Because I was running low on weapons.
And this guy and his club had every reason to want to hurt or kill me.
Shit.
Could this night go any more wrong?
I was exacting with my work.
I prepped and prepared and made contingency plans.
Nothing should have been able to go so sideways.
I was losing my touch.
If I’d been as careful as usual, I would have had a file on the entire biker club. I would know the names and faces of them all. I would have known criminal records, hobbies, and freaking dick size.
There was no way this guy would have been able to surprise me and trap me like this.
I had to get out of this apartment, shake the biker, and stay far away from any local cops as I tried to untangle this clusterfuck of a situation.
Only problem? He was still leaning against the door.
There was a window.
But he was big and strong; he’d haul me away before I could even push the sash up.
He was leaning against the only exit.
If I wanted to get free, I was going to need to be smart.
“Sorry, what’s your name?” I asked, head cocked to the side.
“Caymen.”
“Caiman? Like a reptile?” Like animals people might feed bodies too? Maybe mine?
“Caymen. Like a bad joke on my parents’ part. What’s your name?”
“Noa.”
“Noah? Like a man?”
“Minus the H, but, essentially, yes.”
I could have given him a fake name. But if he was able to track down my warehouse, I had no doubt that if he didn’t already know my name, he would know it soon.
“Old man wanted a son, huh?”
“Probably,” I agreed. It wasn’t a sore spot, though. My old man made me who I was. Even if he did struggle with the ‘girly shit,’ as he would put it.
“So, Noa, you gonna talk about the guns?”
“Actually, I kind of don’t want totalkat all,” I said, moving toward him slowly, like a cat, my gaze sliding up and down him. It wasn’t a bad journey, either.
Was this a strategic move? Yep.
Was some part of me still genuinely enjoying it? Oh, absolutely.
