Chapter 10: : Chapter 10

My hands run down my short, brown leather skirt as I stand in front of the building, staring up at the sign that reads Lucy’s.

I shouldn’t have come.

Any sane person would’ve packed their shit and left town by now, but I live by the motto better the devil, you know, than the one you don’t. I have no intention of pissing off my client or having my first failed hit.

So here I am, walking into the mafia heir’s den as if I’m a welcomed guest when I know I’m anything but.

A sliver of my midriff is on display between the hem of my tight white shirt and the waist of my skirt. The brown leather boots might be cute, but they also have a small knife hidden inside, just in case… Well, just in case shit happens.

Knowing I only have the bare minimum to protect myself with doesn’t make me feel any more secure.

The security guard glances at me but says nothing as I stand there, looking like I’m building up the courage to go inside. In truth, I’m looking for any obvious escape routes other than the front door.

Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this fucking hit.

Play with the target.

Yeah, it seems he’s playing with me now.

“How long have you been standing here?” I turn to see Dutton approaching from the parking lot and pressing his key fob to lock his car. I make a point to remember which car is his and the license plate number.

He’s dressed more casually than the last time I saw him, but make no mistake, he oozes money. And I’m not fooled by his charming, pretty-boy exterior. If anything, other than Eli, he’s the one I’m most wary of. Turning back toward the club, I take in the impressively long line waiting to gain entry.

“I don’t want to stand in that line,” I reply, which is partially the truth.

“Your name is on the list,” he says, stopping behind me. I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s staring at me as if trying to figure out some complicated math. “Why did you come here?”

“Because I was asked,” I say, though asked might not be the right word, more like commanded.

“I can’t argue that my cousin always gets what he wants, but even you should have more caution. He will kill you, so why don’t you explain to me who sent you, and maybe we can offer some form of protection?”

I shoot him a wicked grin. “Don’t you think if I knew my client’s name, I would’ve given it to you after you knocked me out and had me tied to a chair? No hard feelings, by the way.”

“In all fairness, you threw a knife into my cousin’s leg, so I think we’re even.”

“But let’s not make it sound like we’re coming to a truce, right?” I angle my head with a provoking smile. His eyebrows furrow only slightly. I can tell that, much like the other men around Eli, he’s not sure what to do with a woman like me, and that in itself is satisfying.

Before he answers, I start for the door and security guard. “Raise your arms so I can pat you down,” the man orders suspiciously. Most likely because of how long I’ve been staring at the building. I sigh and do as he says, but Dutton steps up behind me and pushes one of my arms down.

“If you want to live past tonight, I suggest you don’t touch Eli’s guest.” His voice is firm, and the security guard straightens and turns a noticeable shade paler. He’s quick to step to the side and unhook the red rope.

On the plus side, it’s nice to know Dutton’s not only an ass to me but to everyone. Dutton walks behind me—more like guides me—into the devil’s lair.

The moment the music hits my ears, I’m overstimulated by the number of naked women dancing on what appears to be hovering neon cubes. Clumps of wildly drunk people bounce and cheer, pour alcohol into one another’s mouths straight from the bottle, and are basically fucking on couches.

It’s not the “gentleman’s club” style I was expecting at all. This is mafia on crack. I thought I dressed appropriately for this club, but it seems I’m wearing more clothing than most of the other women.

A woman walks past me with a tray full of various drugs. Two guys in a booth call her over and fish out some cash.

Dutton’s hand finds my lower back, his touch feather-light, as if touching me will scorch him, but it brings me back into the room instead of being swallowed whole by its chaos.

“Move. He’s already watching you,” Dutton says, and I follow his gaze to the second level that overlooks the crowd. Eli is leaning over the railing with a drink in his hand. I see only a few people behind him, and they blur in the background, my attention drawn solely to his unearthly eyes.

Dutton removes his hand and makes his way to the stairs that lead up to the second floor, but I don’t have it in me to follow like some good little girl.

I make a point to look away and lift my chin in a dignified manner, still able to feel his scorching gaze pinning me in place.

This might be his domain.

He might think he owns everyone.

But he doesn’t own me.

He certainly doesn’t control me.

So, I do what any sane girl does when she’s drawn the attention of a monster.

I make my way toward the bar.

I’m not sure why I continue to put myself in these situations. Admittedly, I had so much fun following him and learning about who he was, but I didn’t think the tables could turn so quickly. I mean, technically, I should have, knowing who this man is. I clearly underestimated my target, and that was a foolish thing to do.

When I reach the bar, I intentionally lean against it, bending over, fully aware that from his angle, he’ll be able to see the bottom of my ass beneath the skirt. I choose to work with my assets because they’re just as powerful as any weapon.

He may be better at this game than me, but he’s a man, and I am a woman in a short skirt who is used to getting her way.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I don’t bother turning to look at the man offering to buy me a drink. I couldn’t care less about him. If I wanted a drink, I’d buy it my fucking self.

“You want a drink or what?” he says impatiently. This time, I do turn to look at him. His thin lips are pulled back in a sneer, and his hair is so slicked back by gel that I wonder if the tightness of it is affecting his features. He’s clearly trying way too hard to impress. Little does he know he’s failing, especially regarding how to speak to a lady. I try not to laugh at that thought. Me? A lady?

I don’t even waste my breath on him; just simply shake my head no as I turn to get the bartender’s attention.

“Fucking skank,” the overconfident asshole seethes.

“What did you just say?” I ask, now turning to give him my full attention. He looks me up and down, making me feel dirty with the action.

“What, you think you’re too good for me? I offered to buy you a fucking drink, not ask you to suck my cock, you rude cunt.”

I scoff at him.

“First of all, I would never suck your cock, and I pity any woman who does. Second of all, ‘cunt’ is a lovely word, so don’t use it as an insult when it’s a cunt you want. Unless you prefer the sausage, that is,” I snap back, angling my head to the side and waiting for his reply. He spits in my face. The second that filth touches me, my body works on reflex, reaching out for the half-empty glass on the bar. I smash it across the side of his face, and it fractures into a dozen pieces. He doubles over, barely catching himself, shocked. Then, with great satisfaction, I watch as the anger takes over like he can’t believe a woman hit him with a glass to his fucking ugly-ass face.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady,” I tell him calmly. Glass litters the floor between us, and I shake off a small piece that landed on my boot.

His hands ball into fists, and the shock of what I just did now hits him hard.

“You fucking bitch!” He lifts his hand, ready to hit me, and my body hums with delightful anticipation. I’m going to fucking ruin this guy. But as he goes to swing, another hand catches him by the arm.

The newcomer’s wrist sports a very flashy watch, and his forearm is covered in ink. While I don’t know every tattoo the man has on his body, I know those hands belong to Eli Monti.

“I think it’s time you leave,” Eli says. “My men will show you out.” He nods to the security guys who have followed him to the bar.

The dumb fucker hasn’t even noticed who’s speaking to him, his gaze pinning me with a glare. I confess I feel his frustration since my fun has been cut short.

“How about no. Remove your hand so I can teach this bitch how to treat a man—” The idiot pales as he finally looks up at Eli, recognition dawning on him.

Eli casually steps in front of me, twisting the guy’s hand as if to shake it. He brings the man into what looks like an embrace from behind as he whispers something into his ear. The man grunts in what looks like physical pain as a vein pulses at his temple. He nods frantically at whatever Eli is saying.

“I’m—” The man gasps. “I’m s-sorry.” He barely gets out the words.

Eli releases him and shoves him as if he’s no more than filth. The man stumbles over his own feet, but as he tries to stand, I realize he’s holding his stomach. I look down at Eli’s hand, where blood glistens on the knife he’s holding.

“Is that my knife?” I demand angrily. I’ve been wildly pissed that I lost it the night I threw it at him.

“Wouldn’t most women ask if I stabbed the man instead?”

“Well, that much is fucking obvious. Give me my knife back.”

The corner of his lip tilts. “No. This is mine now. And shouldn’t you be apologizing for smashing a glass over someone’s head in my establishment?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It was an accident. My hand, which so happened to have a glass in it, slipped and accidentally hit him in the face. And I don’t need you to defend me. I can handle myself,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder and leaning over the bar. “But now I’m really fucking thirsty since your presence, as usual, puts me in a mood.”

He leans in, and I hate how acutely aware of his body heat I am. Of the harsh, intoxicating smell of his cologne. My nostrils flare, and I hate the fact I like how good this fucker smells. I nudge him away. “You’re too fucking close. And shouldn’t you smell like melting skin or maggots or something?”

This time, he does smirk as he holds his hand out expectantly to the bartender, who hands him a white cloth. Then he begins wiping down the bloody knife as if it’s the most normal thing to do at a bar. “So you like how I smell?”

I look up at him, dumbstruck. “Wow. You really do love yourself, don’t you? Also, your bartenders are shit servers.”

That grabs the attention of one of them, and they give me a death stare. I shrug. “What? You haven’t once asked me what I want.”

“You’re bleeding,” Eli states.

“What?” I’m startled as he grabs my hand and stares at the small cuts on my palm. Fuck, I hadn’t even noticed.

“Fucking hell. Hey.” I wave at the bartender with my good hand. “Can I get another one of those cloths?”

Eli grabs hold of my wrist, assessing the wounds in the dim light. I’m startled by his firm grip, yet his eyebrows furrow as if concerned by the damage.

“Look what you went and did.” He drops my hand and reaches over the bar for a napkin before he lifts my hand again.

“Does this mean I can go home early? Since I’m wounded and all?” I ask innocently.

“No, you’ll stay for at least an hour. And moving forward, the only one to hurt you will be me.”

I look at him, once again dumbstruck. “Wow. So romantic.”

“Do you want romance, Kitten?”

My face naturally twists of its own accord. “Keep that shit to your blonde-haired girlfriend; she seems like the type to enjoy it.”

“I don’t do girlfriends,” he states. “Now, you’re coming upstairs with me so we can fix this.”

I lean in, my boots giving me some height as I stand on my tippy-toes to reach his ear. “I’ll give you a heads-up. I don’t respond well to being told what to do.”

His mouth grazes my ear, and I can’t help but momentarily sink into the undeniable intoxication that this asshole radiates.

“I know you want to be forced into submission, sweetheart, so your sharp little tongue can wag all it wants. I’ll cut it out if I have to. And then I’ll shove my cock so deeply down your throat, you won’t know if you’re choking to death on my cock or your own blood.”

A shudder runs down my spine. The threat and the visual it conjures is terrifying, and yet there’s a warmth that floods to my core.

I pull back and grin at him, really appreciating the lines on his face. “You’re so beautiful.” I slowly lift my good hand as I press one fine-tipped nail to his forehead. “And you’ll be prettier with a bullet between these brows.”

The fucker has the audacity to actually laugh.

It’s as equally unhinged as it is beautiful.