Chapter 6 Everett
SIX
EVERETT
I’ve been kept hidden all my life. I was always supposed to be a secret—a no one. And I’ve always been okay with that. The Lords have shown me that you’re the only person you can count on. Hell, let’s face it, that can go for anyone, Lords world or not.
But I’ve been seen. The one person I’ve wanted to avoid has come back into my life, and all I can do is hope he doesn’t want to reminisce.
Last week, Kashton Landon Pierce walked into my life, just like he did six years ago, and he had me just as flustered as he did back then. But this time, I couldn’t show it, because he wasn’t alone.
It’s been one week since Kashton and Haidyn were at the cathedral, and one of them is following me.
He thinks I haven’t noticed him, but I see everything. I’m always watching my surroundings. A woman can never be too careful. We’re targets. No matter whether it’s someone we know or not.
I can feel him.
That same heat rushes over my skin, as if I’ve been lit on fire. Those butterflies flutter in my stomach so violently I think I’m going to get sick, and it has nothing to do with why I’m here tonight.
It hasn’t stopped me from living my life though. I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let a man dictate that. Men already have too much power over women.
“May I buy you a drink?”
I look up from the glass of bourbon sitting on the bar to see a man standing next to me under the neon lights. “Of course.” I give him a shy smile.
Who the fuck turns down free drinks? Definitely not a woman sitting alone at a bar.
He pulls out the barstool next to me and gestures to the bartender. “I’ll have a scotch, and the lady will have another.”
I readjust my position at the way he calls me lady. I know the man was being polite, but it’s something I’ll never be in our world.
I’ll never belong to a Lord. No one would want me. Not long-term anyway. A one-night stand? Absolutely, but that’s not a compliment or reassuring. A man will fuck anything. Literally.
“So what brings you to this place?” the man asks, turning his attention to me.
I pick up the glass and down what’s left since I have another one coming. “Just needed a night out,” I answer.
“Oh no. Boy trouble?” His eyes drop to my left hand to see if I’m married. The thought makes me want to vomit. Or is that those damn butterflies from the man sitting in the darkly lit booth back in the corner?
Marriage is overrated and pointless. Like look at this man sitting next to me.
He’s married. He didn’t even bother to take his ring off before he offered to buy me a drink.
I know what some would think…he’s just a nice guy offering a woman a drink while we share a pointless conversation. It’s harmless.
Wrong. The way his eyes are glued to my chest tells me all I need to know about him. He’s definitely thinking about fucking me, and if given the chance, he’d jump on top of that. Or me.
Sucks for him. I’m not letting a dick anywhere near me.
“Here you go.” The bartender sets our glasses down, and I turn to the man who bought my new drink, thanking him.
He clanks his glass into mine. “What do you say we finish these and get out of here?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly he offered that. Pathetic, really. He pays for a twelve-dollar drink, and I’m supposed to kneel before him and open my mouth so he can fuck it while I pretend to enjoy it.
“A place a little quieter?”
“I have a motel room next door.” I give him that shy smile that makes him squirm on his barstool.
He can’t wait to pin me down and fuck me.
I can’t wait to put a knife in his fucking throat and watch the life drain out of his eyes.
“I’m just in town for the night,” I add.
Let him know that he’ll never have to see me again. No strings attached.
He tosses back his drink and slams his glass on the bar top, calling the bartender over to pay for the two drinks.
I sip on mine, ignoring the man who watches me from across the run-down bar. He may be a problem in more ways than one. Hopefully he stays out of my way. I’d hate to have to kill them both.
“Ready?” The man gets up from his seat and places his wallet inside his suit jacket. He stands out among the crowd that hangs out here.
His three-piece suit screams money. I’m sure he has a Maserati parked outside and a Lords crest branded on his chest.
I’m wearing a pair of black fishnet tights, a black leather miniskirt, and a matching corset, with my hair up in a high pony.
I dressed like a two-dollar hooker for a reason.
Easy target. He won’t pay enough attention to notice that I’m wearing Louboutins.
My over-the-top makeup is done with black shadow that I purposely smeared to make it look like I’ve been on a three-day binge, and my red lipstick is meant to draw attention.
I fall off the side of my heel, so he places his hands on my waist to try to steady me.
“Been here for a while?” he asks, hopeful.
Men consider a drunk woman an easy conquest. “Guess I had more than I thought.” I lean into his side, and he smiles down at me.
He helps me out of the bar and walks me across the parking lot.
“Room 111,” I inform him, removing the cheap plastic key chain from my clutch. Anyone who says I’m not sentimental doesn’t know me very well.
He’s a gentleman and opens it for me since I can’t seem to do it myself. Stepping into the room, I shut and lock it behind me, hoping that the Spade brother stays the fuck out.
KASHTON
I watch her shut the door to her motel room the moment I step out of the bar. The thought of her being alone with him makes my blood boil. I’m going to storm in, yank her off him, and force her to watch me cut off his dick.
My hands shook with rage. Just sitting there watching him look her over like a piece of meat had my hand on my gun.
After removing the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, I light one up, needing a quick hit to calm my nerves before I rush inside the room. I don’t want to hurt her. Just teach her a lesson that she won’t forget—she belongs to me.
Bringing it to my lips, I take in a long drag as the door to the motel room opens, and she walks out, closing it behind her.
I frown, taking a quick step to the right to hide in the shadows. Well, that wasn’t enough time to have sex. Not sex worth having anyway.
Maybe I had this all wrong. Was she buying drugs? Selling him drugs?
The only plausible answer is that they were exchanging something that couldn’t be done in public.
She pulls a trench coat tightly closed, tying it off, and her designer heels slap the water puddles that litter the abandoned parking lot.
She doesn’t seem nearly as drunk as she looked a couple of minutes ago.
Was she faking it? If so, why? Eve walks to her car parked right by the door of the motel room.
Getting in, she starts it, and the reverse lights come on.
I watch her pull out onto the road and remain where I’m at until her taillights fade into the darkness.
Throwing the cigarette down, I make my way across the parking lot and glance around.
It’s an old, practically abandoned one-story motel.
Half the letters on the sign don’t work and the paint has faded from countless years of sun damage.
The number on the door reads 111. But it’s different from the others.
It’s been carved with a knife and seems oddly familiar.
Like the three lines that were on her hip when I finger-fucked her on the yacht.
Now that she’s left, there are no other cars other than what’s at the bar.
I touch the knob and twist it, opening the door to the room she vacated.
Stepping inside, I look over the man who lies in the center of the bed. He’s naked except for the dress slacks bunched around his ankles.
His throat is slashed from ear to ear. The visual gives me a feeling of unease. Blood covers the already dingy sheets, along with his chest, neck, and parts of his face.
I’m equally impressed and confused.
Was this a job? If so, what kind? Was she robbing him? Blackmailing him?
Surely, some sort of exchange was involved, and it went south, requiring her to defend herself. Or she knew she was bringing him in here to kill him. But why him and why here, of all places?
Walking to the bathroom, I grab a towel and wet it. Then I go over to the body and run it over his blood-covered chest. What I see makes me pause. He has a Lords crest branded on his chest—a circle with three horizontal lines through it.
Was she targeting him, or was he targeting her?
I watched her clean up a Lord at the cathedral.
He had been part of a confessional, so I know she wasn’t the one to torture him.
So why this Lord? Was she supposed to deliver him to the cathedral, and things escalated so quickly that she had to take care of him here?
She knew what she was doing. She was prepared. There’s no other reason she would have sat at the bar for over an hour, speaking to no one, then suddenly engage with him as soon as he sat down. Within five minutes, they had walked over to a motel room. One she was conveniently parked in front of.
Her trench coat? Where did it come from? It had to have already been here in the room; she didn’t have it at the bar.
Everett set this up. Her appearance and actions screamed I’m drunk and a cheap fuck. But it was a facade. Part of her game. She lures men in and seduces them in order to kill.
It makes me wonder if I killed the guy for her on the Isabella because she wanted me to or because he really was going to rape her. After seeing what’s in front of me, I’m thinking the former.
I smile to myself. She did good, but I’m not surprised. She’s a pro. Been doing it for years. That night on the Isabella all those years ago wasn’t a cry for help. Everett didn’t need me to save her.