Chapter 30 Bunny #2
Regardless, I do as asked, setting my bag on the bar cart. I take my time, giving him a show while I slide my trench down my arms, looking over my shoulder demurely as I retrieve my stilettos and step into them.
Balancing on these bitches gets harder every day.
“What are you having?” His voice booms as he sprawls his arms along the back of the booth, eyes tracking me.
“I’m not sure yet,” I lie, reaching for a bottle of whiskey. It’s rare for a club to let you have your own mini bar, but I’m sure he paid extra for discretion. “I’m debating waiting until the baby is born to find out.”
He’s none the wiser when I slip a vial from my top and pour it into his drink—not enough to knock him out, just enough to make him easier to steer.
I want him fully aware of what I do to him tonight.
A devilish grin stretches across his plump lips as I turn with the glass, twirling a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs.
“Those better be for you.” He takes a gulp, his cool gaze drifting down my body, leaving a chill in its wake.
“I was thinking we start with you tied up.” Climbing onto his lap, I stretch over him, slowly sliding my hand down to his and pulling it above his head.
“You must be so tired after such a long day of working hard. Why don’t you sit back and relax?
” He tosses back the rest of his drink and raises his other arm, crossing his wrists.
I clip the cuffs to the rail edging the booth and whisper, “Relax.”
My stomach roils at being this close to another man. Before, even if Hunter and I cared for each other, rubbing my body against a victim while I lured them into a false sense of security never bothered me.
Now it feels like cheating.
And I am not a cheater.
Matthew is rock hard beneath me, extending his neck to reach my lips, but I jerk back as Faline kicks—twice—like she disapproves. He feels it. His eyes drop to my belly, pressed against him so tight he can’t miss it.
Wistfulness threads his voice, “Let me feel.”
Hazy contentment slips into his cadence. His eyes droop as I slide off his lap to the floor and pull out the zip-ties I shoved into my top, binding his feet fast.
Matthew doesn’t even notice as he shakes his head. “Fuck, that drink was strong.”
“You know what else is strong?” Reaching behind me, I uncap my heels. The blades retract as I stand, but when I press my foot between his legs, the moment my weight leaves the shoe, the hidden weapon springs out. “Your wife.”
Dark brows notch together in confusion, but I can see Matthew swimming against the fog like a man drowning in a riptide. The cuffs bang the rail, but the music swallows the sound.
“What?” His question is alert, but heavy. “What did you do to me?”
Smug satisfaction widens my lips into a feline grin as he continues to struggle against his bindings. He tries to kick, but zip-tied and drugged, he can barely lift his feet.
This is what I live for. Watching the fight flare to life in evil men’s eyes when they realize their own poor choices walked them into a she-devil’s arms.
“I drugged you, Matthew. And now I’m going to kill you.” Simple and matter-of-fact.
With a jerk, I lift my foot and sink the blade into his stomach.
His cry is music to my ears.
Blood spurts, dribbling down his crisp white shirt in a crimson bloom.
“You fucking bitch!” he snarls. Adrenaline eats away at the drug, and he thrashes harder.
I pull away and drive the blade into his crotch. Another painful howl mixes with my laughter and P!nk’s Raise Your Glass. “I’m sorry, what was that? You want me to stop?”
“Yes! Please! I’ll do anything!” Matthew freezes, trying not to move because every flinch drives the steel deeper into his privates.
“Why didn’t you stop when Monica asked you to stop?
” I slide onto the platform in front of the booth, resting my feet between his legs.
“I’ll bet she’d have done anything for you to stop taking your frustrations out on her with your fists.
And while she was carrying kids she didn’t want?
Forced breeding. Domestic violence. Child endangerment.
” I cluck my tongue. “Your list of indiscretions is long, Mr. Price.”
“Did she put you up to this?” Sweat gleams on ashen skin. His head drops, chest heaving.
Pressing the toe of my stiletto to his chin, I shove until the blade kisses his Adam’s apple. His body goes rigid and he pushes back, trying to get away. But the strain of his retreat causes the blood to pool faster from the wound in his stomach.
Faline kicks twice again, the last one stealing my breath and rolling nausea through me. I settle a hand over my stomach without breaking eye contact. “Mommy is working, sweet girl. You should be sleeping, not helping.”
Crystal blue narrows as his lip curls. “You’re psychotic.”
I lift my shoulder with a nonchalant shrug, dragging my heel shallowly across his throat. “I’ve been called worse.”
Blood beads, trickling down. I kick my other leg up and skim the heel over his cheek, relishing the pained groan he tries to swallow.
His cries turn garbled as I flutter-kick, slicing through his collar and leaving shallow lines along his collarbone, throat, face. Death by a thousand paper cuts can hurt more than a stab.
“Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, Mommy’s little victim’s about to die.” I giggle the lullaby—pausing abruptly as a shudder racks me.
Now I sound like Dove when she makes her videos.
“I’ll give you anything. Please. Just stop,” Matthew pleads.
I’m about to tell him no when a loud knock thuds at the door. “Open up! This is the police!”
The music muddies it, but I could have sworn—
“Metro PD! Open up!”
Hunter.
Fuck.
Why is he here?
Fear grips my insides as Matthew opens his mouth to scream. Before a single sound comes out, I drive my heel through his throat, cutting off his airway. Blood sprays my legs in a scarlet arc, and the last remnants of his strangled moans die fast.
Hurriedly, I hop down, cap my heels, and grab a handful of napkins. Cracking open a mini bottle of water, I sluice my legs, wipe them down and toss everything in my bag.
One of the serial-killer rules: never meet anywhere without an exit strategy. I cross the room, shrug on my trench, and slip through the other door. I’m halfway down the hall when a door slams open.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. You’re almost there.
The glaring red EXIT sign calls like a lighthouse in a storm. The countdown to midnight starts, the club vibrating with hundreds of voices ready to ring in the new year.
Just a few more steps.
“Hey! You! Stop!” An all-too-familiar voice shouts behind me.
I don’t stop.
I pick up the pace as the countdown hits seven.
“I said stop!” Footfalls pound the thin, worn carpet of the hall.
Bile rises as the crowd shouts, “Four!”
Hunter is too close. Right on my ass.
The push bar is cool under my fingers as I frantically fling the door open.
“Two!”
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
“Wait!” Hunter’s command is thick with frustration.
Like a fucking magnet with no choice but to pull toward its opposite pole, my eyes swing over my shoulder just as the air fills with an emphatic “Happy New Year!”
Mossy green meets molten gold.
I’m so sorry, Hunter.
And then I run for my life.