me. Russo’s been tailing him. I put two and two together. I wasn’t going to let you tackle negotiations with him alone.”

His perception of me not being able to hold my own left me feeling a little undermined, and he must’ve sensed it. He turned his head, searching my face.

“I’m glad you did,” I assured him. And I was. “I despise that man. He makes me feel like a piece of meat up for sale.”

“If he ever touched you…” Torz’s voice trailed off, and I glanced at him, questioning his pause, my heart pulsing with hope. But he suddenly cursed, and I followed his gaze. Across the dark neon-blue room, Marla Hyde stood at the drinks bar, sipping a cocktail.

“What is she doing here?” Torz groaned with despair. “Can this situation get any worse?”

I stood, tapping him on his shoulder. “Leave her to me.”

Stepping out of the alcove, I repositioned the curtain, obscuring Torz from view. If Marla recognised Russo; I refused to let Torz fall victim to any speculation after he’d just saved my arse.

Besides, I’d seen the way that redheaded weasel-bitch looked at Torz, and it didn’t sit well with my possessive, rejected Damson self.