“They are devoted to my father’s legacy. But Zed is only twenty-five and my uncle convinced him thathewas the best one to run the business until Zed was ready. It was in the hospital, right after we found out that…” I stop, my eyes burning. I’m not crying in front of this man. “He picked the perfect time to convince Zed when no one was thinking clearly.”
“Is your brother capable of leadin’ the family?”
I don’t take offense, it’s a fair question. “Yes. He’s smart, and followed my father around his entire life, learning the family business. But he’s just too… loyal to the wrong people sometimes.”
His steady dark gaze never leaves me, his eyes are such a deep brown that they’re almost black. My assassin is a beautiful man, in that unearthly way models and celebrities are. The first thing that hit me when he rescued me from that sleazy prick downstairs was how gigantic he is, looming over the man and slamming his head down on the bar with his huge, capable-looking hands and thick forearms covered in tattoos. He’s wearing a suit that has to be bespoke. Standard suits don’t fit shoulders and arms that size.
He could crack me in half like a glow stick.
“Ah. And you're the responsible one, lass, aye? The one who takes care of what’s needed?”
Pressing my lips together, I try not to glare at him. I can’t risk him getting pissy and pulling out of our deal. “That’s not relevant information, Mr. Blue. Can we just… finish this meeting, please?”
He chuckles a little. Is he amused by his ridiculous false name? He’s the one who picked it. “Aye. What’s your cover story for flyin’ to Scotland?”
“I’m not in Scotland,” I say, “the plane ticket I purchased is for Greece. Much warmer there. I’m staying with a friend here in Glasgow, so there’s no hotel receipts to track.”
One dark brow rises in respect. “Clever thing.”
He stands, stretching his arms over his head, and ruffles his short, brown hair, which manages to look even better, which is patently ridiculous. The move makes a tattoo peek out of the collar of his dress shirt. For one, shocking moment, I want to walk over, pull open that expensive shirt and trace the tattoo with my tongue.
I want to lick my hired killer. Oh, my god, it’s been too long.I’ve got to get out more.
“How long are you expected to be gone?”
“Just a few days,” I shrug. “I’ve got to get back soon.”
“So many tasks to handle,” he intones, “family to keep in line…”
“Look- just-” Taking a deep breath, I try to control my very real desire to slap this arrogant, almost offensively gorgeous killer that I’ve just hired. “No more deep dives into the King family dynamics, yes? Just tell me when you’re… you know.”
“Murdering Uncle Bastard?” he asks with an infuriating twinkle in his black eyes. What assassin has twinkling eyes? Whoisthis lunatic? “I don’t know yet. Now that I have the information, I’ll make a plan. Ya’ don’t need to know any more than that. Ya’ shouldn’t want to know anything. Plausible deniability, lass.”
“All right.” I rub my temples, my ever-present headache is getting worse, like his irritating banter is a physical thing, bent on making me have a stroke. “Um, is there a back way out of here so I don’t have to walk through that main area again?”
“Ya’ didn’t like the orgy?” This presumptuous ass is grinning like my discomfort is the most hilarious thing.
“No judgment, they should let their freak flags fly high,” I say, “I just hadn’t planned on meeting you at a sex club, I wasn’t, you know… I wasn’t prepared.”
Oh, lovely. Now I sound like a prim Victorian maiden.
“Aye,” he chuckles again. I’ve never met such a jolly killer before. “I’ll see you safely out of here.”
Leading me down the hall to another elevator, we end up on the ground floor, just outside an impeccable kitchen with the chef shouting orders.
“Fine dining at a sex club?” I murmur as he escorts me out a back door. There’s a black SUV waiting there, the engine idling.
“My guests are working up an appetite, lass,” he says. “Ya’ know how ravenous ya’ get after a long night of fucking?”
“Um, no comment.”
“This is Kyle,” he points to the blond man lingering by the car, “just tell him where to take you.”
“Oh, I have an Uber driver on call,” I say. I don’t want to owe this man any favors. I’ve paid for what I need from him.
Ignoring me, he opens the back door, inclining his head. “He’ll be drivin’ you.”
It takes everything in me not to stomp over to the car, huffing “Fine!” like a six-year-old. “Thank you,” I grit out. “Are you doing this just so you can track me like a creep?”
