Men consider a drunk woman an easy conquest. “Guess I had more than I thought.” I lean into his side, and he smiles down at me.
He helps me out of the bar and walks me across the parking lot.
“Room 111,” I inform him, removing the cheap plastic key chain from my clutch. Anyone who says I’m not sentimental doesn’t know me very well.
He’s a gentleman and opens it for me since I can’t seem to do it myself. Stepping into the room, I shut and lock it behind me, hoping that the Spade brother stays the fuck out.
KASHTON
I watch her shut the door to her motel room the moment I step out of the bar. The thought of her being alone with him makes my blood boil. I’m going to storm in, yank her off him, and force her to watch me cut off his dick.
My hands shook with rage. Just sitting there watching him look her over like a piece of meat had my hand on my gun.
After removing the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, I light one up, needing a quick hit to calm my nerves before I rush inside the room. I don’t want to hurt her. Just teach her a lesson that she won’t forget—she belongs to me.
Bringing it to my lips, I take in a long drag as the door to the motel room opens, and she walks out, closing it behind her.
I frown, taking a quick step to the right to hide in the shadows. Well, that wasn’t enough time to have sex. Not sex worth having anyway.
Maybe I had this all wrong. Was she buying drugs? Selling him drugs?
The only plausible answer is that they were exchanging something that couldn’t be done in public.
She pulls a trench coat tightly closed, tying it off, and her designer heels slap the water puddles that litter the abandoned parking lot. She doesn’t seem nearly as drunk as she looked a couple of minutes ago. Was she faking it? If so, why? Eve walks to her car parked right by the door of the motel room. Getting in, she starts it, and the reverse lights come on.
I watch her pull out onto the road and remain where I’m at until her taillights fade into the darkness.
Throwing the cigarette down, I make my way across the parking lot and glance around. It’s an old, practically abandoned one-story motel. Half the letters on the sign don’t work and the paint has faded from countless years of sun damage. The number on the door reads 111. But it’s different from the others. It’s been carved with a knife and seems oddly familiar. Like the three lines that were on her hip when I finger-fucked her on the yacht. Now that she’s left, there are no other cars other than what’s at the bar.
I touch the knob and twist it, opening the door to the room she vacated.
Stepping inside, I look over the man who lies in the center of the bed. He’s naked except for the dress slacks bunched around his ankles.
His throat is slashed from ear to ear. The visual gives me a feeling of unease. Blood covers the already dingy sheets, along with his chest, neck, and parts of his face.
I’m equally impressed and confused.
Was this a job? If so, what kind? Was she robbing him? Blackmailing him?
Surely, some sort of exchange was involved, and it went south, requiring her to defend herself. Or she knew she was bringing him in here to kill him. But why him and why here, of all places?
Walking to the bathroom, I grab a towel and wet it. Then I go over to the body and run it over his blood-covered chest. What I see makes me pause. He has a Lords crest branded on his chest—a circle with three horizontal lines through it.
Was she targeting him, or was he targeting her? I watched her clean up a Lord at the cathedral. He had been part of a confessional, so I know she wasn’t the one to torture him. So why this Lord? Was she supposed to deliver him to the cathedral, and things escalated so quickly that she had to take care of him here?
She knew what she was doing. She was prepared. There’s no other reason she would have sat at the bar for over an hour, speaking to no one, then suddenly engage with him as soon as he sat down. Within five minutes, they had walked over to a motel room. One she was conveniently parked in front of.
Her trench coat? Where did it come from? It had to have already been here in the room; she didn’t have it at the bar.
Everett set this up. Her appearance and actions screamedI’m drunk and a cheap fuck. But it was a façade. Part of her game. She lures men in and seduces them in order to kill.
It makes me wonder if I killed the guy for her on theIsabellabecause she wanted me to or because he really was going to rape her. After seeing what’s in front of me, I’m thinking the former.
I smile to myself. She did good, but I’m not surprised. She’s a pro. Been doing it for years. That night on theIsabellaall those years ago wasn’t a cry for help. Everett didn’t need me to save her.
It was just another job. She wanted to play, switch it up. So she pretended to be a whore for that Lord. What man would pass up doing whatever the fuck he wanted to a woman because he’s paying for it? Not a Lord. Money can buy you anything you want, and the Lords have plenty of it.
That also explains why she willingly threw herself at me after I saved her that night. She had fallen off her heels. Eve was pretending that night too. Letting him think she was weak and easy.
