She’s right. I did promise to abide by the rules when Joel agreed to let me lurk around and pretend to be a guard.
“You’re the only patron I’ve ever touched like that.”
“Bullshit.”
Okay, I’m so confused by her anger, I’m momentarily speechless. Has she figured out who I am? Why is she so angry? Still, I don’t care if she yells as long as she keeps talking to me.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“This place isn’t me. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“It can be you if you want it to be.”
“Oh, shut up, you handsy bastard.”
I grin at her feistiness. “I doubt you would’ve shown up here if you weren’t a little interested in trying out BDSM. What’s your kink?” I pretend like I don’t know about the cop. When she just glares at me for several seconds and then looks away, I blurt it out. “You like being restrained? Can’t find a man to give you what you need? I bet you like being told what to do, too, don’t you?”
“I-I don’t know. Maybe.”
I wait silently, hoping she’ll say more, give me a little more insight into her mind that’s made me crazy for weeks.
“In my normal life, I’m the one giving the orders, always in control.”
“So, you think it would be nice to concede it for a little while in the bedroom,” I guess, and she nods. “Well, I’m the opposite.I get told what to do all day, every day, so at night I want to be the boss, the one calling the shots. We could be a perfect match.”
Okay, so maybe I’m laying it on thick. But I’m working on a deadline. One given to me by Creed’s very pregnant wife and Dre’s viper bitch wife.
But before Kirsten can even laugh at my attempt to get her underneath me, a loudpoprings out in the alley.
Fuck. I know that sound too well.
I dive for the woman in the white dress, taking her down to the ground and covering her with my body.
“Shit,” a man’s voice mutter.
“Stay here,” I tell her when I look over my shoulder and see the guy take off on foot. I’m up and running a second later, since I know in my gut this wasn’t some random act of violence. Someone followed Kirsten here tonight and was waiting for her to leave, probably to make her murder look like a random robbery gone wrong.
Fuck that.
I pump my arms, urging my legs to run faster. At least the toga doesn’t hold me back. I take a hard right at the end of the alley to pursue the shooter. Wearing a black hoodie and jeans with the hood up, he glances over his shoulder and speeds up when he spots me chasing him.
“You’re fucking dead!” I roar.
He turns down an alley just before I can grab the back of his hoodie. I slow as I change direction. Oh, but he picked a dead end. Apparently, he’s not a very good assassin.
“Who sent you?” I ask as he points his gun at me while walking backwards. “Tell me!” I demand in a roar. “We might be working for the same side.”
He shakes his head and fires a shot that goes wide to the left. Definitely not a professional.
“Do you know who the fuck I am? I’m a Ferraro.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Did Creed send you? His wife, Zara? Or Stella Rovina Ferraro?”
“Goddamn. How many people want this bitch dead?”
“A lot. And she’s my kill,” I lie. “Now, tell me who paid you so I can make sure they know she’s mine.”
