“You can hunt again when things calm down.”
His breath tickles my neck as he mumbles, “I need another drink.”
“Let me get you one.” Pulling back, I pluck the glass from his hand and walk to the mini bar to the left of his desk. One knuckle of whisky isn’t going to cut it tonight. I keep pouring until I’ve got at least four fingers worth in the glass.
Aiden’s hands hold him up as he leans against the desk behind him, his broad shoulders and lethal physique illuminated by the soft light pooling in from the bathroom. I hand him the glass and watch as he takes a long sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
“This is not how I imagined this night going,” he grumbles, setting the glass down on the desk.
“Me serving you drinks in only your shirt was not how you pictured things?”
“I’m not complaining about that part,” he smirks, reaching out for my hand. “But I did have other plans in mind.”
Tilting my head back, I press, “Care to fill me in?”
“Filling you was definitely part of the plan,” he growls, his lips brushing mine. “On every surface in our house.” Taking my hand in his, he glances at the ring on my finger and grins. “My beautiful bug.”
His eyes are heavy with exhaustion. There will be no frantic lovemaking tonight. It’s not the time or the place. Guiding Aiden by the hand, I help clean up his marred skin and lead him to the bed. He clumsily kicks his shoes off, shoves down his trousers, and collapses on the mattress, dragging his body over mine and settling his head on my chest.
“You’re not going to like what you see, bug. When I do findWalsh, you’ll finally glimpse the monster lurking beneath my skin.” His words are almost slurred; he’s been through too much tonight. It is taking its toll.
I run my fingers through his hair, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent. “Can’t wait.” Pressing my lips to his crown, I hold him close, watching as he slips into a deep, troubled sleep.
Monsters are ugly things, the man in my arms is not one of them. He’s a villain with a gorgeous face and a twisted soul. The way his cruelty seamlessly aligns with mine forces me to question my own sense of morality. I’ve killed with him, I’ve lied for him, I’ve lost myself in his darkness, and he’s breathed life back into my empty soul, branding his name on my heart as if I were his possession. I guess I am, in a way, but if life has taught me one thing, it’s that I’d rather be owned by him than lost without him.
I don’t tell him about the footage. Not yet. He needs to sleep and regroup. He needs his strength. The bastard who attacked Robbie had the good sense to cover his face, but the idiot forgot to cover the tattoos on his hands. There is no doubt in my mind that Aiden will track him down, and when he does, a pig’s colon will be a welcomed destination compared with what Aiden will do to him.
34
KATIE
My heels clip against the pavement. I walk with purpose, putting emphasis on my hips and the sway of my body. I don’t know if it’s the blonde wig, the unbelievably expensive attire, or the extra padding thanks to Scott borrowing some bits, wig included, from a friend of his that does drag, but something is drawing the eye of the surrounding men. It’s a good thing I only need one of them, and his eyes are glued to my fake arse as I sashay past him, knowing I have his full attention.
It took me longer than I care to admit learning how to walk in these ridiculously high heels, and to do it on a cobblestone road is even more challenging than the level slabs out Aiden’s back garden—our back garden. I still need to get used to that.
My engagement ring is safe at home; however, my man made a point to deck me out in as much bling as possible without looking tacky. I’m bait after all—not that Aiden cares for it, but I did insist. It worked for the first three men; why not try it again?
Dropping my phone, I slowly bend, just enough for the dress to ride up my thigh—a move I know drives Aiden crazy. He hates anyone looking at me when I’m me, never mind when I’m acting like I’ve got Eva Longoria’s figure and confidence. I straighten up, feeling his eyes on me despite the audience I have attracted. Damn, so this is what I was doing wrong all these years. Like Pink once said, “all you have to change is everything you are.”
“Careful, bug.” Aiden’s voice comes through the earpiece we borrowed from the club. His voice is low, dangerous.
“He’s coming in hot, and he’s not alone.” Raven’s voice comes through the earpiece, making me think that Aiden is two seconds away from making a break from the van. I don’t even know if Raven is his real name; I was afraid to ask. Not that Aiden will hurt me for showing any kind of platonic interest in another man, but I can’t be certain that he wouldn’t hurt Raven if he felt my attention was being diverted.
Raven is one of the soldiers in Aiden’s pocket. I don’t know which one. I don’t know if he was the sniper, the assassin, or the flat out enforcer who took three cars off the road the same night. I don’t want to know. All I can say is that he gave me serious Michele Morrone vibes the second I clapped eyes on him.
“Double back, pretend you’re lost.” Raven’s gravelly voice comes through the earpiece loud and clear.
“Head down, bug! There are cameras up ahead,” Aiden warns. At least I know he hasn’t jumped out of the van. It doesn’t matter that Scott is a magician with makeup and changed my entire face; the wig has a thick fringe that keeps getting in my eyes, and I’m wearing absurdly large Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. He still insists that I keep my headturned down or to the side, away from view of any potential security cameras.
“Ok, Mikey is coming over to distract the other two. See if you can draw our guy away,” Raven instructs, munching on something in that van. I didn’t even realise it was lunchtime. “Will you calm the fuck down? She has it!” he hisses. I’m presuming that one was for Aiden.
A nondescript guy with a shaved head steps off the pedestrian crossing and straight into the lad’s line of sight, looking to “bum a smoke.” I guess that’s Mikey.
“Sorry.” I reach out to our slimeball, my fingers grazing his arm. His smile turns my stomach. “Can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”
His hair has more flakes than a snowstorm, his jaw is red with razor burns, and his crooked teeth reveal a cigarette-stained smile. “Yeah, sure,” he says, pointing me in the direction before deciding to walk beside me, probably hoping to rob me.
A DPD van pulls right up on the curb of the bank as we approach.
