“Bye.”
I end the call and start the engine, typing the address into my GPS. If Christopher is home and alone, I should be able to get over there, get it done, and get back in time to make sure Cashmere makes it home safely.
Technically, I’m not really supposed to be out here dropping unsanctioned bodies, but I’ve learned that with Shadow, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
As I drive toward my destination, Cashmere’s sensual performance replays in my mind. Watching him had me doing everything in my power to stay seated and not swoop in and toss him over my shoulder to carry him off caveman style. I’ve already examined whether I have jealousy issues over him showing off for random men and decided that’s not it. I’m proud of his talent and beauty. I just want to be the sole benefactor of it when his shift is over.
At least I can do this for him. It’s obvious he can protect himself, but with me in his life, he doesn’t have to. Maybe Iwon’t even brag about it. I could just let him think the creepy guy decided to stay away. We’ll see.
I exit the freeway at Crestvale and follow the navigation to a nice upper middle class neighborhood. I’ve been here before stalking targets, but not often. I’m only about ten minutes from home, which means I could drag this out and make the guy lose his fucking mind before I take him out, but that means I’d have to trust that he’d stay away from Cashmere in the meantime. Too risky.
I spot the car from the club in the driveway, and I’m surprised to see the guy still sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s leaning forward on the steering wheel like he fell asleep. Is he too ashamed to go inside and face the people he lives with, likely a family and a spouse?
Shutting off my headlights, I sit quietly, parked in front of the house next door and keep an eye on him. When fifteen minutes pass and he hasn’t moved, my curiosity is piqued. I slip from the car, and with my hand on my weapon, approach the car silently. I rap my knuckles on the window, but Christopher doesn’t move. I bend down to get a good look at him in the dark and that’s when I realize why he’s not moving.
Blood splatter on the passenger window and seat catches my eye, and when I lean forward a bit, I spot the gaping hole in his right temple, a.22 lying loosely in his hand.
Motherfucker. He fucking killed himself. In the driveway of his own home where people, probably loved ones, will have to find him.
I walk back to my car, completely irritated that I drove all this way for nothing, but I guess I should be relieved that he took himself out of the equation and I didn’t have to. Sitting in my car, I contemplate my next move and make a decision. I grab my burner phone from the glove compartment, power it up, then dial the non-emergency police line.
“Crestvale Police Department, how can I help you?”
“I was walking my dog and saw something I think the policeshould check out. It looks like a man is passed out in his car, maybe even hurt. I might’ve seen blood, but I didn’t get close enough.”
“Address?”
I rattle off the address as I turn the car around and leave the neighborhood.
“And your name?” the operator asks, but I’m already ending the call. I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and head back towards the freeway. At least I don’t have to deal with a body. The police will show up, find the scene, and handle the situation from there.
I stretch my neck back and forth then punch up the volume on my stereo, blaring Frank Sinatra on my way back to Segreto. When I arrive, I find a spot around the side of the building, where I have a perfect view of the employee exit and can watch Cashmere from a safe distance. I don’t usually follow him home straight from the club, but it’s almost like I drove here on autopilot.
Less than an hour later, the back door swings open and several dancers file out, laughing and talking as they head to their vehicles. I sit up slightly, keeping an eye out for Cashmere, and when I see him, Gus is right beside him, guarding him as he escorts him to his car.
I watch the interaction, noting their demeanor and making sure Gus doesn’t have any ideas about taking him from me, but their body language says they’re nothing more than friendly coworkers. Good. I like Gus. It’d be a shame to put a bullet in him.
Cashmere is wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, his long hair pulled back into a pony tail. Once he’s safely in his car, Gus steps back and I wait until Cashmere pulls out of the lot.
I shouldn’t follow him. It’s weird and obsessive, I know. I also know that the creeper won’t be waiting in the shadows for him. As tempting as pursuing him is, I let Cashmere drive off without me in his rearview mirror. I gotta get a fucking life if Idon’t want to scare him off. I’ll have to quit my job if I start hunting down every man who looks at him too long.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I blow out a slow breath, light a cigarette, and resign myself to going home alone.
Again.
CHAPTER 6
Colson
It’s beena month since the customer incident. I scan the crowd every night, but he never shows up. Maybe Specter really scared him off. That’s oddly comforting. Not that I don’t have my share of creepy customers I’ve had to fend off, but it’s cool when it actually works.
And then there’s Specter. He’s at his table every shift, coming in at different times but never missing my performance. We go through the same routine. He buys me a drink, compliments me, tries to woo me, then respectfully leaves when I withdraw my attention. Gotta give the man his flowers—he’s crazy dedicated.
The club is slow tonight, likely because of the weird cold front that’s moved in. Specter isn’t here yet either. As I stand offstage watching the club patrons, the urge to leave early is strong. I won’t make much in tips tonight at all, and I could use some rest. The customers who came to see me won’t like it, but one of our other popular dancers, Toffee, is performing tonight. He should be enough for their greedy eyes.
The idea of Specter showing up and me not being here pokes at me a little, but I shake it off. My life doesn’t revolve around that man’s attention. Sure, it’s nice when he’s here, but it’s not like it means anything. I’d rather be at home in mycomfy clothes, listening to classical music and working on my hobbies.
Decision made, I turn to go change clothes, but a presence at the front door catches my eye. A man enters the space, his eyes trained on the empty stage, then the bar, before he moves in that direction. I’ve seen him before. He’s hard to miss with his imposing height, bulky body, and hard eyes. I don’t like it when he watches me dance. There’s something about him that unnerves me.
