23. LYRA #3
I watch him for a moment, trying to figure out my best game plan.
A shot through the back of the head would be easy.
So would a quick flick of my wrist with a blade.
But both those options are going to leave a bloody scene.
People will notice, and then people will scream, which generally will result in a mass exodus from the club, making me have to scramble out of here, which isn’t my vibe.
I like to take my time. I like to be at ease and in control.
In order to do that, this kill needs to fit in with the atmosphere, and what better way to pull that off than by faking an accidental overdose?
After all, that’s what people come here to do.
Alcohol, sex, and drugs. This place reports an overdose every few months, so what’s one more to add to the pile?
Slipping my hand into the small hidden pocket inside my corseted top, I pull out a bag of white powder and give myself a moment to glance around.
There’s no sign of Hunter or Maddox, and I can’t help but wonder if they’d gotten their information wrong.
Maybe they had bad intel, or knowing Maddox, he demanded they stop for burgers.
Either way, I’m going to take their hit tonight.
I just wish they could be here so I could see the look on their faces when they realize the red-haired assassin has beaten them at their own game. Again.
Nathaniel ends his call and orders a drink that’s delivered to him within seconds, and as his fingers wrap around the glass, one of the women approaches him. She’s beautiful, tall, blond, and dressed in designer lingerie. Exactly Nathaniel’s type.
She leans into him, her hand brushing his chest before she whispers something into his ear. Nathaniel nods, and a moment later, her hand drops into his and she starts leading him toward one of their private rooms.
A smile pulls at my lips.
Perfect.
Once they get into the room, he’ll likely put his drink down and all of his attention will be focused on the woman, or more accurately, her body. He won’t even notice me slipping into the room and emptying the contents of this little baggy into his glass, and from there, it’s just a waiting game.
It won’t take long. The second the drug hits his system, it will start to work, and the woman won’t even have enough time to race to the door to scream for help before he’s dead.
Wanting to get it over and done with as efficiently as possible, I follow them, taking note of exactly which private room they step into before giving them a moment to get distracted by one another.
As I wait a few minutes, I gaze around Madam again, doing a last scan for those two familiar faces, and after coming up blank, I get the show on the road.
It’s a real shame they’re going to miss it, but it’ll be fun all the same.
Striding up to the door, I pull a small pin from my hair and slide it straight into the lock, not skipping a beat as I effortlessly twist, manipulating the lock until I feel the slightest click. I discreetly turn the handle, ease the door open, and step inside.
The room is dark, and I stick to the shadows as my sharp gaze scans the room. Only I pause, feeling that something is off.
Nathaniel stands across the room, his back to me as he holds his glass, but the woman is nowhere to be seen. Where the hell did she go?
I pause, scanning again, only as my gaze sails over Nathaniel’s back, something unsettles me. He’s too tall. His shoulders too broad. It’s the same designer suit jacket he was wearing not two seconds ago, but I know deep in my gut that the man standing across the room is not Nathaniel Moretti.
I immediately begin to retreat, knowing a setup when I see one, but a voice cuts through the room. “Not so fast.”
That deep voice keeps me rooted to the spot as the man slowly turns, and the breath catches in my throat.
No.
My pulse slams to a halt.
How is this possible?
Hunter Cole stares back at me from the center of the room, and for one impossible second, the entire world tilts beneath my feet.
What the hell is happening?
I wait for the shock. The confusion. The moment his eyes widen as he realizes who he’s looking at. But it never comes. Instead, he just watches me.
He’s calm, patient, almost amused, and a sick feeling twists in my stomach as the pieces begin falling into place. This wasn’t a chance encounter, and it sure as hell wasn’t bad timing. He knew. The bastard knew.
How the fuck am I supposed to explain this one?
“I, uhhhhh . . .”
A shadow steps out from across the room, and I recognize his build before I even see his face. Maddox. My fucked-up little psychopath.
He moves in beside Hunter, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as though he just won a contest. However, as he focuses on my face and not just the red hair, that cocky smirk fades away, and he gapes at me the way I expected Hunter to.
“Lyra?” he questions, his brows pinched as he tries to figure it all out. “What the actual fuck is going on?”
I wince as I look at my boys, feeling as though I’ve just been gutted, and all my dirty little secrets are spilling out onto the floor. “I swear,” I start, guilty as all hell. “I have a really good explanation for this.”