Chapter 16
Quinnly
He’s going to play with me!
My Shadow.
My… Lincoln.
Removing the split part of my scissors, I make quick work of killing the man and hurry to grab the bag I’d dropped while dealing with the other guy. When I’ve grabbed all of my things, I skip back to where Lincoln’s waiting.
He groans, but nods and I follow. He’s so large he maneuvers through the crowd with ease, and most people clamor to get out of his way. His shoulders are wide and his gait is sure as I step up beside him, letting him grab my hand–unbothered by the blood– before turning the corner.
The hair on my arms shoots straight up at the contact, but it’s not like it usually is when a stranger touches my skin. This is warm, familiar. Like I’ve known him in some way most of my life.
Leading me by the hand, we arrive in a garden behind a little house right off the French Quarter. It’s old, the paint is peeling, but the bones are good. He unlocks the house and walks in.
“If we’re going to do this…” he starts and stops. Probably because I’ve started picking things up and observing them. “This isn’t my house.”
“I figured,” scoffing, I continue my perusal and hear him grumble about having to clean everything I touch now.
“I rented it,” he says, “didn’t even have to kill anyone for it.”
My eyes snap to his, “I’ve only done that, like,” I start counting on my fingers, and then give up and look at him, “A handful of times.”
He chuckles, running his hand over his mouth and I watch his movements. “Don’t analyze me like that,” he snaps, turning away from me. “I’m not one of your projects.”
“I think it’s only fair,” I step forward, something pulls me toward him. “You seem to know everything about me after all.”
His bright green eyes catalog my every move. He’s a hunter, and I’m his prey. Only this time I don’t think the objective is to kill.
“I got your present,” I tell him, pressing on the skin that’s healed and scarred. He glances down, and back up. “Did you happen to take a peek at my bare cunt while you were carving into my skin, Shadow? You did dose me with sleeping pills for a reason I assume.”
He crosses his arms, and his jaw hardens. “This isn’t a game I’m willing to play with you.”
“Whatever do you mean? A little somnophilia never hurt anyone, am I right?”
“Quinnly, stop.” He says firmly, like a warning.
“Aw, so you don’t want to fuck me?” I cackle.
He only stands there, watching me as I make my way closer. Assessing me, anticipating my next move.
“I think you do.”
“You’re walking an extremely thin line, Menace.” His warning only spurs me further, encouraging me to enter his space.
I’ve never felt attraction like this, or at least, that’s what I think this is. He’s handsome, and even though he hides it better than me, he and I are just alike.
“I’ve walked thinner lines before,” I shrug, stopping just shy of touching him.
“Not with me,” he growls, which makes me tingle. I can feel the ripple of need that washes over me, made stronger by my utter fascination with him.
His hands grip his arms where they’re crossed and I smile. He wants to touch me, or he wants to kill me, either way I’m positively vibrating.
“Can you keep up, Shadow?” I giggle, “Because I’ve got one hell of a week planned.”
He lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and I turn and take off out the door. He attempts to chase me, and because his strides are larger I don’t have a chance straight on, but I’m lithe. Jumping up and over fences into neighboring yards, I manage to lose him.
I can hear his frustrated roar from blocks down, and I cackle into the night air. I hope he does want to play, because I plan on dragging out the next motherfucker on my list for days.
I hate wigs, they itch and I always struggle putting them on. However, my current victim has a blonde fetish and I really enjoy playing the cat in a game of cat and mouse. Especially when the mouse doesn’t know they’re a mouse until it’s too late.
I did Mississippi and Kentucky all by my lonesome because Lincoln hasn’t caught up with me yet. Kentucky left me with a sour taste, and a rather curious predicament. I’ll have to circle back there when the person that caught my attention stops moving for a while, or when I have a little down time.
Anyway, Lincoln is either slow as hell, or he’s biding his time. I think I might have been a bit too forward with my bare cunt comment. Or maybe it was the somno insinuation? Maybe he’s a virgin? That makes me laugh, and I look around at all the people watching me.
I’m meeting Mr. DirtyBucks for dinner. I’ve done my makeup to cover my tattoos, and my face is covered in more makeup than I’ve ever worn.
Mr. DirtyBucks is a politician with a penchant for kinky shit.
He hires escorts to wine and dine, and after, he likes to take them to the playroom in his basement.
Really it’s a red room for orgies.
“Wow,” he says, extending his hand my way. “You must be Heather.”
Twisting in my bar stool, I offer him the smile I’ve seen women give in movies. He takes the bait, lighting up as if he’s the luckiest man in the world. Depends on how you view it, but he just might be.
I’m a fucking delight.
“I am,” I say, forcing my voice higher and slowing it down.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” he says, voice smooth and calming. He seems like your average guy, but I know his dirty secrets. I’ve seen his hidden camera footage, and I’ve deleted his whole library.
He’ll be upset once he finds out, and oh how I wish I didn’t have to wait. Suffering through a whole dinner with this assface makes me want to claw my eyeballs out. However, I can pretend to be a good little escort and my reward will be later.
I’ve clocked his security, though they’ll make themselves scarce once we hit the elevator in his house. I’ve watched him do this routine many times, and though he’s gotten himself into deep shit with Conall, I want this one simply for the fact that I can.
Dinner goes smooth, other than the awful food I choked down with a practiced smile. Mr. DirtyBucks wraps his arm around my waist and ushers me out to his SUV. He smiles and helps me up, these heels are killing me, but they serve a purpose.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” He asks after getting into the driver’s seat, lifting a piece of my wig and letting it fall between his fingers.
“I just moved here,” I respond. Practiced, smooth.
“Mhmm,” he says, leaning in to place his lips on my neck. “You smell fantastic.”
My body goes hot, and I have to tamp down the urge to stab him. I’m Heather, and Heather doesn’t stab wealthy men. “I showered, just for you.”
He laughs, leaning back in his seat and walking his fingers up my hand. After a short drive we pull up to a gate and the SUV rolls through. The house is massive, lights are on all around the exterior, and the interior illuminates before we step foot on the front stoop.
“This house is so big!” I preen, hoping to gauge his reaction. If he likes to be praised, then I can’t wait for him to take me to the basement.
He chuckles, “It’s alright.”
His comment, and nonchalance, is inconvenient and tells me nothing about how long it’ll take to get to his basement sex dungeon. Leading me into the house, he takes my light coat and hangs it by the door along with his own. “Join me for a drink?”
I smile and nod, pretending to be enamored by his whole facade. I won’t be drinking whatever he gives me, but I will watch him drink it. We sit in his living room, where security seems to fuck off.
“Vodka for the lady?” He offers me a martini and the little bubbles at the bottom tells me he’s given it an extra dose of something.
“I’m more of a bourbon kind of woman,” I smile, nodding to his drink. He chokes back a laugh and pushes the martini across the table.
“Let’s start with the martini, shall we?”
Leaning back in his chair, he sips his whiskey and waits for me to take the drink he offered. Taking a small sip, I grimace and toss the drink over my shoulder. Then remember that’s probably not something Heather would do.
Mr. DirtyBucks laughs though and downs the rest of his drink, standing he offers his hand and leads me to the elevator. We ride down, and the closer we get the louder the music gets. It’s not heavy, like something that will break speakers, but it’s definitely not smooth.
The moment the doors open I understand–viscerally–why Mr. DirtyBucks was on Conall’s list. I mean, other than him being an obvious rapist, duh.
There are people in all sorts of undress, some watching, others participating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much activity in my life, and I can’t help but stare.
“I knew you’d like it,” he says, pulling me to his side.
Steering us toward the head of the room, there’s a step up, a couch runs the length of the wall with people kissing, groping, watching. Sensory overload threatens to push into my brain and I have to close my eyes and take a breath.
Catching someone familiar out of the corner of my eye, a slow smile spreads.
Lincoln’s here, and his bare chest and tattoos are on display making me grin and lick my lips.
It’s about fucking time.
Mr. DirtyBucks nods to someone on the couch and they walk over to Lincoln and whisper something in his ear.
Mr. DirtyBucks leans down to my ear and whispers, “I like him too.”
Well, this just got interesting.
Lincoln nods and walks over, he’s wearing a mask, something glittery and black. It makes his eyes appear even lighter, and his silver jewelry stand out against his dark skin. I like this look, he’s wearing leather black pants that hug his muscular legs and boots that look heavy.
He doesn’t say anything, only follows as Mr. DirtyBucks leads us to a private room behind the couch. It’s quieter in here, and the furniture looks freshly cleaned.
“I like to watch,” Mr. DirtyBucks says, walking to a hidden cupboard and pouring more whiskey into a glass. “If you’d prefer, I can join to start, but you’ll both be finishing each other while I watch.”
Turning my gaze to Lincoln, I can’t help the devilish smile that crosses my lips.
“Did you hear that, Shadow? We’re going to finish each other.”
Oh, we’re going to play, indeed.