Then she fell in love with a whole new drug that could fill her veins

-'Heaven and Back' by Chase Atlantic

Recognition slams into me like a freight train.

The mystery man from the balcony.

Up close, he's even more striking. Tall-easily 6'3"-the grey Armani suit perfectly molds to his broad shoulders like a second skin. The type of perfection that holds you captive until all you want to do is just stop and stare.

In my field of business, you should always listen to your intuition and my intuition tells me to run and hide, never look back but my alcohol induced brain has other plans as I lift my hand caressing his jaw, light stubble prickles my skin, and I smile.

"Like what you see, beautiful?" he speaks in a deep and authoritative tone.

His voice is as deep as his presence but not in a suffocating way.

The mask obscured most of his face, but it couldn't hide the powerful set of his jaw, or the way his shoulders filled out his jacket with muscles that could easily overpower me. Maybe pin me down and have his way with me...Shut up! You're just horny.

My pulse did a little flutter-kick. Whiffs of his woodsy cologne are messing with my brain.

"It will be an honor, sweetheart" he chuckles, and I realize to my utter horror that I just blurted it out loud.

My cheeks burn as I fumble for a response, "I...I wa..s ju..st."

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

"I like watching you squirm," he murmurs.

A shiver runs down my spine, but I don't move. Can't move.

I put my hands on his chest full intent on pushing him away but end up gripping the lapels of his suit.

His lips graze the shell of my ear-not quite a kiss, more of a test. A warning. The heat between us spikes, thick and suffocating.

My lips part as my gaze lifts to his. Dark eyes filled with mischief lock onto mine. Familiar, too familiar. But why?

The reaction I have towards this mystery stranger is concerning on so many levels. My sense which are usually razor-sharp seem to dull. Which in itself should terrify me.

"You just can't seem to let go of me" stunned by his words, I look down only to find myself clinging onto him for dear life.

The fabric of his suit is soft beneath my calloused fingers as I slowly uncurl them.

"Ahem! Sorry for that" I mutter, looking anywhere but his oh-so-handsome face.

His lips twitch. "Very polite."

Then, he does something dangerous. He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His touch is light. Slow. Hypnotic.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

His knuckles graze my cheek-up, down, up, down. A rhythm I shouldn't find soothing.

I should lie. I should say anything but the truth. Instead, I hear myself murmur-

"There's a thrill in anonymity."

Woah. Where the hell did that come from?

He chuckles, the sound low and sinister as he tilts my head, pressing light feather like kisses to the hollow of my neck. He hums, the sound vibrates through me sending sparks of electricity throughout my body.

I'm tingling and throbbing, it's something that I have never experienced before. "Do you believe it's a good idea to be with a complete stranger in a dimly lit corner of a night club, kitten?" he whispers.

Kitten.

The word slithers through the haze of alcohol and heat, striking something raw inside me-sharp, unexpected. A needle dragging against old scars.

My body reacts before my mind catches up. I stiffen, muscles coiling tight as a wire.

"Don't call me that."

My voice is low but laced with steel, each syllable deliberate. A warning. A line drawn in the sand.

His expression doesn't shift, but something flickers in the depths of his dark eyes-interest, amusement... something else. A pause stretches between us, thick and weighty, before his gaze flickers downward.

A slow, measured descent.

His eyes catch on my arm, where my sleeve has ridden up just enough to expose the ink etched into my skin. A sleek black cat curled around the snout of a snarling wolf.

For the first time tonight, his mask slips.

A muscle ticks in his jaw, fingers twitching at his side. It's brief-so brief I might've missed it if I wasn't watching him so closely. But I am.

Recognition.

Something darker.

Something deeper.

I open my mouth to speak, but then he does something that stops the words cold.

He lifts his hand-slow, deliberate-and trails his fingers over the tattoo. Not a fleeting touch, not casual curiosity. His fingertips press lightly over the ink, tracing the wolf's snarling snout, the cat curled protectively around it.

Like he knows it.

Like he's seen it before.

Before I can dwell on it, a voice cuts through our little bubble sharp and stern.

"Ziva." Recognition dawns upon me. Sid.

The man in front of me looks just as startled, his intense stare locking onto mine. There's something unnerving about the way he watches me, like he's trying to piece something together. But before I can dwell on it, the sound of approaching footsteps cuts through the haze.

I register our compromising position a second too late. My body is pressed too close, his hand still ghosting over my skin.

Panic flares.

I shove him away, breaking whatever trance he's in. He stumbles back, but his hand twitches like he wants to reach for me.

Too late.

I'm already moving, slipping past him. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the music.

"We'll see each other again."

His dark promise slices through the air, quiet but certain.

I don't stop. Don't look back. But I feel the weight of his gaze scorching the back of my neck, heavy and unrelenting. I don't need to turn around to know who's watching.

My breath is coming too fast, the alcohol in my veins warring with the sudden crash of clarity.

That was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

And yet... something about him was familiar.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the ghostly sensation of his fingers against my skin. But it lingers-like the whisper of a memory just out of reach.

Sid is standing at the edge of the corridor, arms crossed, his dark eyes scanning me with that sharp, unreadable intensity he's perfected over the years.

"You're drunk," he states flatly.

"I'm tipsy," I correct, forcing my legs to steady beneath me.

He exhales through his nose, his gaze flicking past me-to the man I left standing in the shadows.

I don't dare look back, but I feel the tension crackle between them.

Silent. Lethal.

"Let's go," Sid orders, his voice carrying the kind of finality that leaves no room for argument.

I nod, swallowing hard.

But as I follow him down the hall, I can feel the stranger's eyes still on me.

Watching.

Waiting.

And I know one thing for certain

That man-the stranger, the one who recognized my tattoo, who called me kitten-

He's not just a stranger.

And this?

This is far from over.