11. LYRA
LYRA
O kay, so apparently Sundays aren’t as great as I thought they were. At least, not this Sunday in particular.
It took me forever to get through my inventory, only to get caught up working on next week’s roster, and honestly, I’m almost certain I’m going to have to redo it.
After seeing Hunter shoot a guy in his doorway, my brain hasn’t been able to keep focused.
Naturally, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
Turns out, I was spot-on when I accused him of being a psychopath or a serial killer the first time we met, but to his credit, he didn’t deny it. I just thought he was trying to be a flirt, that he was picking up on the banter I was throwing his way. How was I supposed to know he was serious?
Fuck. I knew there was something dangerous about him. From the moment I saw him, I could sense it, but this is definitely not what I had in mind. I thought maybe he was a bit of a player, the kind of guy who’s all about the chase, and the moment he had me in bed, he’d take off. But a killer?
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
After I finished in the office, I went to help the girls in the bar, but after screwing up three separate orders, I called it a night. I was just wasting money remaking all the drinks. Now it’s barely even 8 p.m., and for the first time since opening Black Velvet, I’m on my way home.
I wander through the streets, dragging my feet as I replay it in my head on repeat.
The way he so casually walked up to the door, the way he stepped away from the peephole and took out his gun.
The way he stood in front of that man, raised his hand, and pulled the trigger with no hesitation.
He didn’t even flinch. There was no emotion.
No freaking out. Just a simple squeeze of the trigger as though murdering people in cold blood is nothing but work to him.
It wasn’t reckless and messy like the murders you see described on TV, the ones where a man loses his shit and goes on a rampage, hacking people to pieces because he’s a small-minded, overly-emotional loser who doesn’t know how to self-regulate. This was calculated and quick.
The more I go over it, the clearer it becomes, this was a hit. Meaning, Hunter Cole is an assassin. Or a hitman.
The idea of him being a hitman . . . well shit.
It’s kinda hot. Unless I’m a target, then that’s going to be an issue for me.
I’m a pretty fast runner, but I’m not sure evading a psycho killer was on my Bingo card for this year.
It seems like a lot of energy, and honestly, with Black Velvet doing so well, I really don’t have the time or energy to put the effort into anything else.
Except Maddox Blake. I’ve got all the time and energy for that, especially if he’s intent on satisfying me so thoroughly each and every time he puts it down.
Goddamn. Just the thought of what Maddox does to me is almost enough to make me forget about what I saw today, but unfortunately, no amount of exceptional dick could make a woman forget about that for long.
I wonder what Smooch would think of Hunter?
I’ve always stood by the idea that dogs are a great judge of character.
They just seem to know this shit. I wonder if Maddox would be down with me borrowing his dog for a few hours, because if any dog is going to know if Hunter is a psychopath that needs to be avoided, it’ll be Smooch.
Damn. I love that dog. I’ve always wanted one, but living in a small apartment, a billion floors up, while having literally no time on my hands, I’m not sure I’d be able to offer a dog a very happy life. They need grass to run and all the love in the world. It’ll happen for me one day.
I’ve always pictured myself with a huge dog.
Bigger than Smooch. Maybe a Great Dane. Midnight black.
He’d be the greatest love of my life and my fiercest protector.
But that’s as far as I’ve gotten on my future dog planning.
I always get stuck when I start thinking about potential names.
Nothing seems to be good enough. I’ve thrown around names like Diesel and Butch, but so far, nothing has landed.
Maybe it’s one of those things where you have to see the dog before you can name him.
Fuck. How has my night snowballed into this? Strolling through the streets of Onyx Heights wondering the difference between assassins and hitmen, and mentally arguing with myself over a name for a dog I don’t even have?
What is wrong with me?
Maybe I’m going crazy. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
Turning the last corner and coming around to my apartment complex, I come to a dead stop seeing that same matte black Challenger sitting right outside my building.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
My heart lurches, and I stand motionless on the sidewalk, not knowing what to do.
It’s not as though I’m being very discreet.
I’m standing twenty feet away from the asshole’s car, frozen like a goddamn statue, directly under a street light.
My blond hair is practically lit up like a halo.
If I turn and run, that’s only going to draw more attention to me.
What are the chances he hasn’t seen me yet?
My blood turns to ice, and I watch in horror as he pushes out of his car, and damn it, he’s just as handsome as he was the first time I saw him. Only now I know better than to throw myself at him.
Just as I think he’s about to look my way, he shuts his door and strides into my building like he’s done it a hundred times before.
What the fuck is happening right now?
Does he know that I saw him today? Has he come to end me for being a nosy bitch?
Fuck. I can’t handle this right now. It’s too much.
Maybe he has no idea that I saw him. He could be just a regular stalker who came to bug my apartment with creepy surveillance gear while thinking I’m at work.
That’s more likely, right? I mean, it wouldn’t be ideal having cameras in my home, but it’s better than the alternative of being shot dead.
I could even put on a little performance for him if he’s that intent on watching me.
Maybe I’m being too judgmental. Maybe he’s also a doorknocker in his spare time, here to tell the residents of Onyx Heights about his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Hunter disappears inside, and despite knowing that I should take off at the speed of light and never look back, I find myself creeping toward the main entrance.
What could it hurt? Apart from the whole potential death thing?
I mean, if this guy is going to be all up in my business, then why shouldn’t I be all up in his? Seems fair to me.
Nervousness rattles me as I unlock the door and make my way inside, holding my breath as though that’s somehow going to disguise me better.
There’s no sign of him on the ground floor, and I make my way to the elevator and go to reach for the call button when I pull my hand back.
Am I stupid? The last thing I need is to get caught alone in a metal death-trap with Hunter Cole.
What if he clocked me the second I turned the corner?
He could be just waiting for me in there.
No thanks. I know following him through the door was already a stupid move, but we’ve all got to draw the line of our own stupidity somewhere, right?
I guess I’m taking the stairs.
As my foot hits the bottom step, I get an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. After all, this isn’t the first time I’ve followed the man through an apartment building today. Only this time, I’m coming for answers.
Unlike the stairs at the other apartment complex, I have a good view all the way to the top, and with the coast clear, I hurry up the stairs, checking each floor as I pass.
When I get to my floor, I peer into the hallway just as the elevator doors close, and I suck in a breath, finding Hunter striding down the long corridor.
Okay. This shit is definitely not in my head. The fucker is absolutely stalking me. There’s no other way to look at it. How else would he know exactly which building I live in and make his way right to the exact floor? And right after I blew him off. The odds are certainly not in my favor.
Anger swirls through my chest. Who does he think he is sniffing out my apartment like this? Kinda shitty move if you ask me, and after the day I’ve had, I’m so not here for it.
I take a shaky breath. If I were smart, I’d haul ass out of here, but instead, I adjust my keys in my hand, the rigid metal sticking between my fingers like a makeshift knife, and with the utmost misplaced confidence, I step out into the hallway and stalk the stalker, determination lacing my every step.
This fucker is going down.
As I storm down the hallway after him, he moves directly in front of my door, and the rage that comes flying out of me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. “Oh, hell no. I think the fuck not, asshole.”
Hunter whips around in the span of a blink, his head snapping up as I barrel down the hall toward him. He clocks the makeshift key-knife between my fingers, looking every bit the snack he has no business being.
His brow arches, and I don’t miss the brief flicker in his eyes as they drag over me with curiosity.
I don’t wait for a response before I let my rage erupt in the form of verbal vomit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?
” I demand, stopping just shy of him. “This bullshit right here, this isn’t okay. ”
Hunter just watches me, having the nerve to appear even remotely confused, but that confusion quickly morphs into pure delight, and I should have known better. Of course this fucker would get off on the idea of being caught out.
“Have you been following me, Little Savage?” he asks, voice low and rough. “That’s a bit naughty.”
I blink.
What the fuck?
“If you wanted me that bad, you should have just said so.”
Okay. That shit gets me talking again. “What the hell is your problem? I don’t want you at all. You have the emotional intelligence of a soggy cat turd.”
Hunter falls back against the wall, his hand flying to his chest as though my words physically assaulted him. “Ouch. You hit me right where I don’t give a fuck,” he tells me. “Now, we gonna talk about you leaving me on read, or are we just gonna skip past the bullshit to you coming home with me?”
“You wish,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you admit you’ve been stalking me?”
The audacity this man has to raise a brow in question. “Stalking? Shit, I’ve had a busy day, but I don’t recall stalking you. I could schedule it for tomorrow if you’d like?”
My jaw drops, gaping at him as though a second head just grew out the side of his neck. “How can you stand there and say you’re not stalking me when you’re literally standing outside my door?”
“Okay, Savage. Now you’ve lost me. The fuck are you talking about?”
I wildly gesture to the very door he’s standing right in front of. “Right there. My door. The one attached to my apartment, where I live like a normal fucking person who doesn’t lurk outside women’s homes like serial killers.”
“I . . .” He pauses, his brows pinched together as he sweeps his gaze from me to the door and then back again. “ Your door ?”
I groan. “How many times are we going to cover this?”
Something flashes in his eyes before he slowly takes three backward steps down the hall until he’s standing directly outside Maddox’s friend’s door, the very door I’d knocked on just last night.
“ My door, ” he says.
I shake my head. “No. Not possible.”
He nods, amusement flaring in his dark stare as he pulls out a set of keys and slides one straight in as if to prove a point. He twists the key, and I gape as the door swings open. “Very possible.”
My soul leaves my body.
“No. No, no, no,” I start to chant, but he just laughs as a wickedly infuriating grin cuts across his devilishly gorgeous face.
“I guess I’ll be seeing ya, Savage,” he says, and with that, Hunter steps into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and leaving me gaping after him, wondering what the fuck just happened.