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The footsteps grow closer. “That’s my cue.” I take my hand back, swing my legs off the armrest and push toward the door as a dark-haired man walks in, his eyes narrowed in on one person.
“Polaris, you have a minute?”
The woman in question turns to her desk and clears away the piles of papers so Santi can put another load on the large slab of polished wood. Hmm. That is a lot of contracts. I wonder what's going on.
An aura of power emanates off one of the men of Genesis who fails to realize I’m in the room. “Santi,” I offer in a way of announcing myself to my boss.
Boss. Man of power. Armed. Dangerous, but not to me. Protector of the weak.
Hard brown eyes swivel toward me. “Bailey.” His expression softens a fraction. The older man sounds startled as he says my name with a hint of his Spanish accent lingering on the hard and soft vows. I get a cordial nod. “If you will excuse us for a moment.”
“Of course.” My feet can’t move fast enough to get me out of there. I tuck my head to hide my smile. “I’m due on the third floor anyway. Excuse me.”
I know where I am not wanted. Maybe someday I will have a man look at me with that level of affection in their eyes.
Someday.
CHAPTERTHREE
BAILEY
Ilook back to see Polaris staring into Santi’s eyes as he says something to her that has her cheeks going full-on red.
I turn away, giving them their privacy, but I can’t help but rub at the stab of pain clenching around my heart. All I have waiting for me is a bare room one level down as part of my work package while I get my life together. It has a bed, a table and a bathtub. I can’t complain. But still. Having someone to make me blush with life again. Someone to chase the touch of death away when he shows up wanting to be entertained by the pain in my soul would be a nice change for once.
Whatever.
I throw aside my woes for some other time and hit the down button on the elevator. There are five levels to Club Genesis. This is the top floor. The level below me is where the limited rooms for guests are located and then there is the third floor also dubbed the death floor. That is where contracts are taken out on people’s lives, deals are made and the hired assassins hang out waiting for their next target to come across their table.
And where I need to be right now.
Before getting onto the elevator I step up to a mirror with a large vase of flowers centered in front of it. I run my fingers through the long curls spilling over my shoulder and secure them into a top knot with wisps falling free. I don’t bother with a lot of makeup. There isn’t a lot of money to go around for unneeded items.
A swipe of gloss so my lips don’t crack in the dry air is about all I have time for before the elevator dings. I step on, hitting the large number three. Two seconds later I step out and immediately to my right the day receptionist greets me with a practiced smile and tilt of her head.
In front of me, the open floor plan is sectioned off into three areas. Against the far wall is where the private rooms are. Behind those doors is where negotiations are handled by the men of Genesis. If you ever wondered where the bad guys with guns come to make deals with other bad guys with guns, well, now you have your answer. In the back rooms of Genesis’ dark floor.
Toward the middle of the spacious opening is where the undertaker works. It’s called the parlor. Like, step into my parlor, said the undertaker to the killer…
Cute name for where hits and retrievals are taken out in the underworld of Chicago. It has raised half-walls that give the undertaker a level of privacy with clients, but not much. Toward the front and near the receptionist is the lounge—a collection of sofas and low knee-level tables where Genesis’ runners come looking for a contract to fulfill. Or collect payment on one.
And right now, I have a handful of runners tracking my every move.
Creepy, cold-hearted bastards.
Like cobras tracking a mouse, they watch me make my way to the back where Harlon is waiting. This time of night he hands me fresh contracts to take upstairs for Polaris to file. I make sure they are delivered, but after seeing Santi with a stack I have to wonder if he’s done my job for me.
I double time it past the runners who huddle together over something laid out on a table in front of them. Probably a map of where they’ve buried bodies. There are large yellow Xs—green ones and red ones. It doesn’t take a lot to imagine what they mean. Over stuffing locations with corpses is bad for business.
I lock down a shiver as I walk past their corner of the floor.
“Hey you.”
Fuck. Don’t stop, don’t acknowledge.
A man in leather stands and calls out again, making my heart rev into overdrive.
Dangerous. No name. Armed. Paid killer.
