Ben frowned, his irritation sharpening into something ugly as he looked Zayn up and down.
“And you are?” he asked rudely, chin lifting, as if he were still the man with leverage here.
Zayn didn’t even blink.
“Zayn Specter,” he replied in a voice so cold it could have flash-frozen steel.
The name hit like a slap, as it rang a sign of recognition. Only to leave under a rock not to be aware of the Specters, one of the most influential families in the city.
Before Ben could recover, Zayn’s hand settled at Lena’s shoulders—not rough, but possessive, firm enough to make a point—and guided her past him toward the exit. It was a quiet gesture, but unmistakably territorial.
Ben scoffed. “Excuse me, but I was speaking to Lena—”
Zayn stopped walking.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned.
“I would
