The Prey

"Apologies for being late. Had to run a small errand." The brooding man sauntered in, wearing a black leather jacket and matching jeans. His tattoos peeked through the sleeves, and several skull rings adorned his fingers, looking like they could summon a demon particularly the one he worked for.

He looked everything but a billionaire's butler—or whatever he was supposed to be. His hair was slicked back with what appeared to be rebellion, and his face was contorted in a permanent scowl that suggested he had just eaten a particularly sour lemon.

He looked anything but sorry.

He opened the door of the car and bobbed his head...