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My instincts flare, sending a streak of alarm throughout my body. I don’t stop walking, but it takes every bit of self-control I possess to keep from running. However, my heart has no such reservations. It races, the uneven cadence a reflection of my fear as it spikes again, ice filling my veins.
An invisible presence barrels past my defenses. The hair on the nape of my neck lifts and I fist my hand to keep from rubbing the area, to rid myself of the unwanted sensation. It lingers like a specter’s fingers, gripping me tighter with every step I take.
I spin around, my gaze zipping from one corner to the other, searching every shadow and dark place in the vicinity.
That’s where monsters hide. Not out in the open, but under your bed and in your closet. Within your home and other places where you’re most vulnerable.
Where they can be close to you.
Finding nothing and no one, I turn around, no less frightened. If anything, spotting the source of my anxiety would lessen it and give me something to focus on. A target. Not that I would go on the offensive, but I could prepare my defense.
Maybe I should buy a gun.
I shake my head. I barely have enough money to buy food, let alone a weapon that costs more than I earn in a week.
Except… I won’t need to eat if I’m dead.
I continue at my brisk pace, praying like I do every night that I’ll make it to my apartment. That I’ll live long enough to put my father’s killer to justice. Then, I’ll finally be at peace.
Until that day comes, I think I’m going to need a different kind of ammunition.
Like a short skirt and some high heels.
Chapter6
Hayden
For such a tiny creature,Miss Green walks quickly, her legs scissoring as if she can trim the distance to her home.
Is it because she’s in a hurry? Or does she feel me watching her?
The woman turns around so swiftly that her long braid swings wildly, landing on her shoulder instead of resting against the small of her back. She scans the area, her hazel eyes wide with the panic she’s desperately trying to conceal. But she can’t hide her fear from me.
Or anything else.
I study the woman from a distance, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breaths come out in short, uneven pants. She presses her full lips, refusing to believe what her eyes are telling her. Although she can’t see anyone, she knows someone is nearby.
Smart girl.
Miss Green turns back around and walks up to T&A. It’s understood that the name of the bar should read “tits and ass,” but the owner claims it’s “thirst and appetizers.” I’d believe it if the female staff members didn’t wear skirts short enough to expose the curves of their asses, and a shirt with a neckline that reveals more than it covers.
So why is Calista Green, a former senator’s daughter who’s used to wearing pearls and modest heels, going inside such a risqué establishment?
I cock my head, a frown tugging at my lips. It only takes me a second to make the decision to follow her inside. She has piqued my curiosity. Again.
The fact that she continues to do so is more aggravating and confounding with every passing moment.
The dimly lit interior of the bar is suffocating, the air heavy with the sour smell of stale beer and cigarettes. Dingy, mud-colored walls are adorned with old neon signs promoting various liquor brands, most of the letters in the signs burnt out. A haze of smoke lingers over the bar, visible in the fluorescent glow of the signs. The scuffed wooden floor is littered with crushed peanut shells, and the tables and barstools look grimy to the touch.
Rock music plays from an old jukebox in the corner, though most of the patrons are too absorbed in their drinking and low conversations to care about it. Behind the bar, an unshaven bartender stands polishing glasses with a rag, his stained apron and the shelves of liquor bottles behind him accumulating dust.
I immediately find Miss Green, my gaze locking onto her where she waits at the crowded bar. She stands out like a lamb amongst a den of lions. Pure and helpless.
The bartender freezes when he spots her. Then a licentious gleam lights up his dark eyes as he runs his gaze over her. His look is appreciative, lustful as I expected.
She’s a beautiful woman. Rich, dark hair that reaches the small of her back, long enough for a man to wrap around his wrist several times. Her eyes are the color of honey, flaunting the sweetness inside, driving you to want a taste. Her body is not as curvy as most of the women here, but her tits are the perfect size to fill a man’s hand.
My fingers curl, creating a fist as my thoughts thread themselves into my body, pulling a reaction from me. This isn’t the first time. Another anomaly that’s disrupted my thought patterns and wrecked the logic I’ve always employed when viewing any situation.
