Page 6 of His Cruel Exception

He looks like someone who should be hidden away.

I want to hide him away.

He starts his routine and nearly misses the first move when someone whistles and another man laughs. Color rises across his face and something inside me turns cold. I glance toward the man who laughed, but I don’t need to say anything for him to know not to do it again.

I return my attention to the stage where the man continues his routine. He’s neither polished not confident, and anyone who knows what they’re looking at can tell he’s inexperienced, but something about him holds my attention more effectively than perfection would have. Every time he gets something wrong, embarrassment flashes across his face before he corrects himself.

It’s obvious he’s someone who doesn’t quit because he’s uncomfortable, and that interests me.

I also want to know why he keeps glancing toward the back of the room.

toward me.

The first two times it happens, I assume it’s accidental. But by the third, I’m waiting for it. His eyes find mine while his fingers work delicately at the first button of his shirt. He holds my gaze as the button slips free, exposing a strip of skin beneath the white fabric and keeps his eyes on mine for about a minute before finally looking away.

As the routine continues, some of his nervousness begins to fade. His movements become smoother, and when he finally slides the shirt from his shoulders, the crowd goes crazy. He’s bolder now. There is still a trace of uncertainty in his movements, but his shoulders have relaxed and his expression has softened. Even his mouth is different now that he isn't pressing his lips together every few seconds to control his nerves.

He looks different when he forgets to be afraid.

I wonder what else changes when he feels safe, or even when he is given the illusion of safety.

Movement near our booth pulls my attention away from him. A man sitting a few tables over gets to his feet. I assume he's standing for a better view at first, but then his hand disappears into his pocket and comes back with several ten-dollar bills folded between his fingers before starting toward the stage.

Something hot coils inside me.

“Intercept him,” I say to Davide.

My bodyguard quickly moves to the man before he can go far and catches his arm. The man protests and holds up the bills, then gestures toward the stage and more specifically, to the waistband of the stripper’s shorts. He then says something that I can’t hear over the music, and Davide’s expression go flat.

Onstage, the stripper continues dancing, oblivious to what is happening only a few tables away while I’m currently plotting what to do with the man who thought he could approach him.

Davide looks at me and I give him a small nod.

He takes hold of the man and starts dragging him toward the exit despite his protests. A few people notice, but quickly turn their attention elsewhere.

Outside, Davide will make sure he learns a crucial lesson about keeping his hands to himself.

Enzo glances at me and shakes his head. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I reply, returning my attention to the stage.

From the corner of my eye, I see him exchange a look with the others, but none of them say anything else.

When the stripper’s eyes return to mine, I hold his gaze again and he shivers imperceptibly. He finishes his routine a few minutes later to another round of applause and whistles, then gives the crowd an awkward bow before disappearing behind the curtain.

Chapter

Four

ANTONIO

I keep staring at the place where the stripper vanished. The stage looks strangely empty without him on it, and I already dislike it.

“Stop glaring at the stage, Jesus. Just go backstage like a normal person and ask to meet him.” Raffaele says.

I ignore him.

I am going to do something even better.