10. Chapter Ten #2
It’s all fine. One thing at a time. For now, I’ll just dance. Then I’ll select a target. And I’ll forge on like the warrior I am.
And that’s exactly what I do, right up until the first song of my set ends and the DJ’s voice rumbles through the speakers. “Everyone, put your hands together for Rebel.”
What?
I pause and direct my attention at the DJ seated behind the microphone.
“Up next on stage is Larissa.”
I shoot him a “what the fuck” look because our sets are always three songs, and I haven’t even had a chance to remove my top yet. Which means less tips. Which means more time between now and me having enough cash saved to disappear.
He shrugs his shoulders and gestures toward the back of the club.
I whip my head to the table in the back corner of the lounge, my heart plummeting into my stomach like a rock in a lake when I realize exactly what’s happening here.
Lynx. He did this.
I’m going to kill him.
Gritting my teeth, I stomp off stage and straight toward his table.
It’s cooler back here. Darker and more secluded. Which bodes well for me because it means I can lay into him without someone overhearing.
“What did you do?” I snarl, slapping my palms on his table and glaring at him.
The arrogant prick is smirking at me, his blue eyes glittering with something daring as he lounges like a king with his arms sprawled over the back of the booth.
His span is impressively large. And those cannon-like forearms of his that are covered in tattoos are on display, the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
I hate him for being so attractive.
He’s a killer, you moron!
But he’s a killer who saved Trinity and took down Rhys Anderson, one of the many reasons you’re a walking, talking dumpster fire.
Shaking my head, I put an end to my internal battle and wait impatiently for Lynx to respond.
His gaze darts to my chest briefly before he says coolly, “Hello, pretty girl.”
“Lynx,” I grate out, desperately trying to keep my tone calm and collected not to draw any attention. “I need this job. Desperately. Now please leave. And let me work.”
A muscle in his jaw slides. “I warned you to never dance for another man, Harlow. You didn’t listen.”
“No. You threatened me. There’s a difference.”
He tips his head back and forth. “Potato, potahto. Here.” He produces another stack of cash that makes my mouth water. Just like the last one, it makes a thud sound when it hits the table between us. “It’s more than you’ll make in a month here.”
“You bought me,” I scoff.
“No. I’m helping you.”
My laugh is all sorts of bitter. “Helping me? I don’t need your help, Lynx. I need you to fuck off.”
“Really? Because it sure looked like you needed help the night of the gala when that useless foreskin had his hands all over you.”
“I had it handled.”
“Good for you. Unfortunately, your friend Trinity did not. How’s she doing by the way?” When I only glower at him because he has a point, he adds, “Go get dressed. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Why? So you can take me out to the middle of nowhere and bury me in a shallow grave? I don’t fucking think so.”
His lip twitches. “For the record, I wouldn’t bury you. And that’s not what I have planned.”
“Isn’t that what you did to Rhys? Bury him?”
He smiles. It’s dazzling and makes me feel things I shouldn’t.
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer!
“Would you prefer I left him in his hotel room for the cops to find?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, then.”
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
“You look stressed,” he says lowly.
“Me? Why would I be stressed? It’s not like my stalker just killed a man in cold blood.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “You know what?”
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Don’t be smart with me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re an ass.”
His smile widens. “I love it when you’re mean to me.”
“Great. So you’ll really love this … You’re a psycho, Lynx. Unhinged. Completely off your fucking rocker. And there’s no way in hell I’m getting in a vehicle with you.”
“I could force you.”
I shake my head. “You won’t.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Call it women’s intuition.”
“Hmm.” He considers that for a moment before reaching for the glass on the table between us. He lifts it to his lips, his eyes fixed on me as he takes a swig and sets the glass back down.
“Drink often?” I quip, my tone sour as a pickle.
“Only when I’m frustrated.”
“Right. Because I frustrate you. So nice of you to sugarcoat it.”
“Would you prefer I lie to you?”
“No. I’d prefer you be brutally honest with me before you kill me. Speaking of which … When’s that happening? You seem to be procrastinating.”
He chuckles darkly. “I know. It’s a first for me.”
“So you do plan to kill me.“ Silence. “Why?”
“Because I was ordered to,” he says plainly.
“What do you mean by ‘ordered to’?”
“Ordered to kill you.”
I blink. Swallow. Try not to pass out from the blood rushing to my head.
“You-you’re a hitman. That’s what you meant when you said you still have a job to do.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m your target.”
“That’s correct.”
All the oxygen in my lungs leaves in a whoosh. This can’t be real life.
“So then what’s the holdup?”
His gaze darkens. He takes another drink. “I keep asking myself the same question.”
“Cool. So not only are you a hitman sent to kill me slash stalk me, you’re also dense.”
“Careful,” he warns, his tone taking on a sharp edge.
This time, I smile. “Aww. What … Did the silly little stripper hurt the big, dumb hitman’s feelings?”
His jaw tightens. He finishes the bourbon in his glass and stands.
Fuck. Why do I keep forgetting how large he is?
He steps toward me. I feign confidence I don’t have and fold my arms across my chest, pop my hip, and glare daggers up at him.
“You should be terrified, Harlow. Running for your life. But you’re not. Which leads me to believe you’re not afraid of dying because you’ve looked death in the face before and somehow managed to survive.”
My mouth opens. Then snaps shut.
Nope. I’m not going to say a word because clearly he’s onto me.
He takes another step forward. He’s so close now that I can smell him. It does nothing to calm the raging inferno blasting through me.
Or the strange fluttering in my chest.
“You asked me why I’m procrastinating. It’s because you stopped me in my tracks that night in the diner, Harlow. I’ve never seen anything like you before. All fire and ice. Bold and brave. Maybe a little too brave. And probably a little crazy if we’re being honest.”
“I guess your mother never taught you that you should never call a woman crazy,” I snip out.
“My mother died when I was a child. So no, she didn’t.”
My shoulders slump. “Oh. I guess we have that in common then.”
“I guess so.”
He reaches up and swipes a strand of loose hair away from my face, his knuckles dusting my cheek and lighting my ovaries on fire.
“You’re gorgeous, Harlow. The most beautiful thing my big, dumb hitman eyes have ever seen.”
If that doesn’t take the wind out of my sails, I don’t know what would.
“I am?”
“Unfortunately, yes. You’re making my job incredibly difficult to do, pretty girl.” He closes the last few inches between us and stares down at me. I can feel the bulge in the front of his jeans pressed against my hip. Feel the heat radiating off him in thick waves.
My arms fall to my sides and hang limply there like spaghetti noodles as Lynx pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He lowers his lips to mine, so close I can smell the bourbon on his breath.
“You’re irritating, Harlow. You make me itchy and hot. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to kill every prick who dares glance in your direction.”
My words come out raspy and delirious. “Please don’t.”
He angles his head as he stares down at me with a look I’m not prepared to label.
But then his phone must vibrate because he exhales a rough breath and retrieves it from his pocket. I watch with bated breath as he reads a message, his expression stony and giving nothing away.
He drags a hand through his hair, tucks the phone back in his pocket, and glowers down at me.
“Go home, Harlow. And lock your windows and door when you get there. I’m not the only monster lurking around this city right now.”
With that, he steps around me, his fingers skimming my left wrist, dusting over my scar the way they did that first night in the diner.
I feel that touch all the way to my soul.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.