Chapter Three

“Ah, come on.”

Hayden gave the bartender a wide flirty smile at the end of the words before adding, “You had to have seen Bozz here sometime.”

The man’s bright gaze ran over his face and mouth before flipping up to hold his eyes. The guy was sort of cute if you liked the smooth-talking, hair slicked back, shirt wrinkled type. He was tall and slim with big brown eyes and a nicely trimmed beard. Not his type, but Hayden could certainly see the appeal.

The man ran his eyes all over him, taking in his loose blond hair, and he shook it back for effect, knowing it would catch the light and glimmer. The color was similar to one of those angels you’d find in one of those Christmas-time plays—at least that was what Jaxon had said in one breath while glowering and ordering him to tie it back with the next.

Tie his hair back? Hayden snorted, remembering the dark, thick command. Of course, the order got his hackles up and he vowed to never tie it back around Jaxon again…well, unless he was on a job. Which reminded him that it had come loose during this job. Maybe he’d invest in different clips or switch to those hairbands Jaxon used. And thinking of Jaxon, Hayden knew he had had to make the move from the job he loved with a passion and the decision had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he’d done it.

“While you’re thinking of your answer, why don’t you pour me a shot of whisky?” Hayden cajoled, and the bartender smiled wide and quickly poured his drink, then placed the small glass before him.

Hayden studied the way the light from the bar reflected on the amber glass. It reminded him of the last time he’d tied one on a few years back. At one of their favorite bars, The Hole, he’d taken a few shots and was feeling good. Jaxon was out on a date with Karina or maybe that had been Kathryn, he couldn’t remember. And the fact that his best friend had been out with a woman was fine by him.

“Pour me another,” he had told his and Jaxon’s favorite bartender. Carson had smiled and kept them coming.

He had been three sheets to the wind and having a blast dancing in the bar and grill that night. The owners, Braxton and Sam, were husbands so the clientele of the place was always rich with diversity. Hayden danced up to the bar, tossed back another shot, and when he whirled around, he found a tall, attractive man in his path. The guy steadied him by way of hands on his hips and Hayden smiled, seeing the desire in the man’s eyes.

It had been nice that night to be wanted and he tugged the guy to the dance floor. They gyrated together for the fast and slow songs and he found out the man’s name was Allen. More shots commenced and when Hayden had excused himself to use the bathroom, Allen had followed. When Allen had crowded him up against the wall, it hadn’t been a bad thing, but when the guy tried unzipping his pants there in his friend’s establishment, Hayden had put the brakes on. Allen had been way more persistent than Hayden had expected, plus he himself had been drunk or he would have been able to handle the situation. Hayden slurred out another order, but Allen reached out and ripped his shirt open, and with a pop, the buttons scattered on the hallway floor.

“Get off me,” he mumbled, but Allen edged closer.

“You’ve been a fucking tease all night. Time to pay for those drinks.”

Before Hayden could respond, Allen was torn away from him and Jaxon was there. Through the haze, Hayden had watched as Jaxon beat Allen and tossed him out the back door into the alley before slamming it shut.

He stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, his shirt hanging open. Jaxon stalked back toward him, and he noticed the way the man’s big body moved, kind of like a jungle cat. Or maybe more like a pissed off lion with all that loose-hanging hair. There had been times through the years when Jaxon had dyed his hair pitch black, making it darker for an assignment or job, but Hayden really liked the man’s natural color much better. A dark, rich blond that resembled spun gold.

A muscle was ticking in Jaxon’s jaw when he approached and towered over him. Hayden gazed up into Jaxon’s glare.

“Are you hurt?” Jaxon growled, his voice tight, angry, and filled with something else Hayden suspected was irritation at having to leave what’s her name.

“You’re supposed to be on a date,” he slurred and tried batting Jaxon’s hands away when the bigger man pulled his shirt together to cover his chest.

“Be still.” Jaxon pulled off his jacket and settled the heavy leather over his shoulders, enclosing him in its warmth. Nothing more had been said that night, but the next morning when he’d woke up in bed smelling of puke and feeling like shit, Jaxon had let him have it good.

“And you can’t handle your damn liquor,” the man had raged at the end.

“I know.” He bowed his head, clutching the glass of juice Jaxon had shoved into his hands along with the aspirin he’d already swallowed. Jaxon was absolutely correct.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Okay.” He gave a quick glance upward and smiled and that fast, Jaxon had lost his anger and ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance.

A glass clinking in the bar brought Hayden back to the present to see another person had come into the place. Hayden shook off thoughts of the past and tossed the shot back. He had learned his lesson about over-drinking, but he still allowed himself one every now and then. Plus, it helped to counter the effect of what he was about to do.

That was right, he reminded himself, he was there to do a job and he refused to feel guilty about it.

Switching jobs had been the right decision.

He needed to move on and get his life in order by creating his own way. Forging his own path. Maybe he’d make a bumper sticker out of that phrase for his new vehicle. Create your own way, forge your own path. He hadn’t bought his SUV yet, but it was on his bucket list, right up there with the Ducati that exceeded at least two hundred horsepower. He’d had the pleasure of saddling one of the superbikes at the track a few months back and had become hooked. Until Jaxon had caught wind of his addiction to racing bikes and put a stop to it.

See? That was what happened when his personal life became all tangled up with Jaxon West. His best friend thought he had the right to make decisions for him. Take, for example, he didn’t even own his own damn car! Granted, at first, it was cool because Jaxon drove them everywhere, but now when he needed to be mobile, it was a pain in the ass.

“He was here,” the bartender’s words yanked him back to the present.

The shitty dive bar in a rough part of town was a far cry from Braxton and Sam’s bar and grill, but it was the perfect spot for a drug lord to run his operation. This place was very popular with the local druggies. The bar sat on the outskirts of Denver. In relation to the Cobalt office, it was a twenty-minute drive, give or take, depending on traffic. So, it would only take a phone call to have backup there to help if he wanted, but Hayden reminded himself that he no longer worked with Logan Cobalt and his bodyguards, and having backup wasn’t something assassins did, did they?

“Did you hear me?” the bartender said and held the bottle poised over his empty shot glass.

“No thanks. So…is Bozz here?” Hayden blinked his eyelashes a bit and smiled beneath the bartender’s appreciative gaze.

“Check the back office and stop back by here when you’re done.” The look in the guy’s eyes and the drop of the deep, rich baritone tone promised a good time.

Hayden gave a moment of thought. Should he? It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be after this nor was it like he’d ever see the guy again. He had no other jobs after this one and when he’d checked the encrypted site, all the jobs listed there had been filled.

So what if he took a few moments to get a piece of ass? He was only human and he’d been a fucking saint over the past several years. He used to fuck anything that gave him a sidelong glance, but he’d changed his wild ways after losing Wyatt and moving in with Jaxon.

Whoa…don’t go there. Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip. Why the fuck would he think of Wyatt now of all times? He must have stared at the bartender too long because the guy frowned.

“You okay?”

“Yup.” He smiled even though his teeth were clenched, which probably made his face look weird. Oh well…he had no time to waste! And now that he thought further about it, he’d take the guy up for a quickie, but first he had a scumbag to kill.

Hayden waggled his eyebrows and sashayed toward the back hallway, knowing the guy’s eyes were glued to his ass. So what? He had a cute ass. Many men and women had told him that before. He wrinkled his brow trying to recall the last time, but came up blank. So, in reality, and minus his ex-boyfriend, Hayden couldn’t think of a time he’d been hit on since he’d moved in with Jaxon. Wouldn’t you know it! Jaxon had been a buzzkill all around.

Ugh.

Reaching the narrow opening where the store room, bathrooms, and office were located, Hayden kept going all the way to the end and stood in front of the door that had the words “office” in gold letters on a black plaque.

He pulled his gun from the holster he’d tucked beneath his light windbreaker. The Central Banish 45 CZ 75 was complete with a silencer twisted on the end. He left the Sig Sauer P365 with the threaded barrel and comp tucked away in the holster he’d strapped to his back this morning.

It always helped to have two guns.

Most people thought a second gun was better and expected to be carried in an ankle holster, but Hayden was never one to do the expected. He remembered one time he and Jaxon had been guarding a high-powered congressman’s wife and had run down her stalker—Hayden had had the opportunity to use his second gun. What his bodyguard team hadn’t known when they’d careened around the corner was that the stalker had commandeered his own brother and fifteen of the man’s friends to help him with the crazy scheme. That night had been a gunfight none of them had expected. They were lucky that none of them had been injured before SWAT showed up.

A glass breaking snapped him out of the past and into the present and he made a sound in the back of his throat before he opened the door to the back office and stepped inside.

Here goes nothing.