Eleodora Rivera turned away from Kane, dismissing him as if he was begging for change. His lips thinned, anger rippling its way through him. He grabbed her arm, spinning her back to him.

“It’s rude to turn away a gift on your birthday,” he said, talking over the music.

“No it’s not,” the girl countered with a scowl. “Go away.” She gestured at him to leave with a rough sweep of her hand, as if irritated by his presence.

But it wasn’t annoyance brimming in those pretty eyes.

Oh no.

Eleodora Rivera was scared. Scared of him. Scared of his insistence. His obsession.

She’d expect her bodyguards to deal with people like him. But now she was alone, stranded in a sea of people that didn’t know who she was.

Who didn’t know who he was.

That was the problem. If she knew who he was, she wouldn’t be acting like this. She’d be even more terrified. He wanted to smell the sickly-sweet aroma of terror on her skin. Just the thought made his dick harden. How would she sound, whimpering as she pleaded for him not to turn her in?

Mother Mary have mercy, he couldn’t wait to find out.

A cocktail waitress wearing a fanciful mask popped into their small clearing. “Want some?” she yelled, grabbing Eleodora’s arm and showing her a bottle of tequila.

Eleodora glanced at the woman, and then at Kane. “Yeah, I need it,” she yelled back. She shooed him away with her hands and tipped her head so the woman could pour a shot in her mouth. It was a brand he wasn’t familiar with; the bottle was dark, almost black, and had a sugar skull on its label, but no brand name.

Some of that blue tequila trickled down the side of her mouth. Eleodora swiped at it with the back of her hand, smearing her make up even more.

She turned away from him again just as the music swelled and crashed over them in an ephemeral wave of energy and vibration. She sprang up, yelling at the DJ box. Kane caught her arms, yanking them down. Then he slid a hand around her waist and dragged her against him.

He doubted she could feel his erection through the many layers of her skirt. Pity—that would have terrified her even more.

Lifting his mask to the top of his head, Kane brushed his lips against her ear. “I don’t like your attitude, Eleodora,” he murmured.

She tried to look at him, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look forward.

“I think it’s best we go somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”

“Fuck you.” She jutted her elbow into his stomach. Then her stiletto crunched down on top of his shoe.

The elbow to his belly hurt more than the blow to his foot, but he released her in surprise. An instant later, she was gone, slipping away through the crowd like a fish disappearing between seaweed.

Kane inhaled deep. A thousand different smells came to him; sweat, deodorant, shampoo, tequila, cigarettes, weed, new clothes, body lotion.

But her unique scent hung in the air like a tracer, and he followed it through the crowd.

He caught up with her a few seconds later, when she’d just broken free from the crowd and had swung back to see if she’d lost him.

Her eyes went wide in shock when he stepped out of the throng of dancers, sliding his mask off his face as he drew near.

“It is you,” she said, taking a step back and tripping over her dress. She would have landed on the floor if he hadn’t caught her.

A few party goers looked over, but he waved them away with an apologetic grin. Repeatedly swiping a stiff hand in front of his throat, he made the universal gesture for ‘she’s had too much to drink.’

And that was all it took to get everyone to lose interest.

Leaving him alone in the shadows with the intoxicated capo of the El Calacas Vivo cartel.