Chapter 6
Grace
“You showed,” Henley said blandly, like he wasn’t at all surprised.
“I only came for free dinner.”
He shoved off the alley wall, hands tucked in his sweatshirt pocket. “We’re not eating.”
My stomach let out a grotesque growl, silently punishing me for expecting something out of this. Damn it.
“How’d you know I’d show?” I asked, following him as he exited the alley and rounded the building. I stayed at least a foot behind him.
“I put a tracker on your car.”
My feet skidded to a halt. I shouldn’t have been surprised—the man had kidnapped me, and his life was on the line. He probably thought I’d attempt to kill him again to get out of this fucked-up arrangement. Of course, he’d keep tabs on me.
He stopped after walking a few more feet, the door in reach. “Don’t look so surprised. You stalked me first.”
“For a job,” I clarified. “You’re doing this…” I waved my hands around, trying to come up with the right word. “For fun.”
He stayed completely still, eyes locked on me. “I’m having such a grand time tracking down my mystery hater with my brat of a killer.”
I huffed, gaze falling to the ground as my mind went quiet. Did I really expect him to let that part go? To think we were a team, and not reluctant allies? I mean, had it become lost on me overnight that he planned to murder me once we found whoever was behind this?
Yeah, it had. Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t a psychopath. I was simply broke and forced into an illegal job. Was that a fucking crime?
Without another word, Henley opened the door to the pool hall and held it wide.
Grudgingly, I brushed past him and walked inside.
Pungent cigar smoke and strong whiskey hit me like a bat to the head—or a gun, if it was Henley.
The scent stung my eyes, but that quickly became the least of my worries as an arm wrapped around my waist.
I flinched on instinct. A hand gripped me, stopping me from shoving it off.
Lips brushed my ear. “Be good, little killer. You wouldn’t want to make a scene, would you?”
Subtly, I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the men spread around the room. Some turned to look while others pretended we didn’t exist, so lost in their games that I was almost certain a bomb could go off and they wouldn’t move.
“Can you pretend to be my girl as well as you pretend to be a murderer?” he murmured, his fingers splaying across my stomach and reminding me how he’d nearly torched that exact spot yesterday.
Thank fuck I’d chosen the minidress that wasn’t a two-piece.
Otherwise, we’d be skin to skin, and I’d surely burn alive.
“Yes,” I whispered, ignoring his dig. I felt like a deer in the headlights with his touch on me. His chest was pressed to my back, a stance far too intimate for the two of us.
He hummed, low and gravelly, as his fingers dug into my stomach. “So obedient for me.”
I swallowed, lost in the heat radiating between us. It was like my eyesight had become a microscope, zoning in on every place he was touching me. Too many points of contact, too many places to look.
I wasn’t going to make it.
His hand slid from around me, fingers gliding along my back to then intertwine with my own.
He took the lead, tugging me behind him by our clasped hands.
I nearly tripped over my Doc Martens, my legs forgetting how to work for a moment.
I blamed my sheer thigh-high stockings for not doing a great job of keeping the cold out, numbing my limbs.
As for the room, I quickly realized how muggy the space was as we approached one of the pool tables in the far corner.
The space was barely lit, a dim light hanging over each of the tables to give just enough visibility to those who played.
Dark corners and shadows seemed to jump out at me as we moved, making my hands clammy.
I might’ve imagined it, but I swore I felt a thumb brush along my hand. But that’d be ridiculous—Henley wouldn’t comfort me. He’d only aid in the mindfuck I was currently experiencing.
No way my target had me playing the part of his girlfriend.
We planted ourselves on the side of the pool table where we could face the room.
“If anyone catches your eye, or you catch theirs, tell me.” His tone was harsh, clipped, and on edge. Did he think someone would try to take him out here? How many enemies did the man have?
“What’ll it be, Hen?” a man with hair caked in gel asked.
A smirk tilted Henley’s mouth as he wrapped both arms around my waist, hugging me from behind. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
I forced my eyes not to bulge from my head. Was he insinuating he was going to bet me?
“Uh…”
He moved my hair and placed his chin on my shoulder, whispering, “What should we bet, little killer?”
Maybe if you stopped breathing on my neck, I could fucking think.
No way was I going to take one for the team and end up with some sleaze. Henley was a chronic loser.
“A variegated monstera adansonii,” I spit out, coming up with one of the most high-value items I owned.
Silence met me, my ears ringing.
Gel Man’s bark of laughter had me jumping. Henley held me tighter, straightening to stare at the man.
“The fuck is that?” Gel Man asked, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.
“A plant,” I deadpanned, not comprehending the nonexistent punch line here.
Gel Man schooled his features, his demeaning smile disappearing. He looked at Henley. “Who the fuck are you fooling around with? I’m not betting for some fucking plant.”
Henley offered no response, surprising me by letting me take the lead on this. Men usually wanted to mansplain everything, but maybe I’d finally caught one off guard and left him speechless.
I wished there was a single window in here so I could peek outside and check if pigs were flying.
I offered no reaction to Asshole Gel Man. “That ‘fucking plant’”—I used air quotes and ignored how, when I dropped my hands, they landed on Henley’s arm, like that was natural or some shit—“has sold for thousands of dollars in particular cases.”
Gel Lover’s glare sliced into me like a knife. He wasn’t amused.
Neither was I.
He rolled his eyes, like a woman couldn’t be right about anything. “You expect me to believe a plant could ever be worth that much?”
The way he spit the word had my fingers itching to reach for the knife in my boot to defend all of plant-kind.
Instead, I whipped out my phone from where it was tucked in the top of my stocking. He didn’t so much as track my movements, which meant he wasn’t scared of me.
He should be.
I pulled up the plant-seller site I scrolled too often, where people could bid on specific plants, and slid out of Henley’s arms, crossing into dangerous territory.
I could feel Henley’s stare burning holes into my back, probably pissed I’d left his side.
Shoving the phone into Gel Idiot’s face, I slowly scrolled down the page.
With each listing that passed, his eyelids inched open a little farther.
He said nothing, and once I was certain the point had been made, I put my phone back. My chin inched up in an attempt to look more intimidating, despite him being taller than me. Then I turned and crossed back to Henley.
When I was within Henley’s reach, Gel Lover decided to open his dumbass mouth. “Women are fucking idiots for spending that much on some stupid fucking plants.”
I stopped, nostrils flaring at the surge of anger in my veins.
Henley must’ve noticed I was having not-so-innocent thoughts, as he reached forward, grabbed my hand, and tugged me to his side. His arm around my shoulders held me hostage, my rage simmering beneath the surface.
His lips pressed into the side of my head, and he murmured so only I could hear, “You can’t stab him right here.”
“Who said I was going to stab him?” I muttered, my hushed tone strained.
One time, I’d fed someone the fruit of one of my monsteras.
While not deadly, the unripened fruit had caused him extreme swelling of his throat and mouth, and had felt more like chewing tiny needles than a typical fruit. Then, I’d stabbed him.
Sometimes I liked the dramatics.
“I can see the little killer in you begging to come out,” Henley replied.
It wasn’t the killer part that had my vision going cloudy for a moment. It was the fact that he said he saw me.
Murderous desires shoved aside, that fact had a little flare of hope fluttering to life inside me. Maybe I wasn’t lost to the world after all.
“What’ll it be?” Henley asked, raising his voice so Gel Man could hear him. Meanwhile, I was still lost in what Henley had said.
“Cash, and the plant.”
I forced myself to focus and rolled my eyes. I’d argue, but it’d be pointless. He clearly believed me to some degree if he still wanted the damn thing.
“And what if we win?” I questioned, crossing my arms and jutting my hip out.
He stuck a cigar in his mouth, mumbling the next words. “Whatever it’s worth.”
I held back my snort, watching as he racked the balls.
“If people can smoke in here, why do you step outside to smoke?” I asked, ignoring Gel Man as I faced Henley.
“I was taught that’s where you smoke,” he answered. “Never inside.”
My forehead creased. “By who?”
“My mother.”
He moved away from me, but I asked anyway, “Is she…?”
His lips rolled as he glanced at his boots. “Died when I was thirteen.”
My eyes widened. “You’ve been smoking since you were thirteen?”
“Eleven,” he corrected. “She ingrained the habit in me on one of her visits.” With no further explanation, he left to get his cue and begin the game.
I watched him bend over that table far too many times as he took his turns, ignoring my curiosity about his past and focusing instead on the present.
The two men barely spoke, but when they did, it was a dig at one another. To Gel Man’s credit, he didn’t spare more than two glances at me while they played.
And knowing it wasn’t his eyes I felt while Henley was occupied, I found myself scanning the room, trying to find who might be looking at me.
Making searching a room look casual was harder than one would think.
My eye caught on a man in the corner, something about him drawing my focus. I stared—even though that was the one thing you weren’t supposed to do when you were trying to be inconspicuous—and the entire time, he didn’t so much as glance this way.
As soon as I turned my head the opposite way, I felt eyes on me from the same direction.
I snapped my focus back to that corner, and lo and behold, he was looking directly at me. Not at my face, though. Much, much lower.
“If he keeps looking at your ass, I’ll kill him.”
Henley’s voice made me jump, my saliva nearly causing me to choke.
“Who’s stabby this time?” I teased, yet my voice felt strained. I cleared my throat, leaning into Henley a bit to keep up the facade. “You’re sounding a little possessive of a girl you just recently hit in the head with a gun and tied to a chair for information.”
“Maybe that’s my kink.”
I scrunched my nose and faced him, hoping like hell he was joking. “Maybe find a new one?”
“You don’t want me to have my way with you, then refuse to let any other guy so much as look at you? Isn’t that every girl’s dream?”
“Not the knocking-out part.” I paused. “I think. Maybe. At least, not me.”
As I tripped over my words, a smirk began to grow on his face.
This back-and-forth wasn’t the goal of us being here.
“Do you know him?” Henley asked, seeming to read my thoughts and get back to the task at hand.
I shook my head. “Never seen him before. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know me.” Though I’d never seen my boss, he had to know what I looked like. He ran a very important, very illegal business. I was almost certain he wouldn’t let his employees run around blindly without keeping tabs on them.
Henley looked like he was two seconds away from storming over there and causing an issue with a man that we definitely shouldn’t start a fight with. The stranger had to have at least fifty pounds of pure muscle on Henley.
When his foot moved, I planted a hand on his chest. “Don’t.”
“What if he knows something?” He didn’t so much as glance at me as he asked.
“He doesn’t.” I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did.
This plan tonight was an inevitable dead end; I’d known that from the start.
Henley wanted to figure this out, and I felt my life was threatened, so I’d gone along with it.
But there was no way anyone keeping an eye on me would blatantly follow me into this pool hall.
“Is the game over?” I asked, knowing the answer already. Despite my focus on the room, I hadn’t missed Gel Man’s low cursing when Henley made the winning shot.
The hardness in his eyes faded, his attention moving to me. “Yes. I won.”
I smiled. “So we’re splitting the winnings?”
His expression was unchanging. “No.”
I blew a strand of hair off my forehead, letting my hand slide off his chest. “That’s not very nice, given I’m half the operation tonight. How much did he give you to make up for the plant?”
He glanced around us, but seemed to find nothing of interest as his eyes moved back to me. “Twenty bucks.”
My jaw dropped. “No fucking way. That plant is worth a fuck ton more than—”
“On top of the twenty thousand I just won.”
My mouth snapped shut. Oh.
“And you’re not sharing that?”
He grabbed my arm by the crook of my elbow and steered me toward the exit. “No.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
He pretended he didn’t hear it.
I knew he did.
And we were back to square fucking one.