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“And why the fuck would you ask me to do something like that?” I ask calmly.
“I’ve seen you fight… I know a man who’s killed before.”
While she’s talking, my mind is scrambling, pulling back the layers of memory to see if she is in there somewhere.
Did I know her when I was working with the De Kysa family in Boston?
“And how would you know something like that?” I question.
“Because of the man I want you to make unalive. He killed my mom and tried to hurt me.”
“You came all the way from Boston to ask me to kill your stepdad?”
“No, I came all the way from Boston to get away from him.” She points between us. “This is pure chance. A couple of friends of mine from the bar where I work went to one of your fights a few weeks ago. I’ve been to every one of your fights ever since.”
A kick rattles in my heart knowing she’s been watching me each week. I like the idea of those almond-shaped eyes focused on me.
Which is dangerous.
For both of us.
“Listen, sweetheart, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not a hired gun.”
“You’re in a motorcycle gang, aren’t you?”
“Meaning what? And for the record, it’s a club not a gang.”
“Meaning, I thought this would be something you could help me with. I’ve heard about the Kings of Mayhem. You help people out in this town when they need it. Well, I’m one of those people.”
I stare at her a moment longer. She really is beautiful, but all I can see is trouble.
“Sorry.” I drain my glass and stand. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for.”
She looks away and bites into her lip, and heaven help me because it’s distractingly sexy, and I’m seconds away from throwing her over my shoulder and taking her back to the clubhouse with me.
“Why do you want your stepdaddy dead, anyway?” I ask and immediately regret it. I should be walking out the door, not engaging with her. But she’s got my attention, and for reasons beyond my understanding, I’m finding it hard to walk away.
“Because he hurt me.”
Her words send a sharp sting into my very core.
She doesn’t need to explain any further. The pain in her voice tells me what he did to her. But as much as the thought of any man hurting a woman in that way sends a wave of red-hot anger through me, I can’t be drawn in by it. Because those days are behind me, and when I left Boston, I swore they were behind me for good. So I’m not the guy she’s looking for.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to help me.”
She’s trying to cover her pain with her fierce expression and ballsy body language, but she can’t hide it from her vibrant eyes. The blue fire in them burns bright.
But I have to walk away—I need to walk away.
“It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Rory,” I say softly. “But I can’t help you.”
Her face is tight, and I can read the rejection in her expression. But she doesn’t try to sway me. I have a feeling this girl would set fire to herself before she begged anyone for anything.
With a simple nod, she slides off her stool. “Thanks for the drink.”
I watch her walk away before I settle the bill and collect tonight’s earnings from Oscar.
