Chapter Fifty-One Pete Miller
Chapter Fifty-One
Pete Miller
Pete tugged on his pants, glanced over his shoulder at the woman tangled in the sheets, curled on her side. Time in jail had left him impatient, too eager. He’d shoved inside her hard, but no matter how she’d moaned and pretended, he couldn’t come.
The lack of release tore at him. Frustrated, he wrapped his hands around her neck. She smiled, at first. The occasional game was part of the job, right?
When his fingers tightened, the smile vanished. She tensed. Clawed at his fingers.
Dread. He could smell it. And it excited him. He squeezed harder, savoring the way the tendons in her neck strained against his calloused hands.
Her eyes widened with fear. Silent pleas.
“Raine,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Liar,” he countered.
He gripped harder. Her face reddened. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
And then he came.
Breathless, he rolled off her. Out of bed, he pulled up his pants and zipped them closed. He tugged on a shirt and sat on the edge of the bed.
Lacing the shoes, he said, “Money’s on the dresser.”
She didn’t make a sound.
“Did you hear me?” He tied the second shoelace.
More silence.
He rose and leaned over her. He smacked her ass hard. She flinched. “Good. You’re alive.”
A dead hooker in a hotel room would have screwed up his plans.
He glanced at the time on the wall clock. Too early for Raine. But not too soon to check out Hale House.