And I know that if it wasn’t for him, I’d die here already. We’re stuck together.The Varners ruined him, wrote his destiny before he could grow up. Same as mine.
This fucked up family.
We stare at each other, he’s probably waiting for another interrogation but I stay silent. When I grab my suit jacket, he does the same, checks his gun magazine and we head toward the door.
When old Devereaux needs someone from his own ranks erased, we’re always the ones he sends. As we walk through the manor to the garage, I guide him through the details of today’s evening.
“He’s supposed to be at the Moon Club, probably with two or three men by his side.” We get to the garage and get on our bikes, start the engines, then loud rumbling resonates through the big garage full of cars.
The sound of the motor finally puts my mind to peace.
“If necessary, we kill them too, but it’s not required. His head is a must though.”
I put on my helmet, Adrien doing the same. I turn the Bluetooth on and continue.
“Should be really quick and easy. He’ll be downstairs in the VIP. No cameras,” I explain when he responds, his voice resonating in my helmet as we ride out of the garage.
“Anything else? Does he have the Vermilion mark?” he asks.
“Left arm,” I say.
He chuckles under his breath.
Cutting those marks off is his favorite part – his private little revenge on every idiot who signed up for this life. It’s his thing and I’m not taking it away from him. He even tattooed his own Vermilion hallmark on his ass cheek, just so whoever cuts his out one day, has to grab him there.
Funny bastard.
I’d laugh, if the idea of him on a slab didn’t make my stomach twist. As if I’d ever let anyone get that close to him while I’m still breathing.
We arrive at the club, parking our bikes next to a small dark aisle where the fire exit is. That’s our quick getaway.
Inside, loud music blasts from downstairs, the air smelling like sex and alcohol. We descend the stairs and take one of the VIP booths.
We order a drink and sit down while inconspicuously checking the surroundings. The target is two booths to the right of us, only two men with him. Easy. They’re alone, watching the pole dancers swinging in the middle of the VIP booths. We sip on our drink and smoke one cigarette each. I check the whole ceiling, confirming theno camerasinformation I got.
Everything seems to be as planned.
I can’t wait to be back home and watch my security app till I fall asleep.
The club is so dark we barely see each other. It keeps the guests discreet. The only light is at the pole dancing stage.
Red LEDs illuminate the stage as the dancers make their moves, looking almost magical. The girls are beautiful, dancing to Labyrinth’sMouth Everest, their hair flying around their bodies in small red lingerie and black dresses that can barely be considered dresses.
One of the girls is wearing white lingerie as she’s hanging upside down on the pole and slowly rotates on it, her amber hair flying all the way to the floor.
And once again, I can’t stop the images of Kiara in white lingerie and a silky dress flooding my mind. Upside down, her legs bent at the knees and rested on the sofa.
She looked like an angel.
She was wearing a white dress when she ran from me years ago. And a couple nights ago, she was wearing one again.
What is she doing to me?
I wanted to crash into that suite and fuck her brains out until she forgets her name.
Adrien nudges me with his elbow when I’m zoned out on the pole dancer in white lingerie, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Let’s get it done,” I say as I gulp the rest of the drink.
