Chapter 6
KAYLA
His eyes are on me. Dark and brooding, jaw tensing every time he watches me round the pole while I purposely stare directly at him, enjoying his intensity.
I don’t know why I’m even looking at him, but it’s as though I can’t help myself.
Is he my type? Do I even know what my type is?
He is attractive, though. The women here think so, at least. Coco asked me if he was my boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be ridiculous? Considering he gets paid to spy on me.
The song changes, and he folds his arms over his chest, trying to keep his eyes on mine instead of my body.
I have to give him an A for effort.
But I like the attention, if I’m honest. He likes what he sees. I can easily tell he does. But knowing he can’t have it? Well, that excites me.
Unlike before, in my old life, these men can’t have me. They get to watch. Want. Then go home. And if they try anything, they’ll die for it.
When that thought crosses my mind, I wonder if I could do it again. If I could take a life. Would it be easier this time?
But I can’t do that again. I can’t call Michael and have him clean up after me. He’d be furious.
Before I can think more of it, the MC introduces another girl.
I head for the back, seeing Chris rise to his feet and follow me.
When he tries to cross beyond the curtain, the security guard stops him. “Can’t go past me, buddy.”
While Chris shoots his attention to me, I get a thrilling idea.
He must’ve discovered something in my gaze, because he narrows his. “Kayla. Tell him who I am.”
“Never seen him before.” I wink and head to the back, hearing his thundering growl as I quickly change into my clothes.
Hoping he doesn’t catch me, I grab my handbag and rush toward my car, jumping inside. Just as I roll down the street, I see his fiery gaze through my rearview.
CHRIS
This girl is trouble. She may not know it, but I do.
I watched her watching me as she danced. That sinful body swirling around the pole, her hips gyrating seductively as she flipped that luscious hair over her head, refusing to look away. She wanted me hard for her, and I was.
Fuck, I would’ve stroked myself if I’d been watching her in private.
It’s what she wanted. To make me hungry. It’s too bad nothing can happen between us. Not now. Not ever.
She’s merely a job. And that’s all she’ll ever be. When I’m done, I’ll move on to the next one, and she’ll be long forgotten.
I follow her, speeding down the street as she turns right.
Once she ran off into her car, my anger boiled. But I have to catch up with her. She can’t get away.
If she were in front of me, the things I’d do. My palm itches to mark her round ass and turn it red on my lap.
Would she like it? Would she want my touch between her thighs? Perfect pink pussy. I bet she tastes good.
“Fuck!” I clutch the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
Honking at the yellow cab before me, I swerve around it, almost crashing into another vehicle.
This little troublemaker likes to start fires, and I’m gonna put them out for her. Or it will cost us both everything.
KAYLA
Somehow, I ended up at a random bar. Mostly college-aged kids, it appears.
I pass a glance at the young twentysomethings laughing with their friends, drinking, having a great time.
That should’ve been me. I should’ve had a life. A future. Now, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old college student. It’s laughable.
My only friend in school is Eriu Quinn, Patrick Quinn’s daughter. Her father is newly married to Michael’s mom, Fernanda, and her older sister is married to one of his brothers.
When I showed interest in going to college, Elsie suggested I apply to the same school Eriu goes to.
I never thought I’d get into an Ivy League school, but Michael made sure I did no matter what. So here I am, studying biology, hoping to become the oncologist I never got to be.
Those fuckers may have taken everything, but they didn’t take my determination. They can pry that out of my cold, dead hands.
“Can I buy you a drink?” a guy with pale blue eyes asks, his teeth bleach white, his black hair combed back like he’s from one of those Gucci ads. He’s gotta be twenty-one.
“I’m okay.”
“Oh, come on.” He pouts. “Just one. I promise I won’t bite.” He leans in. “Unless you want me to.”
His grin spreads, and I instantly roll my eyes internally.
Corny.
“Yeah, sure. One drink. Pina colada.”
He dons a victorious grin as he settles onto a swivel chair beside me. Calling over the bartender, he orders my drink.
A minute later, I’m sipping on it while he takes a shot of his vodka.
“So, what’s your name?” he calls out over the blaring rock music.
“Kayla. You?”
This is normal, right? Just talking to a guy at a bar. I can be normal. I can try at least. What if he’s actually a good guy? What if he’s my future husband and I’m standing in my own way?
“Prince.” He laughs.
My brows squint. “For real?”
“Yes, laugh away.” He shakes his head, a smile still fastened. “My parents were obsessed with him…”
I grimace. “I’m sorry.”
“They’re cool, so I’ve forgiven them.”
“My name is pretty boring.”
He hikes his chin a fraction. “I don’t find any part of you boring, Kayla.”
My cheeks grow hot. My God, I’m so easy. One compliment, and I’m blushing.
“I should go.” I start to get up. “It’s getting late, and I have school tomorrow.”
“Where do you go?”
“York State.”
His eyes widen. “No way! Me too.”
I blink incredulously. “Really?”
“Yeah. Shit! Now I have more reasons to see you. What’s your major? Mine is business.”
“Bio.”
“Smart and beautiful.” He angles in close. “How about I give you my number? Maybe we can grab lunch or something.”
I don’t know if this is a good idea. But I’m reaching into my bag anyway and handing him my phone after I unlock it. He types into it and calls himself from it, then hands it back to me.
“Well, Kayla, I’ll see you around.”
He pays for our drinks, mine still full, and with one last lingering look, he walks over to his buddies. They all stare at me, then back at him, laughing and looking like he just won the lotto.
I shake my head, needing to go home. When I start for my car, the lot is empty.
As soon as my hand lands on the door handle, I register footsteps behind me.
The hairs on my arms stand up, my chest growing heavy with undulating fear.
“Hey, baby,” a deep voice I don’t recognize calls. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
The way he sounds…disgust swirls in my gut as I turn to face a man about ten years older. Maybe more.
“Going home.” I start to open the door. “Have a good night.”
He chuckles coldly. And as I get into my car, he rushes into the passenger side in an instant, grabbing my throat as he locks the doors.
“Drive, bitch.”
My body grows icy; every memory of my time as a Bianchi whore comes smashing into the surface.
With unsteady hands, I start the car and get it on the road, wishing that Chris was here. I was an idiot for losing him.
“What do you want?” I whisper, rolling to a stop at a red light.
“You, of course. Do you live alone?”
“No.”
He laughs. “Liar. Drive to your house. I wanna see where a pretty thing like you sleeps at night. Maybe fuck you on your pretty bed. Bet you haven’t had anyone fuck you the way I will.” His fingers squeeze my throat while he relaxes against the seat.
My heart pounds, but inside me, something grows. Something wicked and hate-filled. If he wants to see where I live, I’ll let him.
Twenty minutes later, and I’m pulling up to my place. He forces me out, pushing me toward my home.
“Get the keys out.”
His hand clutches my hair as I quickly do what he wants. Seconds later, and we’re inside.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
I point left, and he roughs me toward that direction. I wonder if he has a weapon, because I do, and when he drops his guard, I’ll use it on him. Slowly, I open the flap of my handbag, fingers reaching inside, retrieving a flip knife.
When we’re in my bedroom, he turns me around. As he does, I open the blade and instantly swipe it across his cheek.
“You little bitch!” he roars, rushing for me.
But I bypass him, my pulse trembling, not knowing how this will end.
Will he kill me? Or will I kill him?
There’s an adrenaline rush here, fear swirling with fury as I lunge for him with a guttural scream.
As I do, he flips me and wraps his forearm around my throat and squeezes. The knife tightens in my grasp, my lungs growing hot as I gasp for breath.
My hand trembles as I raise it behind me, hoping to claw his eyes out, but he grabs my wrist and attempts to get the knife from me.
He almost does too, but as he backs up, he trips against the chair.
That’s all I need to escape from him. As he stumbles onto the floor, I jump on top of him and stab him in the throat.
Roaring on a cry, I plunge the blade over and over, his blood spilling until my hands are covered in crimson, until his life has left his body.
He’s dead now.
Yet I’m shaking.
Crying too. I think.
Blood. So much of it.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. How I’ll explain this to Michael again. He’s going to kill me. There’s no way I can call him. But what other choice do I have? I don’t have anyone else to help me.
“Step away from the body,” says someone I immediately recognize. Same deep, gravelly tone sending shudders down my spine.
With a shaky breath, I turn, facing the man in the hood standing before me.
But this time, I see his face—or should I say, the taunting mask he wears? Was he wearing it that day in the parking lot of the club when Ivy was attacked? If he was, I didn’t see it.
The mask sends a curling level of fear streaming through my limbs. All white. No mouth on it, except the shape of a nose, and two black eyes where no one can see the pupils beneath. And on each one is a red bloody vertical slash, like it’s been clawed right down to its cheek.
Terrifying. That’s the only way to describe it.
Who is this man? What the hell is he doing here? Is he gonna turn me into the police?
Oh, God. I can’t go to prison.
“Please…” I choke out. “It was self-defense. I—I didn’t mean to.”