9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
LYNX
The girl is a heathen. A satin-encased temptress built to lure men behind closed doors and tease them until they’re begging for more and waving every last dollar they own in front of her.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I lurk in the long marble hallway of the eighth floor of some ritzy hotel building on the outskirts of town.
I don’t know the specifics of the conversation between Harlow and that handsy prick, Rhys, on the dance floor at the hospital gala. But one thing’s clear: His touch wasn’t welcome.
If it weren’t for her reaction, I probably wouldn’t have spent the last two hours sitting in my truck outside the hotel building, digging up his old skeletons and rifling through financial records, ensuring whatever hot dish of revenge I serve him is deserving.
And what did I find? A whole slew of NDAs signed by women he’s slept with. All accompanied by wire payments—large ones—to their bank accounts.
I wouldn’t fault him for hiring consenting escorts and paying them to keep their interaction quiet. But that’s not the case here.
They’re not just escorts.
They’re women he beats to a pulp. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if Harlow had stepped into his trap, she would’ve been his next victim.
Fuck. It’s possible she already has been. She clearly recognized him. Feared him.
The thought of him hurting her makes my blood boil.
The irony of it all—that I’m about to take revenge on a man who laid hands on the very woman I’ve been ordered to kill—is utterly ridiculous.
Yet here I am, hovering outside his hotel door—a door I’ve already picked the lock of in case I need to make a quick entrance—listening for any strange sounds or muffled cries for help from the girl he brought here.
When the sound of glass smashing echoes through the door, I don’t hesitate pulling my gun out from the back of my jeans and slipping inside the room, pausing to take in the scene before me.
And fuck me sideways, what a scene it is.
The girl, a pretty short-haired brunette named Trinity, is on her knees, her dress straps shredded and tits out.
Streaks of mascara are streaming down her face.
Her cheekbone is swollen and her chin is coated in drool as Rhys stuffs his flaccid cock down her throat.
She’s shoving at his thighs in an attempt to push him away, but her fight is futile as he grips her by the hair and thrusts his hips forward.
I whistle sharply.
“Hey, fuckface.”
Rhys’s head snaps in my direction, his eyes blowing wide in shock.
“What the fuck?!” he shouts, shoving the girl away and giving me an unwelcome full-frontal view.
The woman topples backward, crying out when she lands awkwardly on her arm. I give her a brief glance over to make sure she’s not harmed in any life-threatening way while Rhys scrambles to pull his pants up.
“You alright?” I ask her.
She swipes the saliva off her chin with the back of her hand and glances up at me with teary eyes. She nods.
“Good. Now collect your things and get out of here, sweetheart. No need to call the police either, yeah? This piece of shit won’t be alive much longer anyway.”
She stares back at me, blinking in shock.
“Go home,” I urge her gently.
She turns her attention to Rhys and stands on wobbly legs, attempting to cover her exposed chest with her torn dress.
I slip out of my jacket and hand it to her.
She shoots me an apologetic look, wincing slightly as she drapes it over her shoulders.
Then she takes a few shaky steps toward the man staring down the barrel of my gun and spits a glob of bloody saliva at him.
“Fuck you,” she sneers, then turns to me. “No cops,” she repeats my demand, snatching her purse off the coffee table before leaving without another glance back at Rhys.
“Well,” I huff out. “That was easy, wasn’t it?”
I wait for the door to click shut before cracking my neck both ways.
Rhys’s hands are in the air in surrender, his face ghostly pale as I keep the shitty end of my gun aimed at his head.
“Sit,” I demand harshly.
When he doesn’t listen, I lend him a hand by putting a bullet in his left kneecap, the silencer on my gun making nothing more than a whisper of a sound.
But Rhys … he screams. Oh, he fucking screams, falling to the floor as blood gushes from the bullet wound, staining the expensive white carpet beneath him.
“Keep screaming and I’ll blow your other knee apart,” I threaten.
He clams up, clutching his knee and shaking like a leaf as sweat pours down his ruddy face.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Joey’s number.
“Hey. Gonna need a cleanup crew pronto. I’ll send you a location pin.”
“You’ve got it, boss,” Joey clips out, and just like that, I know the mess I’m about to make will be properly handled.
“Wh-who are you?” Rhys stammers.
“That’s not really important right now. But what is important,“ I say, stepping toward him as he trembles, “is how you decide to handle this going forward. You see … you have two options. The easy way. Or the hard way.”
“Easy,” he responds quickly. Too quickly. Fucking coward. “Please. Don’t kill me.”
I take a seat on a nearby chair and prop my elbows on my knees, waving my gun around as I speak.
“Wonderful. Here’s how this will work. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to give me answers. Honest ones. Because, Rhys”—I make sure to put emphasis on the fact that I know exactly who he is—“you’re not going to like what happens if you lie to me. Do we have an understanding?”
He nods frantically. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Let’s get to it, shall we? The woman at the gala—the one you were dancing with ...”
“Y-your fiancée,” he stammers. “Is that what this is about? Me dancing with your fiancée?”
I narrow my gaze on him.
“No. This is about how you know her.”
“I-I don’t know her. I just met her. She told me her name was Sarah.”
“Sarah,” I parrot, biting back a smirk. He nods. “I see. Have you been following her?”
“N-no.”
“You went to her place of work.” He blinks. “The Devil’s Den. She seemed less than enthused to see you there. Took off running. Then voilà … there you are again. At the same gala she’s at.”
He goes white as chalk. “I swear to you, I haven’t been following her. Hell, I didn’t realize it was her until tonight. I-I haven’t seen her in years. I thought she moved out of the country.”
“So you do know her,“ I snarl, cocking the hammer of the gun.
The smell of urine permeates the air.
Christ. He pissed himself.
“I-I did. I knew her father. We were friends. But I didn’t recognize her. Not at first. She looks … different.”
“Different how?”
“Just … different. Older. Like I said, it’s been years.”
“Gonna need you to be more specific than that, doc.”
“I don’t know. Five. Six years, maybe. B-before her father died. She took off after the funeral. Disappeared. Please. I don’t know anything else. I swear.”
“You’re telling the truth.”
“Yes.”
My sigh is long and drawn out. “So you didn’t hire someone to kill her?”
His confusion is authentic. “What? No. I could never end a life.”
“Hmm. But you can destroy them and not bat a fucking eyelash. Isn’t that right?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You enjoy beating and raping women, don’t you, Rhys?
Or is it minors as well? Doesn’t matter.
You ruin lives, doc. Completely destroy them.
Then you pay them to keep their mouths shut.
” His mouth opens and closes. “Please don’t tell me you were under the impression that those poor women laughed themselves all the way to the bank after you’ve had your pathetic cock inside of them.
Surely there’s not enough cash in the world to make someone forget that. ”
“Th-they consent to leave with me. To spend the night with me.”
Disgust rips through me. “Consent can be revoked at any time, asshole,” I snarl. “Now tell me. Was Harlow one of those women?”
He trembles. More sweat pours down his ugly fucking face.
“N-no.”
I look him dead in the eye when I say, “You’re a terrible liar, Rhys.”
“I mean, technically yes,” he corrects quickly. “But not really. I-I didn’t pay her.”
My chest tightens. “You beat her.”
His eyes flutter shut. “Yes,” he says quietly.
“You raped her.” He nods. “And you didn’t pay her to keep her mouth shut.”
“No. I didn’t have to.”
I angle my head at him. “And why is that?”
He pries his eyelids open and meets my furious gaze.
“Because she wasn’t supposed to live.”
A red haze rolls in, blurring my vision and clouding my better judgment. Every cell in my body inflates with a rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
My normally unshakable self-control snaps like a brittle twig. I don’t even think twice before aiming my gun at his head and pulling the trigger. Blood sprays from his skull, warm spatters of it reaching my face as tiny fragments of gray matter drip from the wall and sofa behind him.
I get no relief from his death because I still don’t know who the fuck wants Harlow dead.
Frustrated and reeling with anger, I sink into the plush chair across from his lifeless body and stare at his slack face, watching in disinterest as the growing halo of crimson surrounding his head stretches toward my boots.
Rhys was friends with Harlow’s father. He knew her when she was a child. He admitted to beating and raping her. Admitted she was never supposed to survive his assault.
Christ. What a fucking mess.
Drumming my fingers on the arms of the chair, I replay the look on Harlow’s face when she first spotted Rhys in the club.
Anger. Fear. Shock.
I sit like this for a while, a million burning questions flipping through my mind like a Rolodex until a knock on the door cuts my train of thought short.
Standing from the chair, I head to the door and let Joey in. He’s followed closely by three men in white cleaning uniforms. They greet me with murmured “hellos” and get straight down to business the way they’re paid to do.
Joey stands in the middle of the room, staring at Rhys’s lifeless body as if it’s the most mundane thing in the world.
“Let’s keep this between you and I, shall we?” I slap him on the shoulder.
He nods. “You’ve got it, boss. What do you want done with the body?”
I consider making the prick disappear for good. But then the image of him holding Harlow close on the dance floor—the horrified look on her face—flickers behind my eyelids, and I make a split decision.
“Barrel him up and leave him in the freezer for now.”
I make my way to the door, pausing just before crossing the threshold.
Glancing over my shoulder, I say, “And Joey. Go ahead and file a missing person’s report while you’re at it. I want his face and name plastered all over the fucking news.”