Colson
My eyelids flutter,and when I open them, it takes a minute for me to remember where I am.
Specter.
I stretch slightly, enveloped in blankets. This mattress is divine. I’m surprised I slept so well in a foreign place, but I’m thankful. Maybe I’ll be able to think straight today.
I roll over and flinch from the pain of my bruised cheek meeting the pillow. Ow. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it blindly, pressing the answer button.
“What?” I grumble.
“It’s Rudy. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I texted him last night after everything happened so at least one person knew where I was. “Just woke up.”
“Wow. It’s almost ten. That’s late for you.”
“I was up late.”
“Is he nice?”
I open my mouth to say something snarky about how he murders people for a living, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep that to myself. “Nice enough. His bed is dreamy.”
“Yousleptwith him? Girl.”
“No. I slept in his bed.” I rub my forehead, realizing he’s not beside me. “He was a gentleman.”
Rudy squeals loud enough that I pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh my god. He’s so dreamy. You were right to call him.”
“I think so too. Listen, Rudy, don’t tell anyone what happened yet, okay? I have to figure out what I’m doing next.”
“Yeah, of course. Are you gonna stay there a while?”
“He wants me to.” I glance around to make sure I’m alone. “It’s weird, you know? I don’t know him.”
“Cas, come on. Your instincts about people are always on point. Trust your gut.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’m trying. I’ll call you later when I know more.”
“Please do.”
I end the call and crawl out of bed to the bathroom to piss. When I catch my reflection, I groan. The bruise on my cheek is angry, deep purple and red, swelling just under my eye. At least the club is closed tonight, and I have tomorrow off too. Maybe by Tuesday I’ll be able to cover it with makeup.
I leave the bathroom and plop down on the love seat. Where is Specter? Out murdering someone? I knew he was trouble. Rudy’s right about my instincts though. He has danger written all over him, but I didn’t expect that. A hitman? Those are actually real? I know the Mafia is still a thing, but this doesn’t seem like that. He doesn’t come across as one of those guys at all, and I met plenty of them back in my stripping days.
He’s also the most intense person I’ve ever met. I’ve known my share of men who wanted to fuck me, but never have I been called art. It’s like he somehow sees behind this facade of protection I created over a decade ago, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.
Vulnerable.
Uncomfortable.
But also something else.
Seen.
I drag a hand through my unruly hair. The worst thing I could do is let my guard down and get attached to Specter. I’m not letting myself get romantically involved with a murderer. No way.
The bedroom door opens and Specter enters carrying a tray. He’s only wearing shorts that dip low, revealing miles of hard muscled and tattooed skin. Holy fuck. He’s magnificent.
