Chapter 3
Liam
I nod at the waiter in thanks as I pull a glass of champagne from the tray he’s carrying.
He doesn't notice.
He doesn't care.
He's here to do a job, get paid, and go home.
I understand the concept. I know what it's like to do that very same thing day in and day out. I have no idea why I'm here. I don't belong, but the people surrounding me don't know that. My tux is just as designer as the next. My smile is just as bright as I greet people and nod at them.
This is some sort of political event and considering it is, it honestly surprises me on how easy it was to just walk up off the beach and come inside.
It took me less than a minute to track her, and half that time to sweep my eyes over her.
The hemline of her dress flirts with the bottom of her knees which seems on par with her age, but the shawl wrap ages her quite a lot.
If I had a grandmother, I’d expect her to wear something like that.
There’s a distinct difference in the young women here than I saw earlier at the beach.
The room is full of understated elegance. It feels dry and stuffy, boring even.
She's here giving everyone she meets that same fucking frustrating smile she gave to me earlier at the surf shop. It doesn't take me long to realize that it's instinct. The fake smile is what is expected.
She's different than I assumed from the first time I looked at her walking along the beach.
She isn't demure.
She's beaten down. She's fake.
It's the eyes that tell me the truth. It's the way they look soulless even as she smiles. It’s reminiscent of the smile of the man that walked away with the tray of champagne.
She doesn't want to be here anymore than he does.
She's not having a good time.
The only thing that woman is looking forward to is getting away, going to bed, and going to sleep, only to have to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.
She laughs like she wants to be here.
She smiles like she's enjoying her time, but she's not.
I don't feel at all hypocritical for making these judgments about her.
She did it to me first with the assumption that I wasn't worth a second of her time earlier today.
I would have left it alone.
I would have left her alone, but she wasn't interested in civility. She was quick to turn her nose up and walk away.
She'll learn after tonight.
She'll realize the mistakes she made and hopefully after tonight, she'll learn to never make the same mistake again.
I'm normally the type of man that considers himself live and let live.
I don't get involved in other people's lives.
I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong.
I don't cause unnecessary problems.
I'm easygoing.
Earlier today just hit me the wrong way.
I won't be able to settle, to calm myself, to sleep, until I do something about it.
She seems like the type of girl that needs her life shaken up a little bit, and, lucky for her, I'm just the man for the job.
I take a sip of my champagne as I walk past a woman who opens her mouth to greet me. I don't want to be noticed. I don't want to be remembered.
I know coming here is a stupid idea. I know nothing good will come out of tonight, but I also know myself enough to know, I can't just walk away.
It'll eat at me.
It will fester.
It will cause problems in my daily routine, and that's what pisses me off.
It pisses me off that she has the ability to affect me in any type of way, and I hate that about myself.
I hate that she has the ability to get under my skin.
I hate that I'm in a tuxedo, in a stuffy ass room, despite the front wall being open to the beach.
I’m not exactly a bad guy.
Well, that’s not true. I’m not a good guy, but for the last several months, I’ve been saving people… for a price, of course.
Then again, I will also kill someone for a price.
Killing for a price was the old game. I've changed tactics, and it's not really because of morals.
I've discovered that people pay more for someone they love. People pay a higher price for a rescue than they’re willing to pay for revenge against someone who wronged them.
Maybe I'm a piece of shit for switching from assassin to rescuer, but I'm still able to get blood on my hands either way, so I consider it a win-win situation.
I continue to watch her, wondering what she's going to do next, when she smiles and speaks to the woman she's been standing near for the last couple of minutes before walking away.
She’s the star of the party, although I have no illusions that this event is for her specifically. It seems like everybody wants a piece of her time.
Are they chipping away at her? Are they taking tiny bits and pieces that will eventually leave her with nothing? You can’t tell it by looking at her. Each fake smile is just as vibrant as the next one she gives, even after being stopped five times on her way across the room.
She walks up to a man that looks familiar to me, but I can't place him, and that annoys me as well.
I'm usually really good about knowing where people are from, about knowing who they are, what kind of danger they pose to me or if they're even a threat at all. This man is throwing up a flag, but I just can’t pull his information up.
I once again blame her for having me so distracted.
There's a younger guy there, and I watch frozen in place across the room as he lifts her hand to his mouth and presses his lips there. It shouldn't annoy me. I’ve seen several men press their lips to her skin, and it didn’t cause such a visceral reaction as this last one does.
Is he the type of man she wants—a stuffy asshole in a tuxedo with an over-bleached smile?
I can guess he's a politician, but if we weren't in a classy hotel with red, white, and blue decorations everywhere, I could also easily assume he's a car salesman or an insurance salesman and be just as right as guessing that he's a political candidate.
It doesn't take long for the older couple that initially greeted her to walk away to talk to others.
And it takes even less time for him to escort her out of the room.
This just won't do.
My anger starts to simmer below the surface.
I got nothing from her at the store earlier today other than a slap to the face by her ignoring me, and this man gets to guide her outside into darkness? This man is worthy of a conversation and a slow walk on the beach?
Inside, a sinister chuckle fills my head.
She may be smiling now.
She may be carrying on polite conversation with this man.
But it's my goal, by the end of the night, to have her screaming, crying, and begging for help.
I won’t help her. I’m not the savior in this story.
In this story, I'm the monster and I'm going to enjoy every single second of it.
By the time I’m done with her, she’ll realize that a little courtesy goes a very long way.
As I keep to the shadows, a very difficult task due to the twinkling fucking lights everywhere, I keep an eye on both of them.
I’m not close enough to understand what they’re saying.
I can’t even get a good read on them. I have no idea if this is her boyfriend, or if they just met tonight.
She doesn’t seem alarmed at being alone with him, and for some reason that annoys the shit out of me too.
I’m running scenarios of how to handle this and what I should do with him when they pause at the edge of the sand long enough for her to pull her heels from her feet.
He never lets go of her hand despite it looking difficult for her to work the buckle on her shoe with only one.
I could kill him. It would be easy enough to slit his throat, but I don’t know if she would gasp in surprise or scream the fucking stars out of the night sky.
Getting caught is never part of the plan, but I’m also not really the type to just kill someone who doesn’t pose a threat to me.
I’m thinking I may have to follow her home, but luck is on my side tonight when his phone rings.
He answers and speaks briefly to her before walking away. She doesn’t stay in the spot he leaves her. Instead, she turns and starts walking in the opposite way he does.
It seems like fate, although I don’t believe in that shit. I’ll just consider it an ounce of luck as I keep hidden in the dunes as she walks. The further she gets from her male companion and the ritzy hotel, the less chance of getting caught.
Insidious thoughts fill my head as I continue to watch her.
This wasn’t the plan.
The plan was simple.
I was going to snatch her up, drive her far away, and drop her off a hundred miles from where I grabbed her.
Of course I’d leave a note—something along the lines of you didn’t notice me, but I noticed every move you made.
I want to scare her.
I want her to take pause the next time she’s out alone.
I want her to stop and realize that everyone else in the world shouldn't be looked over.
We matter just as much as she believes she matters.
But as I watch her, as I see the ocean in the backdrop, I want more.
I want more of her than just being scared for a couple of hours.
It's a dangerous change of plans. It increases the likelihood of getting caught, but I just can't let the idea go.
I don't want to keep her forever. That would be ridiculous.
But maybe a couple of days or a couple of hours.
Just long enough to torture her, to torment her mind to make sure that, as easily as I was forgettable in the surf shop, she won't go another day of her life without remembering me.
The beach is quiet with only the sound of the waves brushing the shore, but I know better than to get complacent.
There's always someone around. There's always a chance that there's a witness lurking in the shadows, but what I've also learned in my line of work is that people are selfish. They’re usually only paying attention to themselves.
She doesn't look concerned. I can tell she doesn't feel unsafe. She isn't looking over her shoulder or pausing to listen to noises made in the distance.
Her ego won't allow it. It's obvious she's been sheltered. She believes in the protection of her two bodyguards, but they are nowhere to be seen now.
Her mistake is stupid, really, this false sense of security. She has the idea that no harm can come her way because there are dozens of people a quarter of a mile down the beach, inside the hotel, but I've seen it happen.
I've seen people disappear right out of thin air with witnesses standing nearby, minding their own business, trapped in their own thoughts.
I've seen people watch a full kidnapping unfold and they just stand there blinking as if they can't wrap their head around the idea of what they had just seen, and then they go on about their lives.
They don't report it. They don't call the police.
There's a chance of that happening tonight, that someone will be brave enough to say something. I don't want to risk it.
My eyes drift from her to the different shadows on the beach and sand dunes, and although she's not paying attention to the sounds around her, my ears home in as I assess the situation before taking that final step.
This is it, I realize, the single moment in time where I have to decide do or don't, but I already know the answer.
I know that I'm not leaving this beach tonight alone.
What I'm not certain of is what happens after.
I creep along the sand slowly, making my way toward her.
Almost everyone has a sixth sense. They get this feeling in their stomach when they're being watched.
Normally, it sets a person on high alert, but when that washes over her and she turns around, facing me for the first time since we were in the surf shop together, she's got that fake smile on her face for a flash of a second.
She thinks that I'm him, the man who left her unprotected on the beach.
I feel a rush of pride when that smile fades, and it thrills me.
Before she can open her mouth to scream, I’m on her, one arm wrapped around low on her back, the other pressing the needle into her neck.
She better pray I don't plan on keeping her for long.