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Zeke smirks as if he’s won some great prize. Fucker. “I’ll let Bailey know.”
I mutter a curse under my breath as my phone buzzes to let me know the clean-up crew are on their way.
“You good waiting?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Get going.”
I watch as Zeke walks over to his car with Ryan and gets in. As they drive away, I climb in the back of the Bentley while Winters climbs in the front. I scroll through my messages, answering a few emails for some of our legitimate businesses before the cleaners turn up.
As soon as they do, I order Winters to drive me back to my place. After a kill there’s only one thing I want to do.
Fuck.
I need to release all this fucking pressure in my body.
I head up to my apartment and take a shower. As soon as I’m clean, I pull on a fresh pair of trousers and a dark shirt. Then I head into the city to one of the local bars I like to go to.
The firm owns a few clubs and bars in our slice of London, but I avoid those, and for good reason.
My mother’s little spies.
They are everywhere, feeding back to her every morsel of dirty information they can.
Winters is waiting when I step out of the lift. He doesn’t bother asking where we’re going. He knows my routine well enough to know I need to get lost for a few hours.
We head to the car in the parking garage. I climb in the back as he gets in the driver’s seat. I glance at him in the rear-view mirror. I suspect this fucker has my mother in his ear, and that he’s feeding her shit about me. Those thoughts are like poison spreading through me, a paranoia I can’t control.
He stops outside Tease, a club that has become my home away from home. We both climb out and he hands the car keys to the valet before following me to the front of the line where there are girls waiting in barely-there skirts and tops that reveal expanses of flesh. They shiver against the cold, but they aren’t wearing coats. There are guys in shirts and trousers, their hair slicked back. They’ll be in the toilets as soon as they get inside, doing lines of that magic white powder or dropping uppers. Getting out of their heads long enough to forget about their miserable lives for just a few hours.
The bouncer, a mountain of a man with a shaved head and thick moustache, lets me bypass the queue to go inside. These fuckers all know who I am and what I’m capable of. It makes them bend over backwards to be accommodating.
Inside the club, the music is loud, the bass vibrating through the floor. The smell of sweat and booze clings to the air, infusing my nose as I make my way to the bar. I can feel Winters watching me, but he doesn’t follow too closely, giving me space to fucking breathe.
I get a drink at the bar, keeping my eye on two blonde women standing at the other end. They’re fucking gorgeous and they keep giving me fuck-me eyes. Maybe I can convince them both to come to a hotel with me. It’s been a while since I played double tag.
I let my gaze roam around the club. The flashing strobe lights illuminate the dance floor in pulsing waves, giving tantalising views of the women here tonight. Taking a sip of my drink, I watch the gyrating mass of bodies as they sway back and forth with the music. Tease stocks my choice of Scotch exclusively for me. It’s not like I would throw a hissy fit if they didn’t have it, but they think I will lose my shit and make the bar run with blood.
Better to keep people on their fucking toes and guessing what I might do than let them think otherwise.
Better to keep that fear burrowing deep inside them, making them pliable and willing.
Fear is the best kind of weapon. It allows doubts to grow. It allows those little niggling feelings to spread like a cancer through every cell in your body. I know how to deliver it in order to expose people’s worst fears. It’s a skill that runs deep and allows me to control those around me—like my mother does. Knowing that makes me feel fucking sick to my stomach. She’s the last person I’d want to emulate.
I take another sip of my drink, relishing the burn of the alcohol as it hits the back of my throat. I am about to give my attention back to the blondes when I see her.
She’s tiny, maybe five three or four, and she’s wearing a white summer dress that makes her stand out. She looks like a white rose among a stem full of thorns. The animals in this club would prick her and make her bleed if I let them touch her. She’s got blonde hair that trails down her back in natural waves, and her eyes dart around like she’s seeing everything for the first time.
I follow her through the crowd of people, keeping my distance but staying close enough to intercede if—if what? I have no fucking idea. All I know is that dead lump of meat that sits in my chest just gave a lub-dub for the first time in years.
