2. HUNTER
HUNTER
F uck me. This woman is either going to bring me to my knees, or will slaughter me in my sleep. I’m leaning toward the latter, but either way, I’m down to find out. There’s something about this mystical Lyra that draws me in, and I need to figure out why.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments of going through women like cheap whiskey, but none of them have held my attention the way she did, and as I watch her make her way around the bar, I find myself obsessed.
I need to know what makes her scream. How she smells.
How she tastes. How she feels beneath my hands.
She’s a little spitfire, and watching her dance for me on that bar had me bricking up like a fucking teenager.
To be fair, she probably wasn’t dancing for me .
She was just doing her job, but when I’m lying in my bed with my cock in my fist, madly jerking off to those pretty eyes and that perfect body, I’ll be telling myself that every move she’s ever made has been solely for me.
The way those hypnotic eyes ate me up.
Fuck, she’s got no idea what she just got herself caught up in.
I am not the man who’s going to sweep her off her feet.
I’m not the white knight who’s coming to save her from her ivory tower.
I’m a fucking monster.
I’m exactly what nightmares are made of, but Lyra can handle it.
There’s a ferociousness in her eyes, even while she shook her ass on that bar and danced to Britney Spears.
Lyra is like a feral kitten who thinks she’s the queen of the jungle, and I want to see her roar.
Though my gut tells me that roar is barely a subtle hiss, she just needs somebody at her back to show her how.
I could be that for her. I could teach her how to roar, and fuck, she’d drop me right to my knees.
That is until I inevitably fuck it up, just as she already anticipated I would.
She’s not wrong. A man like me doesn’t give happily-ever-afters.
We stick around just long enough to watch them get attached, we have our fun, and once they start looking at us as though we could give them something more, we pull the rug out from under them.
If only Lyra knew just how right she was when she teased me about being a crazed serial killer for not having ice in my water.
That right there should have been her warning sign.
She should have seen red flags waving all around me and run for the fucking hills.
Instead, she let me draw her right into my trap, exactly where she should never want to be.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some callous murderer. Well, not all the time. I’m definitely a little fucked in the head and perhaps slightly unhinged from time to time, but for the most part, I consider myself a successful businessman.
A killer for hire. A weapon for the highest bidder.
A means to an end. As long as there’s money to be made, fun to be had, and a life to be lost, you can count me in.
After all, it’s important that a well-rounded man enjoys what he does with his days.
If there’s no enjoyment in your work, no passion, or enthusiasm, then what’s the point?
Motivation for money only gets you so far, and in my industry, shit like that gets you nothing but twenty to life .
. . or a death sentence. And while that sounds like a wild ride, I prefer not being caught up with law enforcement.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and as I watch Lyra sway her hips while mixing some drink called a Last Regret, my own regret begins pounding through me, knowing exactly what I’m about to find on my phone.
Checking the notification, I find a text from an unknown number, likely from a burner phone with nothing but a picture of my next hit and a location pinned on a map.
It’s go time. And unfortunately for me, that means my time at Black Velvet has come to an end. But that doesn’t mean this is over. Lyra said she gets off at two, and by ten past, I fully intend to be buried inside her.
It’s only just creeping up to midnight, and considering my target doesn’t move from the location pinned on the map, I should have more than enough time to cut across the city, find him, take the hit, and be back here with enough time to indulge in my latest fantasy.
Getting up from the bar, I immediately catch Lyra’s attention, and she arches a brow. “Leaving so soon?” she questions with a challenge in her sweet tone, probably wondering if I’d changed my mind and couldn’t follow through on my vow to leave her screaming.
An amused scoff tears from the back of my throat, and I find myself completely bewildered by this woman.
Generally, they shrink away from me. They sense something isn’t right and go out of their way not to make eye contact.
But not Lyra. So she’s either clueless with no survival instincts, or she’s something else entirely. Probably clueless.
“Things to do, Savage,” I tell her. “But don’t worry. I’ll be here at two to give you what you need.”
“What I need?” she questions. “You’re the one who can’t seem to look away.
I see it in your eyes. You’re obsessed. You need this more than I do.
I can get what I need from any one of the hundreds of men in this bar.
But something tells me it’s not that simple for you.
You know what you like, and nothing less is ever going to be enough. You want me and only me.”
Well, fuck. She’s got me there. But she doesn’t need to know that.
She grins, her eyes shining with silent laughter. “And to think I was about to take my break, and let you have your way with me in the back alley. Suppose it’ll have to wait.”
I clench my jaw. I might be a nightmare, but this woman is about to be the bane of my existence, yet I want it more than I could have ever prepared for. There’s no doubt that I’m going to destroy her, but this feisty little vixen might just beat me to the punch.
“Two a.m., Lyra. You better be here when I get back. And don’t even think about keeping me waiting.”
Lyra’s only response is a satisfied smirk, and despite how fucking stunning she is, I can’t wait to wipe the look off her face. Preferably when I’m pushing past her gag reflexes, and she’s choking on my cock.
God. I can’t fucking wait.
Suddenly having no interest in my job, I turn on my heel and reluctantly make my way toward the main entrance, weaving through the hundreds of bodies crammed into Black Velvet.
What I wouldn’t give to follow Lyra out to that back alley, but like I said, I’m a businessman, and I’m not letting a payday slip away because I’ve stupidly allowed myself to become infatuated by some woman who spends her Friday nights dancing on bars with a wet see-through tank.
I need to focus. I can’t allow myself to slip. I have a job to do, and I’ll do it to the best of my ability, no matter how desperately I’d rather be with someone else . . . or inside someone else.
Stepping out into the streets of Onyx Heights, I head down the sidewalk toward my matte black Dodge Challenger that’s parked on the next side street. Heading past the long line of people waiting to get into Black Velvet, my phone buzzes again, and I pause just before stepping out onto the road.
Once that confirmation text comes through, that should be it. No more communication is permitted.
Hastily checking the message, I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh.
Unknown: Target is on the move. Wait for instructions.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself. Not only has the client messed up the one task I gave him, but he also cost me precious minutes where my eyeballs could have lingered on Lyra’s skin, potentially even having her up against the wall in a side alley.
And to me, that’s a mistake punishable by death.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I switch it out for my pack of cigarettes, lifting the whole thing to my mouth. Pinching one between my lips, I pull it free, light it, and take a long drag.
A few of the Black Velvet bartenders linger around the side of the building, taking their break, and I almost laugh, realizing this is likely the very side alley Lyra was referring to.
Leaning against the wall, I prop my foot up as I quickly work my way through my cigarette, and as I’m waiting for a new confirmation text, the back door flies open, and the very woman I’d just bailed on strides out, laughing animatedly with some of the other girls.
That is until she senses my stare on her and pauses, glancing back at me.
She doesn’t try to approach me, doesn’t even try to talk to me.
Just stands there among her friends, her eyes roaming up and down my body, eye-fucking me with everything she’s got.
And judging by the smug expression on her face, I know exactly what she’s thinking; that I just blew off burying myself nine inches inside of her just to stand out here like a fucking loser sucking on the end of a cigarette.
I don’t know what game we’re playing here, but whatever it is, she thinks she’s just won. But she’s far from it. Nobody outplays me.
I leave her be, knowing damn well that come 2 a.m., she’ll belong to me. I’ll let her think she’s won for now, let her soak in the high of the endorphin rush, thinking she has me right where she wants me, because when the time comes to take what’s mine, I want her ready for me.
As she laughs with her friends, I can’t help but notice how fucking gorgeous she is. She still wears that wet tank top, showing off that sexy body beneath, but my attention keeps coming back to the black lace bra that’s barely able to conceal her full tits.
I want them. I want it all.
A few of the girls clock back in, and as they make their way back through the back door, Lyra strides toward me. The air of confidence she holds has to be the most attractive thing about her.
I watch her every step like a predator watching its meal walk straight into its den. She doesn’t stop until she’s standing right in front of me, her body so close, yet she doesn’t touch me.
“Need something, Savage?”