“Presumptuous on many accounts.”
He grins as he leans against the table. Good dental hygiene. Always a bonus. “How so?”
“One, you think I am waiting for a man, and two, you believe I’m some damsel who can’t sit and wait patiently for her companion.”
He blinks. “Well, a pretty lady like yourself is hardly going to be meeting a friend on a Saturday night in downtown Miami.”
I cast a glance out the window. Fuck. Target two just entered Cloud. My mind sorts through several plans, discarding each one until I settle between two options. I could dispatch the brunette and take her place, or hedge my bets and wait to see if my last target follows his routine. Not everyone is a creature of habit like I am.
My fingers drum against the smooth wood table as I make a decision. My gaze flicks around the room, finding the couple at the bar. He orders her a cocktail, his arm wrapping around herwaist as he leans down to her ear, forcing her to turn away from the bar as the bartender prepares her drink. There it is. He drops something inside the shaker. There’s part of me that wants to save each girl independently, but I have to stay the course or I will get derailed, costing more lives in the long run.
“If you aren’t going to talk to me,” the guy says, as if it’s some threat he’s about to leave me.
My eyes focus on him. “You’ll what?”
His grin grows. For fuck’s sake. I don’t have the patience for an egocentric man needling me for attention. Opening my mouth, a scathing remark sits on my tongue, my patience wearing thin. I don’t have time for his games.
“Your peni?—”
My third target spills in through the door, and on his arm is a confident-looking blonde. Perfect. That, I can do. She’s dressed in a cute black flirty number showing her toned tanned legs. Christopher Burnside is a gray-eyed, dark-haired, forty-three-year-old multimillionaire who enjoys hurting women. He inserts himself as their savior, a knight in shining armor, swooping in on situations he’s cultivated. Blondes are his preference, and he enjoys dominating strong women, breaking them down until they entirely depend on him.
He’s a master psychological manipulator. There are reports of starvation, torture, financial ruin, and leaked videos of their degradation, causing the loss of their family and friends. Even more disturbing are the rumors of his darkest deeds, the ones where he slaughters his conquests while still inside their bodies. Then there are the survivors. Many have tried taking their lives. Some have succeeded. He’s one of the worst I have found linked to Jonathan’s organization.
I cross my legs, which hikes up my dress, showcasing my thighs, then slide forward to whisper in the hot dude’s ear. He obliges and leans down so I can look over his shoulder. My gazecatches Christopher’s as he places a hand on the woman’s lower back. I drag my bright red stained bottom lip between my teeth and hold his stare with a little defiance. The dude circles a hand around my waist, my skin erupting in goosebumps at his touch.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he rasps in my ear. Then he nips it. My eyes widen. Christopher licks his lips, not breaking eye contact with me.
“Not tonight,” I utter. “I’m working.”
The hot dude jerks back and his gaze skims down my body. “Yeah... I don’t pay for it.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I pick up my soda as I wait for him to get the hint and leave. His eyes narrow, like he’s expecting me to correct him on his assumption. I don’t, and for a second, I think he’s about to ask me how much. Then he sighs, spins around, and stalks to the bar.
Christopher tracks his departure from my side, and I glance away and look out of the window, feigning disinterest.
Hook.
He doesn’t enjoy easy; he wants to feel like a predator, someone who has captured a wild woman and brought her to heel.
There have been several police reports against him which have never seen the light of day. Stalking. Assault. Harassment. His money and connections ensure he’s untouchable. Every single charge has been squashed by the legal team surrounding Jonathan and his closest people. That’s okay. I don’t plan on playing within the confines of the law. Murder is, after all, a crime. Eye for an eye and all that.
Fingertips trail down my bare arm and ghost over the back of my hand. It takes everything in me not to flinch from the oily sensation. They are infected with hate and evil, and they’re trying to bury their way into my skin.
“Is that guy bothering you?” Christopher asks. He has a cultured accent, a neutral American cadence resulting from an affluent upbringing. Being the son of a congressman and a student of an Ivy League university, Christopher made his fortune by building on his late mother’s high-end fashion line. Too bad his company is rife with slave labor. Given his private preferences, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.
I glance around his shoulder at the hot dude lasering Christopher’s back. “I can handle him.” I make sure to sink into a light southern drawl. Another layer to my disguise.
He hums in his throat. “I’m sure you can.”
Line.
“What are your plans tonight?” he asks.
A grin spreads across my face as I tuck a long curl behind my ear. “I’m here to forget the fact I lost my job today.” I pout, sinking into my chair and into his shoulder.
“No friends joining you?”
“No friends, period. I’m a long way from home and looking to lose myself in this city for a few nights. Perhaps longer. I think I need a fresh start.”
