Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Hudson

I stare at my cell phone and watch as she slides her fingers down to her slick pussy.

I'd been driving around for hours, occasionally checking the cameras to keep an eye on them and what they were doing. Thank fuck I pulled over when they walked into my bedroom. After watching Abbot strip Starling and fuck her on my bed, I would have probably crashed the car.

After the initial shock had worn off, rage took over, which soon faded as I focused on the dozens of emotions crossing Starling's face. At first, I thought I was just seeing what I wanted to see, so I kept my eyes on her even as my son fucked the pussy I wanted more than my next breath.

She was aroused. I could see that. Her skin was flushed, and her fingers gripped my Egyptian cotton sheets as she gave in to the pleasure. But there, beneath it all, was an element of unease. I'm not sure it was just from fucking in my room. I'm not stupid. I know that was a revenge fuck for Abbot, not aimed at her but at me. I'm sure there will be dozens of snide comments and secret smiles as he plays the I-know-something-you-don't-know game.

It wasn't that for Starling, though. I doubt it entered her mind, but I'm sure she'll figure it out later and feel shitty about it. What Abbot won't get is that I don't give a shit about him fucking her on my bed. If I get my way, I'll be fucking her there too.

I watched him pull the condom off, so any damp spots left on the bed would be from Starling, and fuck me if that doesn't make me hard as a fucking rock just thinking about it. I expected her to get up and scurry away like the little mouse she is. Instead, her fingers are sliding in and out of her pussy as she tweaks her nipple with her other hand.

The side street I pulled into is deserted, so I pull out my dick and start to stroke it. I don't think about her age or the fact that she's my son's girlfriend. She lives in my house now, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.

She strums her clit. Her back arches as her eyes slip closed, and she loses herself in the moment. I'm forty-three years old, and I've fucked around a lot. I've done a lot of wild and crazy things. But nothing and nobody has affected me like this one goddamn girl on my bed, and I'm not even there to enjoy it.

I see her tense, her eyes flying open. For a moment, she stares right at the camera as if she can see me. We come together, me all over my hand, her all over my sheets.

I clean myself up with a handful of napkins as I watch awareness dawn on Starling. She scrambles off the bed and grabs her T-shirt off the floor. She tugs the shirt over her head before she straightens the bed. She grabs the rest of her things off the floor with one hand and hurries out of the room. I follow her to the room I got ready for her, not the one she'll be sharing with Abbot.

I sit forward as she closes the door behind herself, leans against it, and slides to the floor. Her T-shirt rides up as she bends her knees, flashing a glimpse of pink pussy before I take in her face. I frown as a single tear runs down her cheek.

I run my fingers over the screen and wonder, what the fuck just happened? I toss the phone on the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel. I don't like this. I want to drive home and demand she tell me what's wrong, but she doesn't know she's mine yet.

"Fuck." I slam my hand into the steering wheel, knowing this will be the final nail in the coffin of my and Abbot's relationship. Even knowing that, I can't resist her pull.

I freeze when my cell phone rings and turn to stare at it in the passenger seat. I grab it and answer when I see that it's Atlas calling.

"What's up?"

"I know I promised you some time off, but we've got a situation down at the strip club."

I frown at that. I don't have anything to do with that place. "Okay?"

"Just get here, okay?" Whatever's happened, he clearly doesn't want to say over the phone.

"I'm on my way."

I hang up, turn the car around, and head to the club, wondering what Atlas is doing there. He has a team that runs the place. With Kenzo having his own shit to run, they've been forced to bring in extra people. It's funny as fuck watching two of the most untrusting bastards in the business bring new people into the fold. Credit to the new guys, though. They take it like champs, even though they must know they're being watched.

I pull into the lot and park around the back of the club. Before getting out of the car, I slip on a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap. I'm not here as Atlas's driver, so I want to blend in. Not because I'm worried someone will recognize me as a hitman—most people who have met me in that capacity are dead. No, because blending in and being unremarkable is what any hitman worth his salt does.

I head to the staff entrance and punch in the security code on the electronic keypad. I might not come here often, but I know the codes for every business Atlas owns. If he's in trouble, I can get in and get him out without anyone knowing I'm on the scene. I walk past the security station, stopping when someone whistles.

"You can't go in there. The club's closed tonight."

I turn, lift my hat, and remove my glasses.

I see recognition hit. "Sorry, Pete. I didn't recognize you without your suit."

"Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be on vacation, but Atlas called and told me to get my ass down here."

"Good luck. The boss is in a foul mood." He heads back to his station. "Go on down to the girls' dressing room. That's where he was the last time I saw him," he calls out.

"Thanks," I reply, and head down to the dressing room, curious about why the place is closed. Security here is tight. I've seen them handle problems with ease, so whatever happened has to be bad.

I know I'm right the second I enter the dressing room. The smell of blood and death in the air gives away just how bad this situation is. I spot Atlas as I walk around the corner. He heads toward me, stopping me from going any farther.

"What the fuck happened?"

"One of the girls found her in the costume closet. Thankfully, she's worked here for a while and knows the score. She called security and me right away." He nods to the far side of the room, where a blonde woman sits with a blanket wrapped around her. Her heavily made-up face is streaked with mascara and tears from crying.

"Found who?"

He leads me to the corner of the room, where I see another blanket covering what's obviously a body. He crouches down and pulls the blanket back, revealing a vaguely familiar woman in her late twenties or early thirties with fire-red hair and a ring of dark purple bruises around her throat.

I stare at her face and notice a carved mark on her forehead. I cock my head. "Does that look like a scope reticle to you?"

"I was thinking a bullseye, but yeah, that's why I called you. Wanted to be sure I wasn't imagining shit."

"No bullet holes, though?"

"No. I'd say she was choked to death. But why carve that into her forehead?"

"Maybe it was the killer's way of saying he's been watching her?" I suggest. I can spend days watching my targets through the lens of a scope, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take my shot. But I don't then turn around and choke them. "There anything else?"

He lifts the girl's T-shirt. She's dressed in regular street clothes, not clothes for dancing. I look down at the section of her stomach Atlas reveals and frown. "Is that a 12 ?"

"I think so. If it's supposed to mean something, it's fucking lost on me." He covers her before standing up. "Her name is Emma Jones. Goes by the stage name Foxy. She worked here for about two years before she quit. You ever meet her?"

I shake my head. "She seems familiar. I might have seen her here, but I can't place her."

The woman across the room snorts, catching our attention.

"Something you want to say, Kelly?" Atlas says.

"You fucked her the first week she started. She bragged about it for months afterward," she tells me.

I shrug. It still doesn't ring any bells. Kelly looks away, but she knows better than to say anything. The truth is, most women are interchangeable. I don't have girlfriends. If I want to fuck, I find a willing partner for the night. None of them are special. After a while, the faces all blur together and mean nothing to me. Most of the time, I don't even know their name before I'm balls deep inside them.

It's been a while—six months, I think. Maybe that's why I'm reacting to Starling like I am. Maybe it's not the girl. Maybe I need to get laid.

"I've got the clean-up crew coming in, but this doesn't feel random. I have a feeling Emma won't be the last."

I think about the mark on her stomach.

"Maybe she isn't the first, either. If that's a 12, it could mean she's the twelfth victim."

Atlas curses. "If she is, the killings aren't related to me. I'd know if there were other bodies with numbers carved into them."

I nod. That's true. "I'll call around, see if anyone else has had anything similar. There's always some fucking wannabe gangster out there that thinks they can come in and take over."

He blows out a frustrated breath and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's possible, but I still think I would have heard something. The bigger problem is if there are more bodies, and if Emma is reported missing and she's traced back here, it puts a spotlight on us."

"Or a target," I say.

"Do you think that might be the point? All the media surrounding Kenzo has finally died down. So now it's my turn again?"

"I don't know, Atlas, but stranger things have happened. Let me do some digging. See if I can find anything out."

"Do it. I want to believe this is random, but I can't take that risk with Ivy and Iris."

"I know. I have a few sources I can call. They don't get involved in shit, but they like to keep themselves in the know."

"Call me if you find anything out. How's your kid doing?" Atlas asks, lowering his voice so only I can hear him.

"Settling in. He should be unpacked and ready to get back to school on Monday."

He looks at me, sensing there's more. "How are you coping with having two teenagers under your roof?"

"I'm happier here at a murder scene. I think that pretty much sums it up."

I don't tell him that I'm here to keep busy because if I'm at home, I'll be thinking about Starling's heels digging into my shoulders as I eat her out.

He slaps me on the shoulder and laughs. "If you can handle Kenzo and me, I'm sure you can handle a couple of high school seniors."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I sigh. "I'm going to head back to make sure they haven't burned the house to the ground. Give me a few days to do some digging, and I'll touch base."

Atlas nods. "I'll let you know if anything else comes up."

I head out, and the guard who stopped me nods as I walk by. "Have a good one, Pete."

"You too," I reply, pushing the door open and stepping into the cool night air.

I walk to my car and climb in, trying to remember the dead girl, but I'm coming up blank. I'll admit, for a long time, I went through women like underwear. I'm single, and I never planned on having a woman in my life permanently again. Not after Eloise.

I don't know what changed. Maybe it's just getting older. Maybe it's seeing what Atlas and Kenzo have. Whatever it is, it's messing with my head. I was fine alone. In fact, I liked it that way.

Until Starling.

That's what I don't get. Why her of all people? Is it Starling I want, or do I want Starling because she's off-limits? If there's one thing I do know, it's that I hate being told what I can and can't do.Consequences be damned.