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I shove him down into the bathtub with a thrust. His body slides to the bottom, his blood filling the tub while I hoist myself out. I walk over to the basin, grab a washcloth, and begin to wipe myself down as best I can to remove as much blood as possible, along with my knife. There are small blood stains on my shirt, but you won’t notice them if you aren’t looking closely. Then, I scour the room for any incriminating evidence, removing any traces of me from the scene, including wiping down the shower curtain. Then I place what I found into a trashcan, move it into the tub between the target’s unmoving legs, and set it on fire. I stand watching the small metal trashcan burn the evidence, including the washcloth, disintegrating it. I wait for the fire to die before I grab my cell.
Looking at the dead body in the tub, I snap a few pictures and send them off to my boss for confirmation of the hit. Then I dial number one on my speed dial. It rings once, and the line answers but is quiet on the other end. There’s a single beep, letting me know they’re there. So I begin to speak. “Code Name, Blue Jay. Mission executed. Awaiting further instructions.”
“No further missions at this time, Blue Jay. We will send confirmation once we have acquired your next target,” the female voice chimes.
I don’t say anything in reply, simply ending the call and sliding my cell back into my bra. Then I walk out of the motel room, needing a drink for another successful mission completed. Crossing the parking lot, I keep to the shadows, avoiding all the security cameras. A perk of the recon work required before coming here is I know exactly where they are. It’s part of my training and has become second nature. But nowthe mission is complete, I can relax until I am tasked with my next target.
So I head to Gears to grab a quiet drink and maybe something to eat. I don’t know what it is about taking a life, but it always makes me so fucking hungry.
Stepping into the pub, I move briskly up to the bar, finding the only available spot right next to a burly-looking guy covered in tattoos. His dark hair is a little longer on top but cut short on the sides, almost military in precision. His beard isn’t long but scratchy enough to tickle if you come into contact with it, and it’s clear he is wearing a biker cut. My eyes skim his patches—PRESIDENTreads across his left chest—and I smirk. His head hangs low, deep in thought, as he drowns himself in some kind of alcohol, already at least three drinks deep from the empty glasses surrounding him. Guy has the weight of the world on his shoulders by the looks of it.
I decide to leave this sexy, brooding biker to do his thing.
Sitting beside him, I tap the bar, gaining the bartender’s attention.
The older man, who looks like he has worked here his entire life, walks over, dipping his head at me. “What can I get ya?”
I glance at the biker’s drink and shrug. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I reply.
The bartender begins pouring me a tequila straight, and I smirk, my mind flashing back to the target I killed moments before, who was drowning himself in tequila.
Full circle moment right here.
Smiling to myself, I pick up my glass and cheers to the bartender, throw back the liquid and move to pick up their incredibly small bar menu. I look it over for something to fuel my appetite. Lord knows a woman’s got to eat.
The heat of an intense gaze washes over me, so I peek over the menu, spotting the brooding biker eyeing me up and down, hiseyes lingering on the blood stains on my shirt.
Huffing, I place the menu on the bar and raise my brow at him, almost daring him to start the chivalrous bullshit that men do when they see a woman covered in blood.
He shakes his head, letting out an exaggerated huff, but looks at me like he’s simply amused, which only pushes my buttons more. “What?” I snap.
“Nothing,” he states, turning away from me to continue drinking his tequila with a gigantic smirk.
“You want to fucking judge me with just one look, asshole?” I snap at him.
He turns back to face me, raising his brow. “I think you’re the judgmental one here, sweetheart,” he grumbles back. “You come in here, pull up a seat next to me, and then think you can tell what I am thinking?You dunno shit.”
I scoff out a laugh. “Well, go on then… tell me what it is I have soobviouslygotten wrong about you.”
He grins, throwing his drink back, and spins to face me, giving me his undivided attention. “You thought I was going to tell you that with all that blood on you, I was going to demand you tell me who hurt you. That I would take one look and fawn over you, wondering if you were okay, or if there was anything I could do for you, or if I should take you to the hospital to get you checked out. Am I right?”
I sit taller and swallow hard. “Most guys would.”
He snorts, turning back to his drink. “Not me, sweetheart. What I was thinking was that you look like the kinda woman who can obviously handle herself.” He glances down at the blood on my shirt again and tilts his head. “And from what I can tell, that blood isn’t yours. So I’m more worried for the other guy at this point.”
My muscles tense, and I glance around the room, ensuring I’m not blown.
“It’s fine, no one’s coming for you… whoever you are. Sit down, relax, have a drink and something to eat.”
Exhaling, I sit beside him, tapping the bar for another drink, my eyes not leaving him for a second. “How can you read me so well?”
He chuckles. “Honor among thieves.” He turns to me, putting out his hand for me to shake. “Name’s Alpha. I’m sure you’ve already noticed I’m the president of the LA Defiance MC.”
I slowly begin to relax as I place my hand into his to shake. The second our hands connect, my skin ignites in goose bumps, and a shock wave surges through me. It’s something I have never felt before, and it knocks the breath right from my lungs.
His eyes widen, like he is in shock at the intense connection. Maybe he is feeling it too as we sit, our hands still connected, our eyes staring into each other’s. My heart rapid-fires while anxiety creeps over me.
Emotion is not something that comes freely to me.
