As the sharp pain dulls, so does the desire to ruin everything I see. I step backward, and my boot slips on some debris from my desk, leaving me scrambling, but I still end up on my ass. An unexpected hot flash of pain in my palm has me hissing a breath through my teeth.
When I look down, there’s a piece of the bottle in the meaty part of my hand. I think about just leaving it there—hell, I think about twisting the glass—but I know it’s not the right choice. Even as fucked up as my head is right now, I know it would lead me down a path I don’t want to acknowledge.
With trembling fingers, I grab the corner of the glass, causing my head to swim as the pain intensifies. It takes me three tries to get the thing out of my palm. By the time I’m done, my jeans and the floor are a bloody mess, but it’s nothing compared to the state of my hand. I can see the white fatty bits of meat through the gash, and that’s when I turn my head and puke.
MAXINE
No Neck left the club with one of the dancers under his arm twenty minutes ago, but there’s still a single vehicle in the lot—a sleek, matte black motorcycle. Whoever it belongs to is either really brave or really stupid, leaving it out to be stolen. As the minutes pass, my mind begins to wander and stories start evolving in my head. Maybe some guy went home with a dancer, and he was so desperate to be with her, he left his bike behind, not caring that it will probably be stripped or gone by morning. Or maybe he was too drunk to drive and the club made him take an Uber, which isn’t nearly as exciting.
I glance down at my watch again, promising I’ll only stay ten more minutes before leaving. I guess my luck finally ran out. I haven’t seen my mark at all tonight, but that just gives me something to look forward to.
Just as I’m about to give up, a dark figure skulks out of the side alley and lumbers toward the bike. He’s not looking around to see if anyone is watching, which makes me think it’s his vehicle. An excited inhale tightens my chest when he passes under the glowing neon sign and I confirm it’s my mark.
The thrill that comes with the awareness shouldn’t be so exciting, but I’m willing to admit the luster of my life has lost its shine. Do killers get burnt out? I think I have it. I keep thinking I’ll feel the same sense of satisfaction as when I killed Shelby, the bitch who sold me out to these monsters, but it’s like chasing your first high—it’s never quite the same as you remember.
He’s holding his left arm stiffly at his side. Even when he swings his long leg over the bike, he cradles his forearm to his torso, making me think he’s injured. Showing signs of weakness is like blood in the water, so he’s fortunate that there isn’t anyone else around to witness his failing.
The foreign feeling of concern knits my brow as he steadies the bike between his thighs and uses only one hand on the bars. Something else stirs in my body too—lust. It’s so abrupt and unwelcome, I actually gasp in outrage, but the feeling is gone so quickly, it leaves me wondering if I imagined it.
The engine growls to life, loud in the quiet streets, and the single headlight brightens. I wait until his taillight is only a glimmer before starting my own car and setting out behind him.
Looks like my persistence paid off. I may not have been able to glean much from public records or the internet, but my mark is leading me right back to his lair, where I’ll learn everything I need to know about him.
CHAPTER6
WINGER
Alcohol and the bump to my head are the only excuses I have as to why I allowed myself to be followed home and didn’t realize I had a tail until I pulled into the driveway. Darker thoughts emerge. Maybe I wanted whoever is behind me to know where I live, but then I realize I don’t even really remember driving home. I was on autopilot, and that makes me feel a smidgen better about myself, but also like shit since I’m fucking up this badly. I won’t be around long to worry about it if I keep this up.
The car parks four houses away. I pretend not to notice as I open my garage and walk my bike inside, then close it behind me. I check my guns while standing in the shadows where the light doesn’t reach inside my garage. With a click of a button on my phone, I turn on a light in the kitchen, then wait. After not hearing anything for several minutes, I decide to take a look outside to see if the vehicle is still there. Though I’m more sober now than just a few minutes ago, since the threat is working to clear my head, it’s still possible my mind is playing tricks on me.
After peering through a window for any movement or shapes out of place and not seeing anything, I creep out the backdoor, staying in the shadows while I traverse my neighbors’ yards so I can sneak up behind the car.
I’m sweating by the time I’m six houses down. Luckily, no one has installed any motion sensor lights since the last time I snuck around, which has been longer than it should have been, proving my complacency.
The car looks empty, but I’m not dumb enough to assume that to be true. The ball cap I grabbed from the garage is fitted over my head, but it’s not much of a disguise. I watch the car for a few more seconds while I decide how I want to approach this.
While I’m still concealed in the shadows of the home a few houses down from mine, I pull out my phone and turn on a light upstairs in my room. If I didn’t have my eyes trained on the car, I would have missed the tiny movement, proving it’s not as empty as it seems.
My best play is to wait them out for a while to see if I can discover why they are watching me. Thankfully, the fog in my head is dissipating with every passing minute.
Ten minutes later, with the barest hint of the sun trying to peek over the horizon, I’m no closer to figuring out what the hell is going on and contemplating a new approach.
Another shift in the car, and the driver’s door swings open soundlessly. The figure that emerges has me wondering if I’m as sober as I thought.
She is dressed in black fitted jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her hair just covers the nape of her neck and looks dark, but I can’t tell much more than that in this light. She takes care to close her door quietly, then casually strolls away from the car as if she belongs in the neighborhood.
I shift my position as she walks down the street, getting closer and closer to my house, but she surprises me again when she just walks past without even glancing in the right direction. Keeping to the shadows of the homes, I creep a little closer to her and watch when she finally crosses the street, looking both ways as if she needs to check for traffic. She shifts her gaze to the house two doors down from me, and I watch her chin move in tiny little increments, as if she’s scanning the house for cameras or any other useful information. It’s clear she knows what she’s doing. I just wish I knew what she was up to.
I think about heading back around to the backyards and returning home to wait for her, but I’m too entranced. With two steps, she slips into the same darkness that’s been concealing me near the houses and disappears from my sight. My foot shifts forward to follow her, but I stop myself and hang back.
After a few more seconds of her not returning to the front yard, I slip into the backyard again in an effort to keep tabs on her.
A dog barks a few houses down, and I freeze. The baying only lasts for a moment or two, and then I hear the engine of a car. It’s too far away to be hers, so I continue heading through the yards.
Even knowing I’m looking for someone, she’s hard to spot. Checking the places where I would hide is what allows me to catch sight of her. She stays out of my yard, but it’s clear my home is her target when that’s where her focus is trained.
I chance a quick look down at my phone and turn on a light in my dining room, which illuminates the side of her face briefly before she pulls back. Something about her seems familiar, but I can’t place her. Did she work at the club?
