Page 40 of Bloody Quarter

“Unfortunately, my dance card is full tonight. But why don’t I give you one on the house, and you make sure to check out our souvenir section. You won’t find anything else like those items in the entire city. I can promise you that,” I said, grabbing the fireball whiskey and pouring her a shot. I shoved it across the bar, and she smiled as she took it and downed it before letting out a yell.

“That’s the good stuff.”

“I only ever have the good stuff in this place.” I filled her shot glass again and then filled another.

“Why thank you, sexy,” she said, putting money down but keeping her finger on the twenty. “If you change your mind, I’m in room 303. The place with the mask painted on the door. I’m sure you know the one.”

“I do, and I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, giving her my panty-dropping smile, but I had zero intention of taking her up on the offer. There was only one woman I planned to have writhing beneath me.

As the woman moved out of the way, I was practically punched in the face by Alora’s glare, and holy-fucking-shit, it was hot. I’d never been into jealous girls. They were clingy and annoyed me, especially when I needed my privacy. Having a girlfriend freak out because she couldn’t reach me for a few hours wasn’t going to work, but this…this was insanely hot. The jealousy burned in her blue eyes, and if she could’ve struck me dead, I would’ve been singed to dust. Of all the crap I’d done to her, it was me flirting with a customer that got her to show genuine emotion? All she needed was for me to paint her green instead of blue.

“You jealous?” I mouthed, and I swear she snarled at me before looking away. Well, well, well. Ms. Alora, you’ve been holding out on me.

Smirking, I turned away, and a man I’d seen sitting in the corner eating a plate of wings and fries was now at the bar. He polished off the rest of his drink and set it down as I wandered over.

“Good evening, friend. Would you like a refill?”

“No, I better not.”

His steely blue eyes looked around at the bar like he was inspecting it. There was something about his cool and calculated look that sent up a red flag. He didn’t take in the other patrons the way regular people did. He didn’t smile or flirt, and I could see him analyzing, but what? Without asking, I knew he was highly intelligent, organized, and, like me, was trying to blend in when he didn’t fit the mold. He definitely didn’t enjoy people rubbing against his arms or bumping into him from behind, and I had to wonder why he would even want to come to a place like this.

After a few moments, his eyes met mine, and I swallowed, feeling the full weight of his stare. This man, whoever he was, was a threat. I’d never met anyone who could set off all my internal warnings. He was like me, a predator at the top of the food chain. Was he here to hunt?

The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, but there was no humor in his eyes, and my body tensed, ready for whatever he did next. He stood and took out a couple of hundreds, placing them on the bar before signaling me to come closer.

Hoping he didn’t plan on having a showdown in the middle of my crowded bar, I leaned in to hear what he had to say.

“I like your style, it’s…creative.” Pointing to Alora, he smiled. “Make sure you don’t push too far if you want to keep that one. There is a fine balance between breaking and broken,” he said.

With that, he walked away. I watched him leave before picking up the money and his empty glass. A little paper napkin was stuck to the bottom, and as I looked at it through the glass, my heart stopped. I stared at two words.

The Chameleon

Running past Lennox, I jumped onto the bar and heard claps as I leaped over the few rows of people before dashing out the door into the night. He was gone. I looked up and down the street and even jogged to the closest alley, but like a magician, he’d proven why I was still aspiring to be like him. How the hell did he know about me or find me? Was he looking for me, or was it a fluke that of all the bars in New Orleans, the man that I looked up to walked into mine? It couldn’t be. I knew how he worked and how methodical every move he made was. I’d hit on the Chameleon’s radar.

My body thrummed with excitement at the thrill of meeting him, even for just a second. He’d even given me advice and said he liked my style. I got a compliment from the man I wanted to become. I looked The Chameleon in the eyes and lived.

I wanted to spin around like I’d been tossed into a romantic movie, and the one person I wanted to tell about this momentous event was currently shackled in my bar.

“There is a difference between breaking and broken,” I repeated The Chameleon’s words.

Glancing down at the napkin, I ran my thumb lovingly over the name. If it weren’t for this, I would think that I dreamed of this moment. So, few people got to meet their heroes, and even less lived up to the hype, but not him. The Chameleon was exactly as I envisioned.

I did one more turn and stared into the darkness, positive that The Chameleon was somewhere watching me. But I’d never see him again unless it was on the wrong end of his knife. He’d purposely let me see what he looked like. That was a massive risk, and it was an honor and a show of mutual respect. There was no greater gift.

Smiling, I walked back into the bar like I was walking on air.

Alora

I almost felt like a normal person as I rubbed out my hair with a towel. Greyson let me shower in his apartment bathroom all on my own without him staring at me like I would find a way to claw a hole through the wall and escape. Pulling the tank top on, I took a moment to stare at my reflection. I barely recognized the person staring back at me.

Was I really falling for a serial killer? Was I really okay with it?

Gripping the edge of the sink and leaning in closer, I inspected myself and the bruises from the other night. “What the hell am I thinking?”

If I were smart, I’d smash the mirror and cut my wrists with the jagged edges. A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve done it without a second thought, but now…now I didn’t know anymore. Greyson told me he believed me. I’d stopped trying to plead my case when I was sentenced and carted off. No one believed me then, and I figured that everyone would see the homeless alcoholic who had always been in trouble with the law. I was branded a liar before being given a fair trial.

There was a soft knock at the door. “You ready,” Greyson asked.