Chapter 6
6
RUTGER
T ucked in a dark corner of the Bow, I sit alone at a table with my cowboy hat poised next to a shot of bourbon. Bijou’s voice glides over the mic, and my heart sinks. I shouldn’t be here. I’ve made a mistake, a big fucking mistake.
No amount of money is worth this. I’m not even sure the desire for revenge against Raul is…
Staring at the stage, the sight of her puts a thick lump of desire in my throat, even as the logical side of me struggles to hate her. Good God, she’s more beautiful, seductive, and dangerous than I remember.
She sashays across the stage in a low-cut, spaghetti-strap, electric-blue dress that makes my fingers itch to glide over the fabric and curves beneath. Her wild black curls fall loosely over her shoulders, drawing my eyes to her neck and the stunning pale blue diamond decorating her décolletage.
I yearn to caress her delicate shoulders with my lips. Feel the fragile collarbone beneath the silky flesh before descending to her voluptuous breasts, which strain suggestively against her gown.
Remembering what her nipples taste and feel like in my mouth undoes me. I adjust how I’m sitting to give my cock more room.
I should have greater self-control. But two minutes in this woman’s presence reverse everything I know about discipline. Despite the fact I hate and distrust every goddamn thing about her.
I’ve fucked a lot of women since Bijou. I don’t want to count how many. Most in the name of trying to forget her and her sweet pussy.
But now, staring down my ex-fiancée, I realize how vain all those attempts have been. Or ever will be…
It hits me like a gut punch. Nothing will ever compare to this woman.
Forcing my eyes away from her, I remind myself I’m at work. Feelings can fucking wait. Surveying the room, I search for Raul. I must be getting warm because the place crawls with fellow fugitive recovery agents.
Some I recognize by face. Others I distinguish by their body language, dress, or how their eyes rove around the room in search of our shared mark. Of course, we’ve all got our backs to the wall, positioned for strategic views of the Bow’s entrances and exits.
Kurt may have warned me about this gig, but he failed to tell me what kind of competition I’d face. I wonder if he knew.
My eyes flicker back towards Bijou…
Dammit.
Her voice wraps around me like a serpentine coil, searching for ways under my skin and into my heart. I can’t allow it.
Closing my eyes, I summon the visceral despair of standing alone at the altar. Bijou never showed up. Didn’t even call to tell me to stop waiting around like a moron.
Of course, my imagination raged with possibilities—she was stranded somewhere. She’d been kidnapped or murdered. I filed a missing person’s report. But the reality proved painfully simple. She didn’t want to marry me.
To top it off, I returned to a ransacked apartment with all of her stuff—along with plenty of mine—gone. Left at the altar and robbed blind. What a fucking loser!
Forty-eight hours later, after I drowned myself in God only knows how much Black Label, she finally called, sobbing and messy. “We can’t be together, Rutger. I’m sorry. It’ll never work because of my family. I’m a Lefevre. Something that will never change.”
I had a response for every excuse she made until she dropped the nuclear bomb: “I never want to see you again.” I rub my heart instinctively now, the words still finding their lethal mark.
Bijou strolls across the stage, surveying the room. I do the same. In the opposite corner from me, I finally locate Raul and a couple of his goons. They sit together at a table camouflaged by smoke machines, laughing and taking shots. It’s a miracle I caught sight of them at all.
My kitten’s up to her same old tricks—covering for her baby brother and keeping Lefevre interests front and center. Only this time, it means harboring a known fugitive. Enough to put her in the clink, too…
But as I watch Raul’s eyes drill into her, a mixture of disgust and hatred captures his face. My stomach churns. A cold chill waterfalls down my spine. The fucker looks downright murderous.
Thirty seconds of that look, and I’m rethinking everything. Instead of being in cahoots together, I’d swear he means to do her harm. Does Bijou realize the danger she’s in?
Logic counters this thought. Is it my problem? Absolutely not.
So, why do my guts feel as tight as a trefoil knot? I shake my head, willing myself to let concern for Bijou go. Back to the assignment at hand, Rutger.
McGregor and Alonso have the entrance and exits covered outside, providing updates about those entering and leaving the premises. And Gervais watches a house where Lefevre’s associates crashed after arriving in town today.
Everything’s in place to take Raul down. I’ve left nothing to chance, but unknown variables remain. Number one? The temptress lighting up the stage…
Bijou’s voice belts out the seductive strains of her next song, and my eyes lock with hers. For one tense moment, I’m sure she sees me. But then she looks away, and I exhale sharply. Not the time to get paranoid, Rutger .
The bass comes in behind her with a growling walking line, and the dark piano melody follows. “I Put a Spell on You.” One of my favorites. The kind of song that incinerates the stage and used to leave me panting for more. Unlike the other fools in a joint like this, I always got more…
But that was a long time ago.
Her voice achingly croons over the lyrics, torching my body and shifting my pulse into overdrive as she saunters across the stage. Every male head in the place follows her, drooling. Plenty of female ones do, too.
She’s breathtaking. Sex on a mic. I unbutton the top of my shirt, loosening the collar and swallowing hard. I may despise her, but it doesn’t make watching this performance any less torturous.
Thankfully, the place is large, dark, and crowded. I reassure myself there’s no way she can see me as my eyes unapologetically devour her. Her energy pours in my direction, magnetic and alluring.
My eyes dart back to Raul. His empty, soulless expression shoots ice through my veins. Whether she’s helping him remains to be seen. But his intent for her couldn’t be clearer—purely diabolical.
You’re not here to protect Bijou…
But I’ll be damned if I let Raul hurt her.
Fuck…
This job is already sliding off the rails, one wayward thought at a time. I shake my head. Wolfe was right. I should’ve never taken it.
At least a dozen other sets of eyes are on Raul, including a guy I’m pretty damn sure is P Boy, heir to a rival crime family out of New Orleans. He rounds out the FBI’s Most Wanted List just below its headliner, Raul. The group of losers surrounding P Boy look as thick as thieves.
The Bow must be armed to the teeth, what with the bounty hunter, rival gang free-for-all in progress… topped with a healthy dose of lust, thanks to my former fiancée.