by S. Ann Cole
Reading his expression was damn near impossible, so I smiled and slowly, sexily, retreated my hand from his glass, and went back to tracing the back of his hand. “I want you to ‘mess around’ with me. What would it take for you to make me an exception?”
“Why would I do that?” he questioned, watching me closely. “What’s so special about you, Blood?”
With my free hand, I reached up and pinched one of my nipples under the silky material of my costume top. “Because I’m so fucking good, I make men scream, not growl.”
Head tipped to the side, he asked, “And what do these men scream for, Blood?”
Keeping my eyes locked with his, I sultrily whispered the honest truth: “Their lives.”
At this, he smiled and picked up his drink. “Tempting…I’ll think about it.”
With bated breath, I watched as he brought the glass to his mouth. Holy fuck. It couldn’t possibly be this easy.
“No rush. I’m patient,” I responded, trying to look at his eyes and not at the drink in his hand.
The glass moved closer and closer to his mouth, his eyes watching me over the rim…then suddenly he jerked as if something startled him, and as he reached inside his pocket for whatever it was that made him jump, the highball glass tilted inward and spilled all over him.
“Ah shit,” he grumbled.
His hand came out of his pocket with a vibrating cellphone, and he slammed it down on the table along with the now empty glass.
With his hands held out from his body, he glanced down at his soaked frontal, then across the table at me. He was wearing a slight, toothless smile, almost like a smirk, but at the same time, his jaw was set hard, and his eyes were so dark and frightening now, I had to look away.
There went my easy fucking kill.
The same waitress from earlier materialized with a hand towel and began dabbing it on Chad’s wet clothes to help. But he shooed her away, telling her he was alright.
When it was just him, me, silence, and his stare left at the table, I cleared my throat. “You should go change into some dry clothes. I could help you if you’d like…”
Silence. Dark stare.
Okay, I had no idea what happened to him in the last few minutes, because he was a different person now. What’s with the stare? Did he know I poisoned his drink?
No. Impossible. He couldn’t just know that. I hadn’t been obvious with it. I’d done the Kill-Ring trick more times than I could count and it worked unerringly. There’s no possible way he could’ve known.
So, what’s with the death stares?
It was beginning to unnerve me how unnerved he made me.
I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him. I wasn’t supposed to have any kind of reaction to him. I was supposed to be a steel post. Do the job and get out. Why was I letting him and his scare-stare get to me?
I was trained better than this.
Picking up my purse, I eased out of the booth and stood up. I needed some time to get myself in check. To get my priorities in line. To slaughter my fucking fears. “I should go.”
“Yes, you should,” he agreed. “It’s wise.”
Sucking in a breath, I walked away from the booth, from him, repeating the mantra: I am not afraid of Chadrick Niiveux. I am not afraid of Chadrick Niiveux. I am not afraid of Chadrick Niiveux.
Was blind, but now I see…
CHAD
He was seriously fucked.
F.u.c.k. fucked.
For this girl, he should be feeling nothing but hate, knowing her intentions. Instead, he felt something else entirely. Something baffling. Something detrimental. Something insane.
He was feeling her.
He wanted her.
No, not her soul. But her. He wanted to steal her, brand her, make her his.
What the fuck was wrong with him? The girl was trying to kill him, for shit’s sake.
Chad watched as Jhay sauntered away from the booth, her strides confident and unshaken. Her black, waist-length ponytail swaying behind her in sync with her hips. The girl was so fucking sexy it was terrifyingly alarming.
He couldn’t believe his little Tweety Byrd had grown up to be so cock-tormentingly hot. No doubt in his mind that body of hers had been the weakness of all her male victims. And judging by his current reaction to her, it would be his weakness, too.
Fucking hell.
Her fear of him was non-existent. Which was both new and challenging for Chad. Because if he’d been just another unsuspecting victim of hers, she would have easily taken him clean out with the Kill-Ring trick just now.
A Kill-Ring was a plain titanium band one would spot on the finger of most assassins. An ever-present, inconspicuous weapon. Some rings had colorless powder poison (best for food), some had clear liquid (best for drinks), and some had a microscopic needle that is sometimes unfelt when pressed into the skin to inject the poison.
But if Jhay wanted to take him out, she had to get a little more creative, and a lot less predictable, because those tactics were old in his book. Ones he’d been doing since he was sixteen. Which had him wondering what ancient asshole trained her. The Kill-Ring was an abused method: old. Still effective yes, but to be used on him? Nah.
Chad got the feeling Jhay had no idea he used to be an assassin, too. That he knew everything she knew, and more. Mastered, rated, five-starred.
If she’d known any of this, she would’ve devised a well-thought-out plan to bring him down instead of taking the obvious routes.
And now that he had eyes on her, he would always be three steps ahead of her.
Little Jhay…How did she get like this? What happened when he left her that night? He’d spared her life. Seen to it that she’d be taken care of.
But seeing her now, how ruined she was, made him wish he would’ve killed her to protect her from this life. This path she’d chosen. A life he’d never wish for anyone. A path he was forced to travel along. Childhood snatched away.
Now he was nothing but a wandering black hole mindlessly stealing souls.
Jhay didn’t deserve this life. But one look at her, and he knew she was long gone. At this stage she was probably wishing for death, but she wouldn’t die, she wasn’t allowed to die.
He’d been at this stage, too, once. And he knew exactly what it felt like; lonely, empty, black. Like he was living in a shadowy, windless world all by himself. With nightmares, darkness and screams into the void.
Chad had found his way out, though. And watching Jhay leave him right now, weaving through the crowd, he felt it incumbent upon him to save her.
Ronnie, his head of security, slipped into the vacant seat across from him in the booth, watching him watch Jhay. “I made the call in time, boss?”
“Yeah,” Chad replied, still eying Jhay as she accosted a customer, raking her fingernails down the ugly chump’s flannel-shirted chest while whispering in his ear.
She was working—or at least pretending to work. Most likely because she suspected he’d be watching her.
For one, she seemed to hate men. Despite her act of flirting and provocativeness just now, it was pretty obvious men intrigued her not one iota. And this notion crippled him. Because if she was bisexual, he would stand at least half a chance of stealing her away from this ugly, disgusting life, give her a clean, normal life and make her his woman.
Take her. Claim her. Rename her.
Sure, she’d offered herself earlier, but he was positive that was with the underlying intention of getting him alone in a room so she could slit his throat.
Ah hell. He. Wanted. Jhay Byrd. No sense denying it.
But that in itself was a major problem: one, she wanted to kill him. Two, she was a full-blown lesbian. And three, she wanted to fucking kill him.
With a resigned sigh, Chad settled in for the very stupid and very dangerous challenge of winning Jhay Byrd. His days were about to get real fucking interesting.
Ronnie’s voice had him breaking his hawk-watch on Jhay. “Can I ask you one questio
n, boss?”
“What?”
“Why the hell haven’t you killed her yet?”
Good question.
Jhay should have been dead the second he found out her motive. And even if he’d decided to just watch her for a while, that poisoning his drink move should have sealed the deal. Idiots who came after him usually die halfway to their goal. But here he was, thinking about having an impossible relationship with a girl who, less than five minutes ago, tried to take him out.
He must be losing it.
Then again, he wasn’t sure he minded losing it for her. It wouldn’t be the first time he imagined an impossible relationship with her: When they were much younger; eight years apart. Yeah, his sick ass had wanted a little girl who hadn’t even started budding tits yet.
Impossible.
Avoiding Ronnie’s question, he asked, “Does she drive herself to work?”
“Yeah, a fucking 2013 Niiveux.” Ronnie scoffed. “Does she even realize how out of place it looks for a stripper to be driving a Niiveux to work?”
“She’s only twenty-two, Ron. Of course she’s gonna be a little rough around the edges. We notice her sloppiness only because we’re more experienced, we know the game. But I wouldn’t underestimate her.”
“No,” Ronnie dragged out, eyeballing him like he was a crazy man, “we shouldn’t ‘underestimate’ her. We should kill her.”
“Not yet,” Chad warned, pinning his main hand with a warning glare.
Ronnie was fiercely loyal, and had a habit of taking matters into his own hand to keep Chad protected. Whatever it took. And Chad never questioned his judgment because his no-tolerance, no-hostages, no-chances approach to things always saved Chad a lot of pain and trouble in the end, to be honest. But the last thing Chad wanted was Ronnie killing Jhay on his behalf.
“You won’t lay a finger on her. Got that?” Chad said. “If anyone’s killing her, it’s me.”
Ronnie grunted his response, clearly disapproving. But Chad knew once he issued him a warning, he would heed it.
“Now, I want you to do something for me.”
FOUR
T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear…
JHAY
To avoid having to lay it to the blonde stripper that I couldn’t really take her home with me because I already had a blonde home waiting for me, I got dressed ten minutes before closing time and loafed around in the customers’ bathroom so she’d think I quit early.
Once all the dancers had left, I exited the bathroom and ambled at my own pace through the now empty club, chin-lifting a “night-night” to the securities preparing to shut down.
Neither Chad nor his bodyguards were around, and I felt a little at ease that he’d already left, because I was still a tad shaken up from my failed attempt to poison him earlier. At this point, all I wanted to do was recklessly speed home, wrap my weary body around Sydney’s, fall asleep, and never wake up.
I was just so tired. Of life. Of everything.
In the almost empty parking lot at the side of the club, I keyed my car open and eased into the bucket seat behind the steering wheel. But when I hit ‘Start Engine’, the car wouldn’t start.
Brand new car. Niiveux. Bought six months ago. Gas tank on F. Yet the car wouldn’t start.
Gotta be kidding me.
Yanking on the lever below to pop the hood, I climbed out and rounded the car to assess what the shitting hell was going on. Obviously someone had fucked with my car. A brand new Niiveux didn’t just ‘not start’. They were faultless top-of-the-line vehicles that would take a crash or bomb explosion to devalue.
In the minute I raised the hood and peered over to examine, I sensed someone behind me. Great, some sorry ass punk was going to try raping me in the parking lot. And I, unfortunately, would have to rip his seedy balls off and feed them to him.
I so didn’t plan on killing anyone tonight—well, anyone who’s not Chad. But hey, this might take the edge off so I wouldn’t end my night feeling like a worthless shithead.
Remaining bent over the car like any other unsuspecting, air-headed, plastic-tits pole swinger, I gave the attacker time to get closer, teasing him with the smell of victory. Victory he would never taste.
When he was a calculated foot away from me, in practiced speed I slammed down the hood of the car, whirled around and slid my ass up on the hood, drew my legs back, then slammed them forward so they connected, hard, solid and forceful on the attacker’s chest.
He let out a distressed groan and stumbled back from the strong impact of my boots. But I gave him no time to recover as I swiftly launched off the hood and whirl-kicked him across the face, an “umnf” leaving him. Catching my balance, I did it again. Balance, then repeat.
The attacker stumbled back with each kick, suppressing his grunts of pain. And like a raging blind bat out of hell, I was charging too fast in the darkness to see which idiot it was. This double-assed fool was going to die tonight. For messing with the wrong fake stripper. Because the anger from my failure tonight, failure for the past six months, failure of my entire existence, was all there on the surface, fueling me. So he couldn’t have picked a worse time to fuck with me. If I’d had a weapon on me, he’d be fish-out-of-water dead already.
Beating him to death was just as good, though. The rush was greater; the adrenalin a sweet, sweet high. Squatting slightly at the knees, I grinned like a possessed maniac and charged forward, knocking the sucker flat on his back. Promptly straddling him, I reached down and grabbed his head firmly in my hands to snap his neck. Sharp, quick and to the point…but that’s when I recognized him.
Chad.
Fucking hell.
Why would he try to attack me?
Face only half-lit by the splice of light peeking around the side of the club, lip busted and bleeding, red bruises on both cheekbones, he stared up at me with a calm, stout-heartedness, saying nothing.
Even with the mess his face was at the moment, he was…heck, I had to admit, detrimentally beautiful.
My bottom lip parted ways with the upper one to let out a shaky gasp. A gasp of awe and admiration. I had the sudden urge to orgasm. Long and hard.
Snap his neck, Jhay. This is it. So easy. Do the job. Snap his goddamn neck!
This man, this spell-casting man, wasn’t even begging for his life. Nor did he display even a hint of fear. All he did was stare up at me with intense curiosity, and…was that lust?
Snap. His. Neck. Jhay! If you want your freedom, kill the asshole, now.
Time stopped, and all we did was stare at each other. No breaths. No words. No threats.
And then I did the unthinkable.
I lowered my head, and kissed him. Fucking kissed him. My target.
And sweet fuck, he was kissing me back.
What the hell was going on?
Releasing my hold on his face, I slid my fingers into his hair and plunged my tongue deep into his mouth, the coppery sting of his blood dancing on my tongue. And oh my freaking God this felt good. So good. Crazy good. Why did it feel so good? I hated men. Hated them. Yet here I was. Kissing one. A man.
Not just a man, but my very target. And loving every goddamn minute of it.
Sinking my canine into the fresh bust on his lip, I tore the split wider until more blood began leaking into my mouth, spicing, seasoning, flavoring our kiss. Chad let out a pained sound as I licked up his blood like a thirsty vampire, but he didn’t stop, and instead gripped my head and encouraged me deeper.
This was a crude, bloody kiss. Messy and unclean. Sinful and savage.
Just as the thought to rip his clothes off and fuck him right there in the parking lot started to cross my mind, two strong arms grabbed me from behind and hauled me off him.
“You stupid bitch,” a man’s voice growled in my ear.
Locking one big, muscular arm around my neck, he held me in place so he could withdraw his gun. And as he pressed it to the side of my head, ready to blow my marrow to bits, I heard Chad’s shout:
“Ronnie, no!!”
With as much room as Ronnie’s hook around my neck gave, I looked over to see Chad jolting up to his feet, his eyes wide and panicky. Fearing.
For me.
A couple minutes ago when I’d been about to snap his neck, he’d never uttered a single plea. He never panicked. He never feared.
But now that a gun was at my head…the frightened expression on his face was mystifying, to say the least.
“Boss, you serious?” the big guy rumbled in an incredulous voice. “She’s gonna fucking ki—”
“Let her go,” Chad told him. “And leave us.”
When the man didn’t budge, Chad said more forcefully, “That’s an order, Ronnie.”
With a grunt, Ronnie roughly released me, shoving me so hard I lost balance and crashed right on my ass. Then he stomped away like a pouty Goliath, leaving us in the dark, grumbling his disapproval of his boss’s choice.
Chad strode over, looked down at me and held out his hand. For a long while, I just stared at his hand, confused as hell, before taking it and getting to my feet.
“You okay?” he asked me, once I was righted.
A scoff left me as I dusted the dirt off my ass. “I just kicked the shit out of you. I’m more than okay. How’s your jaw doing? Dislocated? You might wanna go inside and get some ice for—”
Fast as light, he grabbed me and drove me back against the side of my car, glaring down at me, his forearm fixed immovably under my neck, rendering me immobile. “Why did you kiss me?”
“Why do I get the feeling you like it dirty and bloody?” I squeezed out.
Chad jerked his forearm up, pressing it harder under my neck, making me gasp. “Why did you kiss me?”
“Why is your cock so fucking hard right now? Does getting your ass kicked by a girl turn you on that badly?”
“Blood…”
“Yes, boss?” I answered in a saccharine voice.
“Answer.my.fucking.question. Else I’m gonna give Ronnie the green light to put that bullet in your head.” As he said this, his forearm pressed deeper and deeper into my neck, cutting off my air.
