Chapter 7
SEVEN
SUGAR
Iclocked her as soon as she came through the doors of Liquid Anarchy. It wasn’t the obvious wig or her perfect ass. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about her that had me watching her more than I usually watched customers—even the ones I fucked.
Because I was watching her more than necessary, I saw it happening before it actually happened.
She’d been watching a table with two men since she arrived.
I assumed she was interested in the one who looked like a rich prick—not the dingus I recognized as a guest from Charli’s—but I knew she was going to make a beeline for that table.
And I knew they were going to leave together, which is when I should’ve stopped watching her, but I didn’t.
They were near the front door when it happened. He drunk stumbled and used her to catch his balance, almost taking them both down. She kept him from falling, but her wig was pushed back, revealing her hair underneath—dark brown with streaks of teal.
They left and I turned my attention back to the crowd. Or I tried to. But something about her kept nagging at me. I pulled out my phone and looked at the camera feed for the parking lot. She was holding his hand and briskly leading him toward the road.
I shoved my phone into my pocket. I didn’t need to see any more. Since I knew he was staying at Charli’s, I assumed they were going back to his room.
Two minutes later, I was on my phone again, looking up the room assignments to see which room he was in. I didn’t know his name, but Charli only had three rooms occupied because of the approaching storm. It wasn’t hard to figure out who he was.
Hugh French.
Room four.
Room. Four.
It hit me like a fucking battering ram.
Hugh was staying in room four the night I was stabbed.
And she was the bitch who stabbed me.
That was why I couldn’t stop watching her at the bar. I’d been watching her on the security footage from the night I was stabbed for weeks. Her movements were familiar.
I was so sure it was her I jumped to my feet and hauled ass across the street without a word to anyone.
When I arrived at room four, the door wasn’t completely closed. I pushed it open a little more and listened.
“I was one of the mermaids at Hannah’s party.
She told me about you. I had a bad uncle too.
I sliced his throat. But I wanted to make sure he was dead, so I stabbed him.
Again and again and again.” There was a brief pause, followed by a sigh of disappointment.
“Damn. My uncle died before I finished stabbing him too.”
Pushing the door fully open, I filled the doorway and watched her climb off the bed. With her wig in one hand and a knife in the other, she turned toward the door, freezing when she saw me. “Going somewhere, stabby?”
Her eyes widened in fear as she sucked in a sharp breath. I could almost feel her heart pounding as panic washed over her. My prey was cornered, and it was delicious.
Pushing off the door frame, I stalked toward her.
Admittedly, I was conflicted. I wanted to make her pay for stabbing me, and she needed to answer for killing one of Charli’s guests.
But it was fucking hot when she squared up with me.
I’d never had tough and unhinged. I briefly wondered if we could fuck before I called the club.
All thoughts of her sweet ass vanished when she charged at me—with a fucking knife.
I didn’t have time to react, but there weren’t many options.
Bending down, I used her momentum to toss her over my shoulder.
She hit the floor with a thud, and the knife clattered to the ground.
Before I could turn and grab her, she was on her feet and out the door.
Not a-fucking-gain.
“Stop!” I roared and ran after her.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go far. Bean had her in a bear hug a few feet down the hall. She was fighting and kicking for all she was worth. I grabbed her legs, and we carried her back into room four.
“What the fuck is going on?” Bean demanded. Then he got a look at Hugh in the bed and put it all together in seconds. “It was her.”
“Yeah it fucking was,” I spat. Regardless of how hot I found her psycho routine to be, she stabbed me, and I couldn’t walk for a week. Then she tried to do it again.
“You call Whisker?”
“Not yet. I will as soon as she’s secured.”
Bean chuckled. “Don’t want her to get away again.”
“She’s slippery. Do you have anything?” I asked, knowing he did. Bean always kept some paracord on him for a variety of reasons—one being in case he needed to restrain someone.
“I’m always prepared.”
We traded positions, and he quickly secured her hands and feet. Then I tossed her onto the bed beside Hugh. The disgusted sound she made was comical.
“We don’t have a gag handy,” I told her. “So, you can keep your mouth shut, or I can break your jaw. It’s up to you.”
She nodded once and kept her mouth shut. I was surprised and a little disappointed that she complied so easily.
Then I called Whisker. “Need you and Biscuit at Charli’s. Room four,” I said. “Got the bitch who stabbed me.”
“Bitch?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she get you again?” he asked.
“Not this time.”
“Be right there.”
“Whisker’s on his way,” I told Bean.
He nodded and studied the scene. “Probably should’ve told him we’ve got a body to deal with.”
“It’s not going anywhere before he gets here.”
Bean shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Whisker and Biscuit arrived minutes later. “Fucking hell,” Whisker said when he saw Hugh. “What do we know?”
“She met him at Liquid Anarchy, and they had a few drinks before they came back to his room. I figured out who she was minutes after they left. Found him like that when I got here.”
“Do we know anything about her or him? Names?”
“His name is Hugh French. He’s been a guest at Charli’s before. Don’t know anything about her.”
“What’s your name?” Biscuit asked.
She didn’t respond, only stared at me.
“Can she talk?” Biscuit asked.
“Yeah,” I said while she shook her head and continued staring at me.
“Why is she staring at you like that?” Whisker asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You told her you’d break her jaw if she made any noise,” Bean pointed out.
The girl kept her eyes trained on me as she nodded in agreement.
“He’s the president, and he’s the vice president. If either asks you a question, answer it,” I told her.
“Name,” Whisker demanded.
“Kalani.” Then she floored us all with her next words. “I’d like to see Coochie.”