Chapter 89: Dysfunctional
Eira blinked, staring blankly at him as he stared at her, awaiting her panicky reaction—which never came.
The fuck? Eira thought, her gaze moving over his body.
The man had an angular face with piercing gray eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark hair was slicked back, and the faint scent of expensive cologne wafted toward her.
Eira tilted her head, her lips curling into a mocking smirk despite the pounding in her head. "You know, I’m sure there’s a dress code for situations like these, but I’m pretty sure overdressed mobsters weren’t on the list," she quipped, her voice hoarse but steady.
The man’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of amusement danced in his gray eyes. He took a step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor. "Ah, humor. A defense mechanism of the defiant." He paused, crossing his arms as he loomed over her. "I expected fear, maybe some begging. But instead, you crack jokes? Intriguing."
Eira leaned back in the chair as much as her restraints allowed, her smirk widening. "Oh, trust me, I’m terrified. I just hide it well. Now, if we’re done with the villain monologue, maybe you can tell me what the hell you want and where the fuck my driver is."
The man chuckled softly, his tone smooth and almost patronizing. "Straight to the point. I like that. Very well." He moved to a table in the corner, picking up a file and flipping it open. "Ephyra Allen... I need you to cooperate with me and answer a couple of questions. Then there will be no trouble—for you or your driver."
Eira’s gaze hardened as she kept her expression neutral. "Sure. What the fuck do you want to know?"
The man held up a hand. "Not here. I’m not the only one who wants to know." He smiled as he turned and gestured toward the entrance for whoever was there to come in.
In a few seconds, Eira frowned as the leather straps were loosened by two figures. She was then pulled up by the arm and led out.
"Are you going to tell me where the hell you’re taking me?" she asked, her tone sharp.