by Ella Miles
“Are you working alone?” I ask, instead.
He smirks, thinking I’m weak. It’s exactly what I need to be able to pull the trigger.
I squeeze.
Unfortunately, he moves just in time, and I only graze his arm. His eyes grow wide, and the air changes as he realizes I truly do intend to kill him. And there is no one to save him.
The city is too loud for anyone to put a thought to the occasional gunshot. And everyone in the party is already occupied. They don’t care about the outside world.
“Goodbye, Fitz.” I squeeze the trigger, but a loud movement to my side makes me turn.
Langston.
I frown as I realize what he’s done. The gun is battled out of my hand. Fitz holds the gun to my head.
I’m the hunter who never kills.
Because Langston is the killer.
That much will never change.
6
Langston
Liesel was actually going to kill this shithead.
She would have killed him.
I couldn’t let her kill—not a low life like him. When she kills, it needs to be worth it. Her first kill will stay with her forever, as will each kill after that. I don’t want her thinking about this bastard one second longer than she has to.
Liesel’s fuming at me as Fitz grips her around the neck with one arm and holds the gun at her temple. She’s not scared; she doesn’t fear for her life. She knows that I won’t let anyone hurt her, but her red cheeks, teeth biting down on her lip, and daggers for eyes let me know how pissed she is.
“You couldn’t let me have him,” she spits out as she pulls from Fitz’s grasp, almost getting away on her own without my help.
I stand still as a statue, hoping that if I let her think about this a minute, she’ll calm down. As long as she’s in Fitz’s hold, she has time to realize she shouldn’t be fighting me. I already know how she’ll feel in my arms.
As much as I yearn for that, and hate to see her in another man’s, I can’t have what I want. I never get what I want.
Yet, it won’t stop me from demanding it, from eventually getting it. I’m tired of being patient when it comes to Liesel. Our story has lingered on for far too long. It’s time to end it.
“You’re the huntress,” I say.
She shakes her head, her anger pulsing off her in waves. “You’re the killer.”
Fitz’s eyes narrow as he takes me in, trying to understand who I am and what I’m doing here. Unlike Liesel, though, I won’t be asking any questions.
“Don’t take a step forward, or I’ll kill her,” Fitz says.
I smirk. If he killed her, it would make my life a lot easier.
Liesel notices my smirk, and her glare intensifies, as if to say, I’ll kill you and haunt you from the grave if you let me die.
I give one look to Liesel, letting her read my thoughts like we used to be able to do as kids. She slams her elbow into Fitz’s groin.
It’s enough to get him to release her.
I take slow steps forward as Fitz hunches over in pain. I grab his gun that he so carelessly let Liesel take from him. He almost let her kill him. I pocket it from Liesel, and then I snap his neck. His body falls to the ground in one crumple.
Liesel gasps. Even though she’s seen death hundreds of times. Even though she’s seen me kill—it still takes her breath away every time.
After a moment, she composes herself and stares at me with such a harshness in her eyes as she folds her arms across her chest.
“I knew I should have found someone else,” Liesel says.
I don’t answer her. She should have found someone else. But she found me. She always finds me. That’s why our lives keep intertwining.
I step closer to her. I expect her to slap me. To try and knee me in the balls. For her to try and steal my gun.
She does none of those things. She just lets me get close to her.
“If you need to kill someone, you call me. You don’t do it yourself,” I growl my command at her.
She scoffs. “Since when do I take orders from you?”
I grab her hips and jerk her to me until her chest is flush against mine.
“Never.” But you will soon, my huntress. You will soon. You won’t have a choice.
The music carries from the ballroom, making me want to dance now that Liesel is in my arms. So that’s what I do. I sink my fingers into her lush hips, and we sway together.
It’s wrong for so many reasons.
There is a dead man on the floor next to us.
We aren’t together.
We will never be together.
She’s with Waylon.
And I’m—well, my situation is complicated.
And yet, I can’t not touch her. I can’t not have her. It’s always been this way with us. Even when she was in love with my best friend. Even when she finally set her eyes on me, we both knew that we could never be.
We just never speak the reasons out loud. The reasons would all be lies anyway. That’s the one thing we share—lies.
We both grew up lying to survive, and it’s stayed with us.
“What are you doing with Waylon Brown?” I ask.
She tilts her head as she looks up at me, her long throat revealed to me, and if I dip my head lower, I can see her glorious tits staring up at me. But it’s her pulse in her neck that has my attention. I can see how fast her heart is racing.
Liesel wasn’t scared of the man who held a gun to her head. She’s scared of me. She knows I’m no longer on her side—and she knows I’m far more dangerous than Fitz was. I could harm her, kill her.
“He’s rich and good looking, why wouldn’t I be with him?” she answers back, tilting her head all the way back as I dip her over the ledge, knowing the danger makes her conflicted between desire and terrified. It also gives me the view of her elated face, and of course, I take the moment to run both my hand and eyes down the front of her dress. Her skin melts like hot silk beneath my fingers.
“Liar. You don’t care about money. Or good looks.”
I pull her back up, whipping her hard into my body. The movement takes her breath away.
“Power then?” she says it like a question.
I shake my head. That’s a lie too. Everything the woman says is a lie. I haven’t figured out what she’s doing with that man yet, but I will.
I just have to read between the lines, do some investigating. There is always a reason with Liesel, and it’s never the obvious. She would never let herself fall in love. Even though she doesn’t supply love as an answer, I know that’s not why she’s with him.
“I didn’t think you owned a tux,” she says, her eyes suffocating my body with her stare.
“I don’t.”
She rolls her eyes, calling out my lie, before her eyes flick to the dead man on the floor, and suddenly she’s sober.
“Why did you want him dead?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I found the security video of her reading the blackmail, the threat against her family.
“Stop asking questions you already know the answer to.”
She pushes away until she’s no longer in my arms.
My arms hang at my side like dead weights, no longer having a purpose.
“I’ll wire you the money I owe,” she says, still staring at Fitz.
“I already told you, I don’t want your money.”
Liesel finally looks at me, her face unreadable. But I know she’s scheming, trying to come up with a way to hurt me.
Just like I’m conniving ways to hurt her.
“You’ll take care of the body?” she asks, already knowing I will. This isn’t the first time I’ve killed a man. I work in security for the Black family, a crime family who rules the seas. I’ve disposed of plenty of bodies and killed more times than most people make new acquaintances.
I walk over to the body. There’s a reason I didn’t shoot him. I don’t want to haul a body down the stairs.
“Stan
d back,” I order.
For once, Liesel listens as I squat down to stare at the bastard. I should be thanking him. He gave me a reason to be in Liesel’s life again.
Then I heave him up over the railing and watch as his body falls down the twelve stories and hits the sidewalk below.
There is a soft screech that reaches our ears from up here.
People will believe it was a suicide. I’ll take care of the security cameras so no one knows we were up here with him.
Even if the police don’t believe it, they won’t trace his death to us. And if they found out someone in the Black family was involved, they wouldn’t care. They know they have no power against us. We rule wherever we go.
I grab Liesel’s arm—she trembles at my touch, and then I lead her back inside, off the balcony. Just because I can convince the police of anything doesn’t mean I want to deal with them.
Liesel doesn’t comment on how I decided to deal with the body. She may not have spent her life killing, but she’s watched me kill. She’s watched Enzo and Zeke. She’s seen as much death as I have. She’s felt as much loss.
She’s just as broken and fucked up as I am.
I stop us in the hallway, and I cage her in, putting my arms on either side of her head. She doesn’t act like she’s trapped, though.
That’s because she’s not. My tricks don’t work on her, just like hers don’t work on me.
“We’re done then. I won’t see you again for six months or more. And when we both go to our friends’ birthday parties for their kids, we won’t speak to each other. Yes?” Her voice is sharp, full of authority.
She’s my rival in every sense. Even if I was okay with her suggestion, I wouldn’t let her win this easily.
I lean in, our faces inches apart until she can feel the power of every word I say to her.
“We aren’t done, baby. I did you a favor. I killed for you. There was a time I would have done it for free, but not anymore. Now you owe me a debt.”
Her nostrils flare, her pupils dilate, and her heartbeat jumps in her throat.
I drag my eyes down her body one last time—over her perfect blonde curls, down her sharp clavicles to her full breasts, over her lace-covered stomach, drooling as I continue down her hips to the slit revealing her toned legs. She’s every man’s dream—but she’s my nightmare.
“I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want your money.”
She takes a shuttered breath. I have no doubt that her panties are soaked.
I let my eyes darken. I let my voice deepen. I let every bit of the menacing beast inside me roar to life. The part of me that scares most people, but will only turn Liesel on even more.
That will confuse her even more than she’s already perplexed.
She thinks I came for her, and I did. She’s terrified of what I could do to her. And she should be because I’ll take more than she can ever imagine.
“You owe me a debt, Liesel Dunn. You’ve owed me a debt for a long time. And soon, I plan on collecting.”
7
Liesel
I owe Langston a debt.
He thought those words would scare me. He thought he could just demand I give him whatever he wants because he killed for me.
I don’t think so.
He calls me huntress, but I’m so much more—lawyer, badass woman, queen. I don’t take orders from anyone. I don’t owe anyone. Especially not an egotistical man on a power trip who negated our agreement when he killed Fitz instead of letting me do it like we agreed.
As far as I’m concerned, I owe him nothing for what he did. He didn’t keep to our verbal contract.
I’d be willing to pay him for his time, nothing more.
And as for any past debts I owe him, he can suck it. Our past stays in the past.
There is no way he’s going to start collecting on old debts. If he does, then it means I get to collect too, and he owes me as much or more than I owe him.
But I know what Langston really wants. The same thing he’s always wanted.
Me.
My body.
My soul.
He wants to control me. He wants to boss me around in the bedroom.
No way in hell am I letting that happen.
Not just because I’d be cheating on Waylon if I did. Langston doesn’t deserve that part of me—ever.
And the only person left on this earth who terrifies me is Langston.
“You’re all worked up, my love,” Waylon says, kissing my shoulder.
He’s right. He can read me well when I get worked up like this. My body is hot and agitated and horny. God, I’m so horny.
Sure, Langston turned me on. He’s a blonde god in a tux. He looked like a hotter James Bond. I’ve seen Langston a lot of ways—T-shirt and shorts, shirtless in swim trunks, even naked. But it’s a rare occasion to see him in a tux or suit. He hates them.
Yet, he can wear a tux with the best of them. He fits into the world of powerful men, whether he wants to or not. All he has to do to belong is get a respectable job and wear a suit or tux with pride.
But that’s something Langston will never do. He’d rather take orders from his best friend. Protect and serve—that’s Langston.
I used to like it, especially when he was protecting me. But I lost that right a long time ago. And apparently, now I have to pay him back when he protects me.
Ugh, how annoying.
The elevator doors open to Waylon’s penthouse. He has an early flight tomorrow, which is why we are staying here tonight instead of my place. People used to think it was weird that we both still have our own places, but both places are incredible; it would be a shame to give either of them up. We can easily afford both. And they are located across town from each other, which makes it convenient to stay at one or the other depending on our schedules.
“You think you can help me work off some steam?” I ask, running my tongue over my bottom lip.
His eyes light up with anticipation. He loses his stone, distinguished expression, and turns into a horny boy willing to please me—just the way I like it. Some women prefer a man who dominates them in the bedroom, one who ties them up, spanks them, bosses them around.
Not me—that all seems too degrading. I like the power. I like to be the boss.
Maybe it’s because of my history.
Maybe it’s because of who I am.
Either way, it’s the only way I fuck—I’m the one who dominates.
Waylon unlocks the front door and holds it open for me.
I grab his tie as I walk past and yank him inside before slamming him against the wall, already feeling a tiny bit better now that I’m going to get a dozen orgasms tonight to make up for what Langston said and did.
“Yea, baby, use me. Hurt me. Take out your anger and pent up emotion on me. I want to know how badly you want me, because it can’t be as much as I want you,” Waylon says, kissing my neck sweetly.
I smirk. He has no idea about my past, but he does know that I’m fucked up.
And then I remember the cameras.
There are more in Waylon’s place than in mine. Here there are even cameras in the bedroom.
Waylon is paranoid, and his one fetish is watching us fuck over and over. There is even a mirror on the ceiling so he can have a better view.
Where there are cameras, there is Langston. I know he’s tapped into the security feed. I know he’s watching, which makes this all the more fun.
Langston thinks he can demand I repay my debt to him by giving him my body. I’ll show him exactly what he’s missing, exactly what he’ll never have.
“Kneel,” I say.
Waylon looks up at me excitedly. He may like ordering people around in the boardroom, but here, he likes me bossing him.
I look up at the camera in the entryway corner.
I reach around my back and unzip my dress. Then I let the straps fall off my shoulders, before wiggling my hips as I push the dress to a
pile on the floor.
I’m wearing nothing but heels and black lacy lingerie—bra, thong, and garter.
“Lick me. Make me come.”
Waylon’s eyes brighten. He loves making me come, but this isn’t for him. This is for Langston, to show him what he will never taste. What he will never have.
Waylon’s hands slide up the length of my long legs, and I focus on his touch instead of staring into the camera. Langston already knows that I know he’s watching. Now to revel in the feeling of ecstasy as Waylon worships my body in a way that Langston never will.
His fingers hook into the bands of my thong, and he carefully slides it down my body, his brooding eyes locked on his prize as he drops my panties to the floor in a pile on top of my dress.
He licks his lips like he’s about to devour his favorite food. Waylon is a lot of things; he has a lot of traits I like about him. But this might be what I like the most.
“Waylon, lick me,” I command, my voice raspy in anticipation of him eating me out.
He grins at the desperation in my voice and then does as I order. His arms wrap around my hips as his tongue licks the length of my slit, tasting the sweetness of my arousal. He moans, sending vibrations through my body.
My body shudders, and I grab onto his head for support as he licks over me. Tasting, teasing until he’s making me pant at a pace that rivals any exercise routine I’ve ever had.
“You taste so fucking good. I can’t believe I’m the one who gets to taste you. The only one.”
I grin as my hands sink deeper into his hair, gripping him so fucking hard that I should be afraid I’m going to rip his hair out. I’m not, though; Waylon can take it.
I do let my eyes roll up to the camera at Waylon’s words. You hear that, Langston? Waylon’s the only one who gets to taste me like this.
And then, he’s pushing his fingers inside me. He’s not gentle, but not rough enough to spark nightmares of my past. It’s just enough to make my body explode in a rolling orgasm that is just the start of my night.
“Yes!” I scream, not using his name yet. After all, I’m the woman in control here. One orgasm isn’t enough for him to earn hearing me call out his name. Not yet.
