26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
HARLOW
As if. Who does he think he is? Telling me he changed his mind and that I’m no longer working at The Devil’s Den.
Pfft.
Fuck. Him.
Storming through the club with Lynx hot on my heels, I scan each table for any signs of one of the remaining three.
I know one of them is in here somewhere. I can feel their slimy presence no less than I can feel the urge to kill them burning through me.
Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
I’m ready for this, more confident and determined than ever. I try not to chalk it up to the fact I have Lynx behind me every step of the way and instead focus on the task itself.
Pausing outside the dressing room door, I turn to the overbearing prick himself and cross my arms.
“You can loiter outside the dressing room like some creep if you must, but don’t you dare come inside. You’ll scare the other girls and get kicked out of the club.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. But thankfully, he grumbles out, “Fine,” and I burst through the change room doors and head straight for my locker, muttering a string of colorful words I’d love nothing more than to spew in his stupidly handsome face.
Then I hide behind my open locker door, checking my hair and reapplying a fresh slick of lipstick, taking my goddamn time doing it just because I know it’ll piss Lynx off.
Plucking my cell phone from my bag, I type out a text message to Sage.
Rebel: Hey! You’re on shift tonight, right?
I hit send and lean against the lockers, picking at my chipped nail polish while I wait for a response.
One never comes, which means her phone is either on silent in her locker, or she’s not here.
Deciding I should get back to work, I tuck my phone away, close up my locker, and saunter back out into the hall to find Lynx exactly where I left him.
Brooding. Scowling. And looking hot as fuck.
Rolling my eyes, I brush past him and make my way to the lounge.
Just as I’m rounding a table filled with a group of drunken middle-aged men in fancy suits, something gold catches in my peripherals and I swing my gaze to the left, faltering briefly before reminding myself that Lynx is right behind me and I don’t want to alert him. If I do, he’ll take this from me again.
Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
There, seated at the bar with his back to me, is the eldest of them all.
Franklin Fitzgerald the fucking third.
The depraved cripple whose cane I’ll never forget the bite of as it cracked against the side of my skull. Then again and again until I saw stars.
Renewed determination rolls through me at a deadly pace, lighting all my parts on fire.
But the part that stings the most is the hollow cavity in my chest because right now, flames of fury are licking at the remnants of my little black heart, reminding me what it feels like to trust an elder in the church enough to seek comfort in their arms. Only to be met with the clank of chains and the cold loneliness that follows.
Two fucking years I spent down in that church basement, shackled to a filthy, lumpy cot while my father’s friends all took their turns forcing me to atone for sins I hadn’t committed.
And the leader of those men? None other than old Franky Fitzgerald.
The fucking third.
My father may have been the priest of that godforsaken place. But Franklin was the one with the money and power. The underboss. The one who convinced my father of my blasphemy.
Keeping him in my line of sight, I continue on the path I set out on, making my rounds at tables and speaking to patrons while Lynx posts up in his usual spot in the back corner, his eyes dark with promises I know he intends on keeping.
When I manage to sweet talk a customer named Glen into a private dance, I take him by the hand and lead him down the hall to room six, not bothering to glance in Lynx’s direction as I giggle at Glen’s mundane joke about how his wife would kill him if she found out about this.
I shove him down onto the sofa and smile sweetly at him.
“Don’t go anywhere, Glen. I’ll be right back,” I tell him with a wink, then sashay back out into the hall and whip my head both directions before bolting back to the dressing room and throwing myself inside.
My heart is pounding now, the blood in my veins like liquid ice as I race toward my locker and grab my duffel bag from inside.
Then I move on autopilot to the fire alarm beside the bathroom stalls.
Three. Two. One.
Pull.
The alarm begins wailing, piercing my eardrums and penetrating my brain.
I waste no time hightailing it out of there and out through the back exit.
Lynx will already be looking for me. I can only hope the crowd of panicked patrons and dancers will be enough to slow him down until I can pull off what I’ve set out to do.
Adrenaline moves through me as I dart around the side of the building and lurk in the shadows, watching with bated breath as people filter out through the main entrance and pour out onto the sidewalk.
When I spot Franklin hobbling around in the crowd, leaning heavily on his cane as he searches for someone—presumably moi—I dig around in my bag for the kitchen knife I snuck out of the drawer before Lynx brought me in for my shift.
I’m not stupid. I know the decrepit old bastard will be armed. He’ll have a gun, of course, because he’s too fragile and weak to stab or strangle me when he finally hunts me down the way I know he plans to.
Which is why I’m going to sneak up on him from behind. A cheap shot, no doubt. But I’m not taking any chances.
As soon as he gives up looking for me and limps back to his shiny black Cadillac parked in the handicap spot at the curb, that’s when I’ll strike.
He’ll never see it coming.
It’s risky. And it’ll be messy. But it won’t be the first time I’ve felt the warm spatter of blood on my skin.
“Oh, little killer,” a baritone voice says from behind, and I freeze on the spot. Shit. “When will you ever learn?”
I spin to find Lynx leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and ankles hooked. He’s shrouded in darkness, but I can feel the heat of his gaze as he rakes his eyes over my body and stops at the knife in my hand.
He tsks in disappointment and shakes his head.
I knew he’d find me eventually. But hope—a real deceiving bitch sometimes—dug its claws into me that I might be able to pull this off before he came and crashed my party.
Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I feign composure and tell him coyly, “I guess I’m not as submissive as you thought, huh?”
He pushes off the wall and closes the space between us, sucking all the oxygen from the air with his overwhelming presence. The knife in my hand grows heavy, weighing my arm down like a lead weight.
Hooking a finger under my chin, he tips my face up to his.
“Which one of them is out there?”
I bristle at his assessment, perturbed that he can see straight through me. “You should know better than to ask such silly questions.”
He angles his head at me, studying me carefully as his eyes glitter.
“I’m sorry, pretty girl. But I can’t let you do it.”
I narrow my gaze at him, venom lacing my words.
“You’re not letting me do anything, Lynx.
I’m a grown woman who’s capable of making her own decisions.
You’re not my keeper. You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t do.
You’re just a murderer with some fucked-up version of a hero complex.
Now step back before I drive this knife straight through your heart. ”
His glower is severe. Irritation rolls off him in thick, riveting waves.
But his tone remains calm and collected when he says, “You’ve already driven a knife through my heart, Harlow.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, my eyes fluttering shut and body sagging into his. “It’s only a matter of time before I bleed out and die.”
Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
Lynx wastes no time forcing me into his truck and driving off, leaving Franklin in the rearview mirror along with all my hopes of finally getting one in on the monsters that destroyed me.
“This is getting old,” I grumble from the passenger seat.
He side-eyes me but remains silent and stiff as a board, his jaw clenched so tight I can practically hear his molars cracking from the other side of the vehicle.
Frustrated at his incredible ability to switch moods in the blink of an eye, I chirp, “You should really see a doctor, you know.”
He huffs out a sigh. “And why is that?”
I fold my arms and shift in my seat to face him. “To remove that giant stick up your ass.”
His lip twitches in amusement. But other than that … nothing. The man is a statue. A very big, grumpy statue.
“Come on. That was funny and you know it.”
“Just be quiet for a while, would you?”
“Hmmm.” I tap my chin and feign thought. “Nah, I don’t think I will. Besides, I have questions.”
He all but scoffs. “Imagine my surprise.”
“First one … Where are you taking me? I know the way back to your house, and this isn’t it.”
Now it’s his turn to crack the jokes. “To bury you in a shallow grave the way you thought I would.” He flashes me a dazzling smile.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a terrible liar and not even a little funny.”
“Guess that makes two of us.” A moment of silence stretches on before he finally adds, “We’re going back to the cemetery.”
I can hear every vertebrae in my spine click into place. “What? Why?”
“So you can show me what you were doing out there with a shovel.”
“Ha! So you are funny!“ He cocks a brow at me. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m showing you that.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Your stubbornness is impressive.”
“If you think that’s impressive, then you should see my ability to hold a grudge.”
“That’s the same thing as being stubborn.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. You’re too stubborn to let the past go.”
“Tried that. Look where it got me.”
He rakes his eyes over my scantily clad body. It serves as a heady reminder that I’m completely defenseless at this moment. And still dressed in my damn stripper outfit with his cum dried on the insides of my thighs.