I have zero interest in men, especially not slick idiots who need to ask for permission for anything, as if I am their mommy.
He leaves, and I focus back on my target.
A group of men stands in a circle near the 30-foot glass window front overlooking the city, with the Empire State Building lit in blue, red, and white in the background.
Three of them laugh so loudly their voices cut through the jazz music. Gin tonics are loosening their tongues as they try to prove who the bigger fish is.
Pathetic bastards.
Two of them, however, aren’t drinking, but are locked in some quiet conversation, glancing around to check if anyone notices.
One of them is Karl Ostrich, CEO of one of the biggest private equity firms. World-class asshole and not my concern tonight, because I have only one target tonight.
Jared Sutton. Forty-five. Billionaire. Dark, wavy brown hair. Whispering something into Ostrich’s ear. CFO of Zeus, a tech corp building AI-based intelligence software. But none of that brought me here. His extracurricular activities did.
His eyes meet mine for a split second as he scans the room. I tilt my head slightly and let a smirk slip onto my face. He can’t look away.
Yes. Look at me, bastard.
What begins as a careful sweep of the room on his end shifts into something different. His eyes darken, a predatory smile of arrogance tugs at his mouth. With my 5’9 without the high heels, a size 4, long hair, full breasts, and a jawline some would kill for, I know exactly what reaction my looks draw from men of his caliber, and I have zero shame in using any of it to my advantage.
Sutton silences Ostrich and walks toward me. Each stepdeliberate, presenting the man who knows who he is and what he can buy. Because what Jared Sutton does in silence is selling secrets. Governmental, technological, and financial. A ruthless predator who has blackmailed his way to wealth over corpses and broken souls.
“You look quite lonely over here,” Sutton says as he slides onto the barstool next to mine. His hand glides over my crossed legs, up my thigh with the fake tattoos. My black leather dress is very short, and he pushes it higher, until his fingers hover half an inch from my thong.
I push myself off the bar, shift towards him, and open my legs. His finger brushes my lips down there through the fabric. I somehow thought any of it would make me feel something, meeting him again. Being close to him. But after all those years, I am someone different, detached from what once was.
I’m not a girl anymore. I am a cold-blooded killer with no attachment to the past except for this one thing: The hunger for revenge. It is what kept me going and made me become a weapon.
His eyes darken immediately, and a deep hum of a man who believes himself to have landed a catch rumbles through his chest. A predator recognizing his prey—exactly the reaction I intend to provoke in him, because I need him to purr like a kitten for me.
“Am I?” I say with a luscious voice, letting my right leg slide along his calf. I suck in my bright red bottom lip. I know of his weakness for red lips and women who play with fire, which is why I am here.
His hand slides around my waist and pulls me close. His cologne is oak-y, rich, and powerful—something that makes me wanna vomit. His lips trail up my neck to my ear.
“I like women who know what they want,” he whispers. “And you look like you want to be fucked.”
Yes, believe exactly what you’re supposed to believe, I tell him in my mind. I just breathe a softmhhmminto his ear.
I grab him by the leather belt, pull him even closer. The effect is instant. Lust pours from his eyes.
I get up. With my heels, I nearly match his height. Without another word, I walk away. Slowly. Deliberately. Smirking.
“Wait,” he calls after me. “Where are you going?”
I turn.
“Make an effort,” I say, a malicious grin on my face.
When I reach the elevator, a hand slides over my back to my ass.
“You’re coming with me,” he says and pushes me inside the elevator.
The door isn’t even closed before he’s pressing me into the wall, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, one hand on my throat, the other grabbing my breast. I manhandle him and grab him by the throat, and pull my knee in his balls.
“That has to be earned,” I say. He smirks.
Pathetic bastard.
