by Ella Miles
You could say the same thing about me.
For now, though, I have a new obsession. One I will enjoy immensely. I get to watch, study, and learn everything I can about Liesel.
She knows that’s what I’m doing. It’s why she didn’t tell me all the details about where or even exactly when to meet her. She knows I can figure it out. And I haven’t had such a thrill surge through me in months.
The next four days, I become mesmerized by her. I have an excuse to watch her more closely than I ever have before. She may think she was out of my life, but I’ve been keeping tabs on her. It’s the most patient I’ve ever been, waiting for the moment she returned to my life. This wasn’t the way I expected her to return, but I welcome it all the same.
I tapped into the security feed in her condo and spent most of my nights watching her. Unfortunately, there are only cameras in the main living portion, so the most I get to see of her is when she walks through the living room and then out the door in the morning. She doesn’t even make a cup of coffee in her kitchen when she wakes up. She sticks to her bedroom. I don’t know if it’s her usual routine or if she knows I’m watching and is purposefully making it harder for me to see her.
But once outside her condo, she can’t hide.
I follow her in her cab.
I watch her strut like a true New York woman in her high heels and tight dresses as she enters her office building every day with her name scrawled across the nameplate leading to the top floor of a sky-rise. She’s the queen of her own domain.
The security in her office building has cameras everywhere. Watching her give orders in the boardroom to her team, give advice in a controlling yet flirtatious way to her clients, and then answer calls like a boss has me growing hard. Especially when she crosses her legs when she’s alone in her office and lets her dress inch higher up her thigh until it’s no longer professional. She holds a pen to her lips and sucks on the end, her long lashes fluttering up to the corner of her office every once in a while where the security camera sits.
My little huntress, drawing me in as she acts like a seductive minx, putting on a show just for me. And what a show it is. I could spend the rest of my life watching her.
But then I remember the truth. I remember who she is. What she’s done.
You think you want to kill, my huntress? You have no idea how. You have no idea what killing will do to you. And what need do you have to kill when you can seduce and draw a man in with one flick of your tongue across your bottom lip, one bat of your eyelashes, one raspy word from your voice? Men spend their entire lives looking for a woman like you.
I’ve had you this entire time.
Men are stupid; they don’t realize the thing they are drawn to is all a lie.
Liesel gets up from her desk and grabs her purse.
I frown as I look at the time. Four-thirty, way too early for her to be done with work for the day. Liesel is a workaholic. She usually isn’t done for the day until seven or eight. And then even after work is over, she usually meets a client for dinner. And I suspect she still goes over files in her bedroom at night. She’s never done working.
Where are you going, huntress?
It’s Friday, my last day to figure out where to meet her and who she wants to kill. I haven’t spent much time on the man she wants to hunt and kill. I’ve been much too focused on watching her.
Anyway, I could find the man in twenty minutes or less after I put some effort in, which I will tonight. For now, I need to know where she is going. I need to know everything about her.
Her cab stops in front of another shiny, high-rise building. My guess is that she’s meeting another client at their office instead of her own.
I park my car illegally on the side of the road and watch her from the driver’s seat. She doesn’t go into the building immediately. Instead, she pulls out her phone and talks on it for a few minutes as she paces back and forth.
A man comes out in a suit—the client she’s meeting.
I study him closer as he approaches her and then pulls her into an aggressively tight hug. He’s at least a decade older than her, his hair has speckles of gray in it, and he has more wrinkles around the eyes than any man our age.
The hairs on my arms stand up, and in my gut, I know this man isn’t a client.
Who is he?
His vile hand slips down from around her lower back, gripping her ass. His other hand tips her head back as his thumb strokes her carotid, like if she makes one wrong move, he’ll apply just the right amount of pressure to kill her and make it look like an accident. It’s a threatening move I’ve made too many times myself.
This is the man she is hunting.
This is the man she plans on killing tomorrow.
My gorgeous huntress, what trouble did you get into? What did he do to you to make you change your mind about killing men?
He had to have done more than just grope her inappropriately. Unfortunately, that’s something that she is used to. Men can’t control themselves around her—they turn into disgusting, rotten pigs who touch without asking.
Liesel knows how to handle men like that. I taught her in the fifth grade how to knee a man in the balls.
So I watch with a smirk, waiting for the moment when she’ll bring this asshole to his knees.
Her face tilts up with a smug smile. This is it—the moment she makes him pay for touching her without her permission.
She leans forward, closing the space between them as he plants a firm kiss on her lips.
I jump out of my car without thinking. My legs start moving toward them. He has no right to touch her! She didn’t ask him to touch her. She didn’t welcome his kiss. She didn’t—
The kiss ends, and I stop in my tracks as I watch her smile up at the man with more brightness than I knew existed in Liesel.
This man made her smile with a kiss.
That’s.
Not.
Possible.
Liesel doesn’t smile, not like that. She prowls and smirks and flashes seductive grins. But she doesn’t smile from true joy and happiness.
And yet, that’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s smiling up at a man a decade older.
Her hand is slipping into his, their fingers intertwining like they’ve done this a million times.
Her purse falls down her shoulder, and he takes it off and loops it over his shoulder, making her laugh.
She’s laughing.
I’m not close enough to hear it, but I’m close enough to see the sparks flying from her face.
Liesel is happy.
I never thought I’d see the day.
This isn’t the man she plans on killing tomorrow.
But he’s the man I want to kill for touching what’s mine.
5
Liesel
I felt Langston all week.
He was watching me every second of every day. I doubt he slept a minute all week.
Langston hasn’t changed at all. I know him better than anyone else.
I avoided the security cameras in my home that I know he tapped into. I avoided most of my usual evening routine.
The only time I put a show on for him was at the office. I drew him in like a hunter draws in prey. I just haven’t decided when or how I’m going to strike against him. At least not yet.
For now, I have more important matters to attend to. I have to kill the man who threatened me and my family.
I have to stop thinking about Langston. It’s impossible, though, since I feel him everywhere now. It’s a strange, yet familiar feeling. One that sends goosebumps up my spine at the most inconvenient times.
But Langston will serve his purpose. He’ll take the fall if or when the time comes for my blackmailer’s death. And then he will get out of my life once again, gone in the night just like before. And I can go back to the life I’ve chosen.
I slip on my white gloves as Waylon enters my bathroom. He hasn’t been sleeping over the last couple of nights since I’ve want
ed to throw Langston off and not give him any information about my life.
But I know he saw us kiss yesterday afternoon. I felt Langston’s heated, angry stare. He wasn’t happy with that kiss.
Well, too bad. I haven’t been happy with Langston my entire life.
“You ready, my love?” Waylon asks, as he leans against the doorframe, watching me. His eyes drag down my body, taking every inch of me in, sending butterflies fluttering through my stomach and up my chest.
Waylon’s effect on me is different than any other man I’ve ever met. It’s more intense. More passionate. Just more.
It took me months to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I still haven’t decided, and we’ve been together for over a year. I don’t think I ever will.
But it’s a feeling. There was once a time that I didn’t think I could ever feel. So I welcome feeling anything at all, even if it isn’t exactly pleasant.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s wearing a tux that makes him look rugged and sophisticated. It’s black, like his hair, lightly peppered with gray. When we first met, he used to color it, but I find the fact that he’s older, more mature, and understands the world more than I do, comforting. And I admit, a bit sexy. So he stopped—for me.
His jaw is clean-shaven, showing off its squareness. His eyes are dark with a few lines in the corner that show the depths of his knowledge and worldly experience.
Even though he’s leaning against the wall, his posture is impeccable. He never falters on that. He always stands tall and proud—that’s what I love most about him.
We are the same, him and I—we’ve been handed shitty cards, but we rose above it all. In our own way, we’ve found our power. And now together, we will rule this city—queen and king.
“Yes,” I say, standing from my makeup chair and letting him see the full effect of my hair, makeup, and dress all at once.
Waylon’s smile grows from ear to ear. “You’re perfect, my beautiful one.”
I force myself to smile. I hate compliments, but I should accept one from Waylon.
He holds out his arm, and I take it. He leads me to the waiting limo to take us to a ball where we will wine and dine all night, showing the city what true royalty looks like.
The ballroom is grand and sparkling as we enter. Tonight’s facade is a fundraiser to feed the hungry in the city, but it’s really an excuse for all the wealthy to dress up, network, and show off. They gain more power by making small threats and puffing out their chests to show that they should be the ones in control. That’s what all these men and women are doing. They don’t know that they’ve already lost. Waylon and I have already won.
Or maybe they do. Because all eyes in the room are on us from the second we enter. Everyone tries to jockey for our attention. Everyone murmurs, speaking in hushed tones about us.
I grin. Tomorrow my cheeks are going to hurt from all the smiling, but I’ll keep doing it if it gains me more power.
“I hear you are running for governor,” one of the men says.
“So word has gotten out already,” Waylon laughs it off.
I flick Waylon a knowing look. We were the ones who leaked the news. Waylon is running for governor today. Tomorrow it could be the presidency.
He wants power, real power, legal power—unlike some people I know.
That’s what draws me to him.
Langston Pearce.
He’s hidden from my view among a group of men chatting together. All I can see is a single eye peeking out from between two people. An eye watching me with unsettling dominance.
I wobble on my heels as my knees weaken from the power of his gaze.
Waylon may make me feel things I’ve never felt before, but Langston is the only man who can turn my knees weak, my heart still, and my world on its head.
Both men have a strong effect on me. Both men make me wish I’d never met them, because being with them means giving up some of my absolute control.
Neither man will let me have complete control. They want it for themselves.
My life would have been the same with Langston as it is with Waylon—a constant battle of wills. The difference is Waylon makes me stronger, while Langston makes me weaker. And I won’t accept weakness.
I draw my eyes away as I hold onto my champagne glass, blocking my face from Langston’s view.
The group mingling with us laughs at something Waylon says, and I laugh along with them. I could play my role in my sleep—the role of a trophy wife, clinging to Waylon’s arm. And yet, I won’t cling. I’m not here because of Waylon. I’m here on my own. I made it on my own. I don’t need any man, Waylon knows it. He can’t control me. It’s why he knows that if I touch his arm, it’s not because I need him to lean on. It’s because I’m playing the part.
Still, when I’m drawn back into the conversation, I’m no longer really here. Instead, I’m focused on the feeling of Langston’s eyes lingering over me, heating me from head to toe with just his hungry gaze.
From the outside, I ignore his stare. But Langston’s wreaking havoc on my insides—my gut is twisted, my heart is fluttering, my breath is shallow, practically panting to breathe him in.
But then I see Fitz—the other man I’m here for. The man I’ve hunted down and traced to the threatening letter I was sent—a man I plan on killing.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say with a seductive smile before I kiss Waylon on the cheek and whisper into his ear that I’ll be back soon.
He nods solemnly before turning back to entertaining the group around us. He doesn’t ask where I’m going. He lets me be as independent as I want, even if he disagrees with me.
I spot Fitz, my target, as I strut through the ballroom. I know I have several eyes on me, but I only feel Langston’s. I don’t let myself look at him. I know where I stand with Langston. I know that although we will never be together, never even be friends, he will follow me. So I focus on my target.
A waiter walks over to the group he’s standing in, leaning in to offer more champagne. And I take my chance.
I step right into the center of the five man group. All eyes and voices fall, as they all concentrate on keeping their boners from making an appearance as they drool over my body covered in lace and black fabric. My ass and legs look great beneath the slit in the dress, but my boobs are the real show as the dress cuts down in a low V, showing off most of my breasts.
Men are so easy to manipulate when you have a body like mine.
I set my empty glass on the tray, leaning across Fitz’s face as I do. I stand almost a foot taller than him in my heels. Then I take another glass of champagne from the tray.
“Meet me on the balcony,” I whisper into his ear before I turn and walk away toward the balcony. I know that he’s following me without having to turn and look. In fact, I know that two men are following me.
The air is warm as I stand on the balcony a dozen floors up, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city. Anywhere else, a balcony like this might seem romantic. But here in New York City, the city that never sleeps, all you hear is the honk of horns and the bustle of people. You breathe in the heavy haze in the air. This sight, the energy here, makes me never want to leave.
“You found me,” I say when I hear Fitz’s heavy footsteps. He would make a terrible assassin, which is one of the reasons I was able to find him so easily. He’s used to dealing with much less skilled people. He didn’t know he was dealing with a survivor. He doesn’t know that I more than survive—I thrive. And I won’t let a nameless suit like him threaten my life. I’ve survived much worse men. This man is nothing. Soon, he’ll truly be a nothing.
“When a beautiful woman tells you to meet her, you meet her.”
I hold my champagne glass up as I turn and lay eyes on him, reading him like a book. He knows exactly who I am. He knows that I know who he is. He has a bulge in the side of his pants, where I know he keeps his weapon. He thinks I’m weak, that he can just pull the gun out, and I’ll be on m
y knees begging for my life, willing to do whatever he wants.
Not likely.
I’d rather die.
“Your first lie, Mr. Fitz Nash.” I sip the too sweet champagne.
He puts his hands in his pockets, close to the gun, but not quite touching it as he takes a couple of steps toward me.
“I don’t lie.”
He stops and leans against the cement railing next to me.
I let my eyelashes bat up at him, drawing him in as I lick my bottom lip. He leans closer, thinking I’m going to kiss him. I’ll do a lot to hunt a man. I’ll play my part, but I’ll never kiss or fuck a man I don’t want to, just to get what I want. That’s where I draw the line.
There will be no kiss.
“No, you’re just a blackmailing bastard who thinks he can threaten me and my family for easy money.”
His eyes blink in shock, and he reaches for his gun. But I’m faster.
I smash my champagne glass hard against his forehead. He palms the large gash while I take the moment to casually grab his gun.
It takes the bastard a few minutes to realize what’s happening; he’s so focused on the blood pouring down the front of his face, dripping into his eyes, spilling onto his lips and tux. He doesn’t realize I’m aiming a gun at his heart.
Slowly, he raises his hands.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
I remove the safety. “Why do people keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll leave you and your family alone.”
“Why? Why did you target us? Was it just about the money, or was it more?” Please, don’t say it was about the blasted letter my father gave me before he disappeared from my life.
“I knew you two had money. I thought with your family’s political ambitions that you would just pay and move on. I never intended to harm you.”
He lowers his hands.
I don’t know why I’m letting him talk. This is all information I can get on my own. And I suspect he isn’t telling the truth. Just shoot him.
