License for Passion

“Why do you need her?” my tormentor asked, and I flinched.

I recognized him, though we had never met. Even in a dim room his heavy gaze burned right through.

“The debts of your husband will pay,” the leader of this gang sneered, and the stranger’s eyes wiped that arrogant half-smile off his face.

“Since when did you start collecting debts from women?” A chill ran down my spine at the icy tone. “You think you’re tough enough to compete with me?”

“Timur, you…” my tormentor stammered, but the stranger cut him off sharply:

“I’m taking her.”

That was it. But now the very first question—the one he’d asked—swirled in my head:

“Why do you need me?”