Chapter 5 Masked Merrow Club #3
He crept up behind me and ran the backs of his fingers down my bare shoulders.
Allan’s breath tickled the back of my neck just before his lips pressed against my nape.
“I’m glad you could come,” he whispered into my skin, then his lips tightened as if smiling.
“I think you’ll be coming more times than you thought tonight. ”
I drew in a deep breath through my nose as if affected by the promise and stepped away, wobbling a little on my heels to appear a little tipsy.
Then I leaned over to set the hot-pink patent clutch on his entryway table so I could turn and drape my arms around his shoulders.
“I’m glad I could come, too.” His hands found their way onto my hips, and he squeezed a little.
I didn’t acknowledge his other quip and instead let him sit with that awkward pickup line he spoke into existence.
He should feel awkward, after sending that sad excuse for a dick pic.
Fucking idiot.
Allan cleared his throat. “Drink?”
He waved a hand to the bar beneath the pass-through connecting the kitchen and living room.
With the other hand on my back, he guided me to one of the stools and walked behind the opposite side of where the liquor was kept.
I kept an easy appearance, bracing my elbows on the marble bar top and resting my chin on top of folded hands as I watched him duck out of sight.
“Do you have any good bourbon under there?”
“Sorry, I’m more of a red wine guy.”
Strike one.
“Huh,” I mused. “I don’t remember you getting wine at the club.”
Allan peeked up briefly from where he was rummaging around the lower cabinets. “Yeah, who gets wine at a club?”
I shrugged, unbothered. “Plenty of people, in my experience. But carry on.”
He scoffed, and after a few seconds of bottles clinking and shifting around in the shelves, Allan pulled out two wine glasses and a cabernet with a triumphant smile. “Pardon me while I go open this bottle. I wouldn’t want you thinking any less of me, watching me struggle to get this cork out.”
I watched him slip out of sight in the L-shaped kitchen and took the time to spin on my stool and look around the open space.
There was only one other door on the other side of the living room that likely led to the bedroom, and around the corner, to the right of the bar, the edge of a dining room table was barely visible if I leaned over.
Along the right wall were several floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Vegas from the twentieth floor of this high-rise.
It was a simple layout with limited options for hiding places if shit went sideways.
Perfect.
“Here you go!” Allan appeared at my elbow, two glasses full of dark red wine swirling in their glasses. I moved to take the one in his right hand, but he quickly swooped in to give the glass in his left.
Strike two.
My lips curled in what he probably thought was a coy smile. “Cheers,” I lifted my glass to tap his with a delicate clink.
“To new… relationships,” he answered. The words were innocent enough, but his eyes…
those blue eyes tracked down my body like I was a piece of meat that he was sizing up in the butcher’s window.
Allan watched as I brought the rim to my lips and tilted it as if to take a sip.
However, he couldn’t see how tightly my lips were pressed to the glass, so a single drop couldn’t get through. I already knew this fucker’s game.
Another wide smile lit Allan’s face when my glass lowered, and he quickly followed with a drink of his own. But he was just a bit too slow, a bit too obvious that he was watching me closely. Like he was waiting for something to happen. “So,” I began. “What do you do for work?”
Allan shrugged. “Import and export, mostly. I’m a consultant for several shipping companies.”
Oh, I bet you fucking are.
“Sounds interesting. What kind of exports does an isolated place like Las Vegas have, I wonder?”
“Um, you know. All sorts of things,” Allan shifted, as if he were scrambling for a believable answer and coming up empty-handed. “Would you like to sit on the couch instead? I doubt the bar stool is all that comfortable.”
I shrugged. “I’m fine either way. Whatever you prefer.”
He gestured with an open hand toward the living, and I gave a gracious smile as I slipped off and moved ahead of him. I intentionally left the stemmed glass on the bar, curious to see what he would do if I left it behind.
“Oh, wait, don’t forget your wine!” Allan snatched it up almost too eagerly and pushed it toward my chest. I had to grab the glass or risk wearing the wine sloshing around inside.
Strike three, motherfucker.
“Let me ask you, now,” he tried to continue our conversation as he followed me down the steps to the sunken living room.
I pretended to take another healthy drink of the wine before setting it on the coffee table and lowering myself carefully onto the sectional.
Allan pressed closer, causing me to move one cushion over or risk being sat on.
His leg brushed mine with how close he was, an arm slung behind me on the back of the couch.
“What do you do for work? Or, do you work?”
I had to bite my tongue and hide it with what I hoped he took as a sweet smile. “Oh, nothing special. Just an office manager. Not nearly as exciting as what you do, I bet.”
The smarmy look on his face made me want to throat punch him.
Whatever charm Allan possessed at the club had fallen away in the bright light of the condo.
His knee bobbed in a restless pattern, and he kept his attention wholly focused on me in a creepy way.
The small crease between his brows told its own story.
“What, the Rohypnol not kicking in as fast as you thought?” My tone was light and teasing, so the words didn’t register in his head immediately. But I enjoyed the decomposing of Allan’s face as it went from impatient, to shocked, to scared, and landed on extremely pissed off.
“What do you—”
My leg was over his hip with my left hand shoved against his throat before he could get the question out.
The full glass fell to the floor, spilling its contents all over the white rug.
Watching his blue eyes widen in shock was satisfying enough to make this whole role-playing experience worthwhile.
Allan’s mouth opened again, and I shoved the knife strapped high on my right thigh against his carotid artery.
A pitiful whimper leaked from his lips when the blade pressed enough to draw a drop of blood that trickled down onto my hand.
The keychain dangling off its handle clacked loudly as it swayed with the motion.
At least he was smart enough not to thrash and end my fun too early.
“I’m done playing,” I hissed. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know exactly who each other is, Nick Elgan. Trafficking women doesn't count as exporting, asshole.”
“I’m not—” Nick tried to shake his head, but I pressed even closer. “You crazy bitch, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Oh yeah? Flip the cushion beside you.”
His jaw shifted side to side in frustration.
“Do. It.”
Allan–or rather, Nick’s–hand crept across the couch to the cushion on his left, the one he had essentially pushed me over to avoid sitting on.
The one that was just a little higher than its neighbor and slightly lumpy.
Spitting a curse, he pushed the cushion to the floor to show what I already knew was there.
Hatred burned bright in his watery eyes.
As I held my advantage, I glanced over to take in the rope, a rag probably soaked with chloroform, and his own rather large knife.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? I doubt too many girls you bring back are into being drugged and tied up. That looks like a trafficker’s starter kit to me. ”
His chest began to rise and fall rapidly with his ragged gasps.
Those tears pooling in his eyes now dribbled down his cheeks, and he shifted like he was trying to unbalance me.
My legs tightened their death hold on his waist, and my hand on his chest slid up to twist into his hair and pull his head to a painful angle.
Nick’s eyes rolled like a scared sheep that had been thrown to the ground and pinned.
“Who do you report to?”
Nick bared his teeth and tried to spit on me. It landed on his chin and slid down his jaw, making him look like even more of a mess. “I’m not telling you anything, bitch!”
The charming facade had completely fallen away. All that was left was an angry, scared little man who was pissed at getting bested by a woman. “Works for me,” I chirped happily.
Then I reversed the knife with a quick flick of my hand and jammed it all the way to the hilt, where his pulse thrummed.
Nick immediately started to gurgle and thrash as I ripped the blade all the way across his throat to the opposite ear.
His neck gaped wide and gushed blood all over both of us when I tilted his head all the way back, watching the life drain from his eyes.
I was propped all the way up on my knees, looking down on his red-splattered face while his mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.
“Tonight was fun, but you’re not my type,” I slapped his cheek, hard.
Nick’s eyes had already stilled along with the rest of his body, arms lying limp on either side of him as the massive gash across his throat went from spewing blood to a slow trickle.
The entire front of my sparkly pink dress was completely soaked through and sticking to my skin.
It separated with a wet shluck when I pulled it away, pinched between my thumb and pointer finger.
My face twisted in disappointment as I walked toward the front door and dug for my cell phone, still tucked away in my clutch.
I loved this dress. If I could kill that asshole all over again for ruining it, I would.
Still holding the now-scratchy fabric from my torso, I pulled the phone out and opened it with my cleaner hand.
Taylor’s name was pinned at the top of my text window.
Hey, got him.
*eye roll* Really? You couldn’t wait one more hour until I was done with recon? Damn girl, you’re impatient.
I was the one who rolled my eyes this time. Dropping a pin, can you send a crew and come pick me up?
You know I will.
Thanks, bruh.
Heaving a tired sigh, I looked back on the mess I made of Nick’s once-pristine condo.
It probably wasn’t even his. Catching this trafficker in the club was a stroke of luck.
Really, it felt like catching one fish in a sea full of them.
Sometimes I wondered if it was worth it, hunting down all these monsters who thought they could just take advantage of people and sell them like cattle.
That little niggling doubt was quickly squashed, though.
I am who I wish someone had been for me ten years ago. And that’s all I needed to keep going.