Page 55 of Seduced By the Billionaire
She couldn’t kill him. He’d be armed, and even if she had a gun, she was a terrible shot. And she wouldn’t win in hand-to-hand combat.
But she could stall him, buy Ronan enough time to gather his team. The message thread made it clear that they needed more manpower to pull off the sting. And once he had enough people… Daniel would be at a disadvantage.
Daniel knew it. That was almost certainly the point of that ruse with the coat: Daniel was pulling the department’s resources elsewhere. Leaving Ronan vulnerable. Once he was sure the squad cars had left the area, he’d be on his way to kill the man she loved.
If he hadn’t left already.
Juliette cut her eyes left, then right—no one on the street. No cars that might be unmarked police. Just an old jalopy sitting on blocks. Shit.
Please let him be here.
Part of her expected the front door to be locked, but it swung inward with no resistance—so easily that she stumbled over the threshold. She’d worked here for a year, and while the dancers sometimes left the back entry open between cigarette breaks, Waylon had never left the front door ajar.
He’s here. Right?
“Waylon?” Her voice trembled.
No response. She could hear the music, though, a low throb from the main room. Much softer than usual.
Juliette pushed through the beaded curtain. The stage lights glowed pink, but no one stood at the poles. The lights in the main room were off, the space swathed in shadows. But as her eyes adjusted, she could see that she wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting in the chair near the corner beside the one where Ronan had sat just yesterday.
“Hello?” Juliette called, stepping toward him.
It wasn’t Daniel—his shoulders were too thin. Perhaps a homeless man, someone seeking shelter from the storm? She’d seen that happen twice in the last year, and that would have made him easy pickings if Daniel needed someone to wear his coat. Though… why would he come back?
But as she stepped closer, she knew she was wrong. Gray hair glimmered softly in the hazy light from the stage. And now she could see the paunch of his belly beneath his dark shirt, the saggy skin of his jowls.
“Waylon?” she said, but the man did not move.
She hadn’t really expected him to. Juliette touched his shoulder, and his hand flopped off the armrest to hang limply against the side of the chair.
His shoulders shifted. Then his head tilted back just enough for her to see his wide, glassy eyes… and the glint of the paring knife still lodged in his throat.
“What did that poor man ever do to you?”
His voice turned her blood to ice.
“The knife is from our kitchen set,” Daniel went on. “I’m surprised you’d use something with your prints all over it. It’s like you’re trying to get caught.”
Juliette stood, eyes on Waylon, frozen to the floor. This was what she’d been hoping for, in theory—a reunion, just her and him. But actually being here, hearing his low, nasally voice behind her…
He’s here—he’s right fucking here.
“Clever of you, saving that knife all this time,” she managed. Juliette forced her feet to move, turning slowly, her fists clenched so he wouldn’t see the way her hands trembled. Daniel was nothing more than an amorphous shape in the gloom, but she could feel the animosity—rage coupled with haughty satisfaction. The room crackled with horrible energy, vicious sparks snapping against her flesh.
“I kept lots of things you touched over the years,” he said, voice barely discernible over the music. “At least what I could salvage after you destroyed our home. You’re lucky I didn’t burn your mother alive the way you tried to do to me.”
She forced air into her lungs, trying to keep the panic at bay—Mom’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay. If he killed her mother, he had nothing to hold over her. But Juliette didn’t really believe that. He’d find some way to keep her in her place, just as he had before he’d taken guardianship of her mom.
She inhaled more softly, more slowly, her breath a quiet whisper against the tension in the air. She’d expected this—his threats, his gloating. And she was here on a mission.
Stay steady. Stall, Juliette. Stall.
“The police aren’t stupid,” she said quietly. “Why would I run away from home with only the clothes on my back but pack our kitchen knives?”
He stepped closer, still too deep in the shadows to see him clearly, but her heart leaped into her throat. Air—there was no air. She swallowed hard, trying to force her lungs to work. Stall. Stall. Stall.
Ronan and his officers would be here soon, wouldn’t they? No, she hadn’t told him she was here—he’d have kept her from coming at all, would have risked Daniel leaving here and killing him instead. But he’d surely figure out where she’d gone. Even if his team went to the motel first, they’d end up here within fifteen minutes… probably less.
