Last week, Kashton Landon Pierce walked into my life, just like he did six years ago, and he had me just as flustered as he did back then. But this time, I couldn’t show it, because he wasn’t alone.
It’s been one week since Kashton and Haidyn were at the cathedral, and one of them is following me.
He thinks I haven’t noticed him, but I see everything. I’m always watching my surroundings. A woman can never be too careful. We’re targets. No matter whether it’s someone we know or not.
I can feel him.
That same heat rushes over my skin, as if I’ve been lit on fire. Those butterflies flutter in my stomach so violently I think I’m going to get sick, and it has nothing to do with why I’m here tonight.
It hasn’t stopped me from living my life though. I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let a man dictate that. Men already have too much power over women.
“May I buy you a drink?”
I look up from the glass of bourbon sitting on the bar to see a man standing next to me under the neon lights. “Of course.” I give him a shy smile.
Who the fuck turns down free drinks? Definitely not a woman sitting alone at a bar.
He pulls out the barstool next to me and gestures to the bartender. “I’ll have a scotch, and the lady will have another.”
I readjust my position at the way he calls melady. I know the man was being polite, but it’s something I’ll never be in our world.
I’ll never belong to a Lord. No one would want me. Not long-term anyway. A one-night stand? Absolutely, but that’s not a compliment or reassuring. A man will fuck anything. Literally.
“So what brings you to this place?” the man asks, turning his attention to me.
I pick up the glass and down what’s left since I have another one coming. “Just needed a night out,” I answer.
“Oh no. Boy trouble?” His eyes drop to my left hand to see if I’m married. The thought makes me want to vomit. Or is that those damn butterflies from the man sitting in the darkly lit booth back in the corner?
Marriage is overrated and pointless. Like look at this man sitting next to me. He’s married. He didn’t even bother to take his ring off before he offered to buy me a drink. I know what some would think…he’s just a nice guy offering a woman a drink while we share a pointless conversation. It’s harmless.
Wrong. The way his eyes are glued to my chest tells me all I need to know about him. He’s definitely thinking about fucking me, and if given the chance, he’d jump on top of that. Or me.
Sucks for him. I’m not letting a dick anywhere near me.
“Here you go.” The bartender sets our glasses down, and I turn to the man who bought my new drink, thanking him.
He clanks his glass into mine. “What do you say we finish these and get out of here?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly he offered that. Pathetic, really. He pays for a twelve-dollar drink, and I’m supposed to kneel before him and open my mouth so he can fuck it while I pretend to enjoy it.
“A place a little quieter?”
“I have a motel room next door.” I give him that shy smile that makes him squirm on his barstool. He can’t wait to pin me down and fuck me. I can’t wait to put a knife in his fucking throat and watch the life drain out of his eyes. “I’m just in town for the night,” I add. Let him know that he’ll never have to see me again. No strings attached.
He tosses back his drink and slams his glass on the bar top, calling the bartender over to pay for the two drinks.
I sip on mine, ignoring the man who watches me from across the run-down bar. He may be a problem in more ways than one. Hopefully he stays out of my way. I’d hate to have to kill them both.
“Ready?” The man gets up from his seat and places his wallet inside his suit jacket. He stands out among the crowd that hangs out here.
His three-piece suit screams money. I’m sure he has a Maserati parked outside and a Lords crest branded on his chest.
I’m wearing a pair of black fishnet tights, a black leather miniskirt, and amatching corset, with my hair up in a high pony. I dressed like a two-dollar hooker for a reason. Easy target. He won’t pay enough attention to notice that I’m wearing Louboutins. My over-the-top makeup is done with black shadow that I purposely smeared to make it look like I’ve been on a three-day binge, and my red lipstick is meant to draw attention.
I fall off the side of my heel, so he places his hands on my waist to try to steady me.
“Been here for a while?” he asks, hopeful.
