Of course, I’ll tell him. And then when he’s not looking, I’ll slip him the benzos. Five minutes tops, and I’ll be suggesting we find somewhere quieter. Like my room upstairs.
That’s how it usually goes.
Only tonight, it doesn’t.
Because he doesn’t notice me. Even when the bartender comes down to ask me if I want a drink. And when I turn to see what could be so blindingly fascinating, I find exactly what I don’t want to see.
She’s across the bar, in shadow. Tonight, she wears a short black wig and the only weapon she needs. A wicked smile and a crook of her finger, and she’s got him. Hook, line, and sinker.
I wouldn’t exactly call her my nemesis. Or even my rival.
I don’t get possessive of my territory. Except when someone’s bringing heat down on it. Which is exactly what this girl has been doing since she showed up two months ago.
She goes by the street name Storm, but names are like purses to her. She has a different one for every day of the week, to go with her disguises.
Bitch is crazy. Even crazier than me.
And she’s making my game look like child’s play compared to what she does to her toys. There is something about her that scares even me a little. I’ve watched her work before, and there is no flashy sales pitch on her part. She keeps it simple, and it works. It works so well she never even gets close to her targets before she lures them in.
Standing in the shadows, tossing coy glances over her shoulder. That really is all there is to it. There’s a mystery about her that even I can’t deny. And I won’t say that I don’t admire her skill set because she’s got a natural talent for what she does.
But respect is a two-way street.
Like I said before, I’m not a fan of people. So usually, I mind my business.
But tonight, she is crossing the line. And she knows it too when she meets my gaze and smiles.
Dopey gets up from his stool and walks directly to his doom like a puppy chasing after a bone. I follow five steps behind him.
Storm has been using the same hotels that I do on a regular basis, so I’m not surprised when she takes him into one of the rooms upstairs.
I grab my knife and a credit card, prepared to deal with the lock, but there’s no need. She left it cracked open for me.
By the time I open the door, she’s already got dopey unconscious on the ground. She meets my gaze for a second and quickly dismisses me before she goes to work on cutting off his clothes.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she’s been studying my playbook.
“That one was mine,” I tell her.
“Really?” She doesn’t move her focus from her current task. “Because I’m pretty sure he came back here of his own free will. Don’t think he even noticed you tonight. No offence, dollface.”
Well, she does have a point there. But still, I’m not about to let it go.
“I’ve already visited with him once before.”
“Then I guess you didn’t do a good enough job,” she says. “I’ll make sure to do it right this time.”
“I didn’t have his address.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’ve got it. Along with the name of his wife and kids at home.”
The way her lip curls when she says wife and kids reveals exactly what I wanted to know about her. We all have a trigger. Something that makes us tick, or makes us sick… whatever. This is where her rage stems from. It’s the cheating that does it for her.
She’s young, maybe twenty-four at most I’d guess, but hard. Hard as fuck. And I’d venture a guess that she’s been married before already.
It’s all very fascinating, really. But I’m no Freud, and I find myself caring a little too much, so I shake myself out of it and get down to business.
“I get that you’re new here,” I say. “But I think we need to come to some sort of understanding. You’re drawing too much heat. The guys I fuck up run back to their penthouses with their tails between their legs and live out their days with regret and paranoia. But yours are actually going to the police. And now the feds have been sniffing around here too.”
