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Her reply came promptly.Yes I know. I came with a friend and if anything gets shady I’ll call Wolfe and Ace. Chill out big sister. I can take care of myself.
The lack of commas mildly irked me, but what could I expect from a text? It was nothing short of surprising that it wasn’t littered with autocorrects and typos. Her mention of Wolfe and Ace struck me in the chest. We didn’t talk about the guys much. She knew how hard it was for me.
Knowing those two were trustworthy emergency contacts, I told her again to be careful and put my phone away. Once a year Wolfe called me. Always on my birthday. Some years I even answered. It wasn’t his fault that everything had happened the way it had. Still, hearing his voice made my soul ache.
Even though Rumer hadn’t been part of our group, she mattered to me. So she mattered to Wolfe. He’d promised me after I left that he’d watch out for her, as well as my parents. Leaving a man like that hadn’t been easy. Not that leaving any of them had been.
“Can I take your plate, miss?”
Startled from my thoughts, I glanced up to find the server waiting to take my dish. I nodded and thanked him, ready for the dancing and mingling to start so I could escape my table mates. A buffet of desserts lined the far wall, drawing many people in that direction. Others moved toward the dance floor as the small orchestra on stage played some fancy ballroom number I didn’t know.
Pretending to check my appearance in the small compact I kept in my purse, I watched the women flow back and forth from the restroom down a short hall at the back of the room. Any of the women here would make a good target. They were all decked out in sparkly bling. Someone with a bottle of wine in her system would be best.
When enough of them had drifted in that direction that I could blend in unnoticed, I put the compact away and stood up. I smoothed down my skirt, finding comfort in the blade secured to my thigh in a garter belt sheath. Then I turned to head for the restroom and found myself staring into angry dark eyes.
I recognized those eyes. They were the only part of the man in the mask that I could see the night the bastard clocked me with his gun. Little more than a week ago, I still had bruises underneath my makeup.
His hair was buzzed, face clean shaven. The suit he wore made his body appear burlier than it had in the dark of my target’s room that night. Everything about him put me on edge. I didn’t like that I hadn’t noticed him before. At an event this large it was easy to overlook someone. It could also be deadly.
“I thought I knew that pretty face,” he said, smiling wide enough to flash a gold incisor. “You definitely look different all done up, but I knew it was you. I can’t believe my luck. You owe me a dance. And answers.”
Ignoring the tight press of my lips, he offered a hand. I refused to touch him.
“I don’t owe you jack shit, buddy,” I hissed, jerking out of reach. “It’s not my fault you failed to do your job properly.”
“No, but it’s your fault I have a nifty new scar from you trying to gut me.” He cast a slow glance around the room before adding, “I’m just one of many people who will stop you from getting out of here in one piece if you try to run. Join me on the dance floor.”
My jaw dropped. Was this guy for real? “You hit me first. You had it coming. I am not dancing with you. Not that it’s any of your business, but I was just on my way to the ladies’ room. Now move it before I piss on your shoes.”
Folding his arms over his chest, the failed hitman glowered at me. Even in heels, my boosted five foot five still came in shorter than his six foot plus. His looming height didn’t intimidate me. I’d brought down bigger men than him.
“You’re a mouthy thing, huh?” Head cocked to one side, he studied me. “Good. I love breaking the spirits of bitches like you. Go take your piss. I’ll be waiting. I intend to find out who you work for.”
He stepped aside to let me pass, and I didn’t waste the opportunity to get away from him. Maintaining a normal stride, I slung my purse over a shoulder and sauntered toward the restroom, angling my arm to hide the tattoo there. So much for nabbing a pricey trinket from one of these rich ladies. My mission was aborted as my only goal became getting the hell out of there.
Making a run for it was a surefire way to set the guy off. Not to mention anyone else he may be with. I’d thought I had a run in with one stupid criminal. Now I suspected there may be more to it.
My plan was to go to the washroom and see if there was a window I could exit through. If not, I’d try to slip out one of the building’s many exits. This guy didn’t know it, but he’d chosen the wrong woman to mess with. I hadn’t survived torture and loss only to succumb to this asshole and his friends.
I felt the weight of his gaze upon me until I turned down the hall housing the restrooms. Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed the door open, hopeful for a private moment to gather my thoughts and plan.
Two men swooped into the restroom behind me so fast I never had time to react. One of them grabbed me from behind, clamping a hand over my mouth. Together they ushered me into the larger handicapped stall. Seconds later the failed hitman joined us. The women gathered at the counter in front of the mirror didn’t notice a thing.
“Start talking,” the hitman snarled, pressing frightfully close. “Who do you work for?”
“I told you before, I don’t work for anyone. I’m a solo act.” Even as I spoke I could see that he didn’t believe me.
“Yeah, I don’t buy it.” To his buddies he said, “Check her for ink.”
Aww, fuck me. Knowing that I couldn’t let them relieve me of the blade strapped to my thigh, I relented. “All right, all right. Hold the fuck on. Can you get your grabby hands off me?”
Ignoring me, they jerked both of my arms straight out before me, checking them over. My right arm was free of ink. The black cat stretching above my left wrist wasn’t what they sought. Neither was the crescent moon on my shoulder.
The ink they sought was on the back of my forearm. Not hidden at all. Of course, I didn’t think I had a reason to hide it. Most people at an event like this wouldn’t recognize the tattoo, a letter H in hard gothic lettering with a cobra wrapped around it in the shape of an S. The Hale Syndicate logo that I’d never had the guts to laser off. My dumbass mistake.
“What the fuck is this? Is that the Hale Syndicate from River City? Did they send you here?” The hitman shouldered his friends aside, forcing them to cram against the toilet. Pinning me to the stall wall with meaty hands, he leaned in close, sniffing my perfume. “Because that was a huge mistake. They don’t want a war with us.”
“Nobody sent me,” I rushed to assure him. “I’m not part of them. Not for a long time now. I went in for a fucking statue, like I keep saying. That’s all.”
