Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) Read online

  Wondering who the hell this man was, and why he was there, Sydney’s heart pounded hard and loud in her chest.

  “What the hell are you doing in here, pretty boy?” Jeff demanded, voicing her inner thoughts.

  “Wrong question,” the mysterious man said, his voice smooth and slow-paced like motor oil.

  Calm as you please, he opened his blazer, pulled out a suppressed gun from his waist, pointed the thing right at Jeff’s forehead, and fired.

  Jeff staggered back and dropped sprawled on the couch.

  The whole thing happened so smoothly, so quietly, and so easily, that Sydney forgot to scream. Shocked still, she stared open-mouthed at Jeff’s lifeless body, a neat hole in his forehead, not even a drop of blood trickling.

  As the reality of what just happened hit her, she began shaking, and she took a step back, opening her mouth to scream bloody murder. But the frightening sight of the gun now pointing right at her mouth made her snap it shut.

  “Make a sound and you’ll end up like lover boy there,” Good-Looking Murderer warned. “Don’t make this any messier than it needs to be.”

  Sydney nodded her understanding, making sure to remain planted where she was.

  Three big, bulky men in black sauntered into the apartment like they owned the place; one carrying a large, red toolbox, and the others carrying electrical equipment. The man with the toolbox stopped, looked at Jeff’s dead body, and then shook his head at Good-Looking Murderer, sending his eyes heavenward.

  Good-Looking Murderer shrugged. “Unplanned. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Call Ned for a clean-up. Then go ahead and install the cams.”

  Toolbox nodded, pulled out his cellphone and wandered off.

  Good-Looking Murderer returned his attention back to Sydney and noticed her gaping down at Jeff’s dead body again.

  “Don’t feel sorry for him,” he told her. “He has a girlfriend in Alamo whom he beats every day, and molests her twelve-year-old daughter. She’s afraid to leave him. Now she doesn’t have to.”

  Sydney’s eyes widened. How did he know all this? Who was he?

  Gesturing with his gun to the tiny sundress Sydney had clutched to her chest, the rest of her body bare, he told her, “Cover yourself.”

  Although her hands were trembling the whole time, Sydney had to admit she kind of liked that he didn’t look away from her as she hauled the flimsy piece of material over her head to clothe herself. His stare made her feel confidently sexy.

  But this man represented death itself, so no way in hell would she open her mouth or move an inch unless he indicated such.

  Once she was covered, he reached inside his jacket pocket, withdrew an envelope, and thrust it to her.

  Wary, but without question, she took it.

  “That’s a check for half a million dollars,” he said. “You’re gonna pack your things, and you’re gonna leave. There’s a car downstairs waiting to take you to a private jet that will bring you to whatever destination you choose. I don’t care what you do with yourself once you leave this apartment. But what you will not do is try to contact Jhay. In any way.” He paused, and his eyes grew even scarier. “Forget she ever existed. Take the money, move on with your life. If you try to contact her, I will know. I will find you. And I will kill you. Do you believe my words, Sydney?”

  Glancing down at the envelope in her hand, Sydney’s eyes stung with tears. She couldn’t leave Jhay. She couldn’t. “I-I can’t. I love her.”

  Faster than she could think, he moved in and wrapped his big hand around her throat, cutting off her breath. “Don’t be stupid, girl. I’m giving you the choice between life and death. Anyone with half a brain would choose life. The girl you love doesn’t have a heart. It was ripped away from her. She’s incapable of loving you back. So you’d do best to choose right, because if I don’t kill you, she will.”

  The edges of her vision began to burn black, and her eyes grew even wider when he pressed his gun to her temple. “Choose. Now. Life or death?”

  As Sydney’s body weakened, knees buckling, she tried to talk some common sense into her half-alive brain. As much as she loved Jhay, she’d only known her for five months. Did she really want to die for her?

  In addition, being involved with her was obviously dangerous if strange men could just barge into her apartment and kill people without blinking. On top of that, they were setting up cameras in her goddamn apartment, which meant this was only the beginning of a perilous shit storm.

  Did she want to get embroiled in all that?

  No.

  She didn’t love Jhay enough to die for her. She was no goddamn Bruno Mars. So on that last thought, she forced her answer through the strangulation. “L…ife.”

  Instantly he released her, and she stumbled back feebly, gripping her throat and fighting for air. Inhaling, deep, long, loud breaths.

  As soon as her blood was oxygenated and she was strong enough to stand, no longer dizzy, she picked up the envelope that had fallen from her hand. Keeping her gaze downcast, not daring to look at Good-Looking Murderer, she power-walked to the bedroom and packed her things at super-speed, ignoring the men wiring up cameras. Even in the bathroom.

  Wanting to be anywhere but there, she wheeled her overstuffed suitcase behind her from the bedroom.

  Good-Looking Murderer was leaning casually patient and unconcerned against the door frame, and as Sydney wheeled by him, he grabbed her upper arm and stared down at her, those black eyes nothing but bottomless holes in his face. He vocalized nothing, but his stare spoke so deafeningly loud, she winced at the sound: Do not contact Jhay in any way. If you do, I will know. I will find you. And I will kill you. Do you want to die, Sydney?

  When she let out a whimper and shook her head “no” to his silent question, he nodded approvingly and let her go.

  Sydney all but ran out of there, and sure enough, a black sedan waited for her down in the parking lot.

  An old-aged driver came out, took her luggage, and dumped it in the trunk. Sobbing silently, Sydney slid into the back of the car. She didn’t know where she was going yet, but she would be sure it was somewhere far, far away from here.

  She loved Jhay. But she loved her life more.

  THREE

  But now am found…

  JHAY

  “Unnh, please, Blood. We can be quick. Just ten minutes in the back room.”

  Dragging my watchful eyes away from the club entrance, I turned them to the blonde stripper straddled across my lap, rubbing her cunt against my thigh.

  I couldn’t even remember what this one’s name was. Only that I’d fucked her some time ago when I just started working at the club because I had a special thing for blondes. But she’d been under my ass since then. Annoying didn’t even begin to describe it. Especially at this moment when I was in no damn mood, because my target clearly wasn’t showing up tonight, and I never wanted to come to the club to begin with.

  Placing my hands on her hips, I guided her off me and onto her feet. “You need to go hustle.”

  “But I want—”

  “No, not now,” I said, barely tolerable.

  “Later, then?” she begged, pouting. She really was cute. But as fake and plastic as a blow-up doll.

  “Yeah, later,” I lied.

  “And I can come home with you?” She ran her acrylic fingernails across her pelvis, above the edge of her thong. “Please?”

  Not unless Sydney’s up for a dirty threesome. Which would be unlikely. “Sure.”

  She leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my head. As if she thought I was just playing hard, she giggled and kissed my neck instead, before heading back to work the floor.

  The strippers in Empty Cage were so easily distracted and ungrounded, it was amazing how these shallowheads made cash. There were about two strippers in the club who had sad stories about hungry kids and college fees. Those two had reasoning abilities, were focused, and worked hard. But the others had no valid excuse for doing this job, except to be able
to afford the latest material shit the world spat out.

  Should they know how much freedom costs, and what it meant for some people, they wouldn’t be so wasteful with theirs.

  Leaning back in the booth I’d been planted in all night, my eyes shifted in the direction of the club entrance once more. It was two hours before closing time, and still Chad, the boss, was a no-show.

  Since his last visit two Wednesdays ago, he hadn’t showed up again, and it was starting to throw me off. This was the longest it had ever taken me to assassinate a target. Each passing month was a dawning realization that Chadrick Niiveux was a hard man to kill. And, hell, I just might be the one who ends up dead in this chase. Just like the others who’d tried before me.

  The man didn’t have footprints or patterns. Like he was a fucking ghost or something.

  But I wasn’t afraid of death. If fact, death was a miracle I looked forward to. Death was my anticipated Heaven. Because I wasn’t really alive. I was a walking shadow. An empty black vessel used to do the dirty deeds of the Devil.

  As I reached forward to get my drink from the table, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck shoot up. Just as they had that night while I was dancing onstage. Chilling me, alerting me. And by that alone, I’d known, indubitably, that he’d been watching me.

  Now the feeling was the same. That inexplicably chilling feeling.

  He was here.

  My eyes swung over to the club entrance, then to the stairway up to his office. No sign of him or his burly bodyguards. Everything was just like a normal night when he wasn’t here.

  Except he was here. I could feel him. Moving through the crowd. Watching me.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I released it slowly, because I didn’t know what had gotten into me.

  I wasn’t the person who got chills, or frightened, or worried—well, at least not since I started carrying out assignments. With each successful mission, I grew stronger, more confident. But there I was, frightened and worried that he might have remembered me. Knew who I was and why I was there.

  If it were so, I was screwed.

  Taking up my drink, I sat back into the booth and sipped, regaining my composure. Of course, I could just be paranoid. This long ass chase was definitely throwing me off. I’ve been settled in one place for far too long trying to snipe one fucking target. And now I was a victim to paranoia and fucking scare chills.

  I mean, there was no way Chad would remember me.

  Twelve years ago he was eighteen, and I was ten, and that was the last time we saw each other. I looked absolutely nothing like I did when I was ten. Plus, I’d be surprised if that evil bastard remembered the Byrd family. Not a chance.

  In addition, Jhay Byrd should look twenty-two, and I was sure I didn’t. Sure, I looked much older.

  The way I walked, talked, acted, was all learned in training. When undercover, I was expected to be the best of the best in whatever my cover was.

  If there had been any doubt in my mind that Chad wouldn’t not recognize me when he saw me, I wouldn’t have been so brave to go after him without disguising myself.

  But feeling his stare on me now, the unexplained uneasiness, was kind of jarring.

  Raising the drink to my lips once more, I sipped, but tasted none of the gasoline-like bitterness that flowed down my throat, because my senses were honed in elsewhere.

  Behind me.

  He was right behind me.

  A big, warm palm rested gently on my shoulder. The touch spoke words I couldn’t decipher. The touch delivered a message I failed to receive.

  Breathe, Jhay. He doesn’t recognize you. You’re just paranoid.

  Slapping a slutty stripper smile on my face, I tipped my head back, exposing my throat, and glanced up into the pools of blackness staring down at me.

  He was sporting a nice, amicable smile, and his dark eyes were alive and dancing. No glint of suspicion or wariness as you would expect from someone who knew an assassin was in his building. No hint of the cruel, unapologetically heartless man who eliminated my family twelve years ago.

  In fact, he appeared normal. Like just another hotshot in San Francisco. Except I knew better. Could he just turn himself on and off at any given moment?

  “You’re Derek, aren’t you? The one who’s been sending Tori for my number all night?” Smile still intact, I shook my head, pretending he was some random customer getting on top of my nerves. “Sorry, but like I told Tori to tell you, I don’t date customers.”

  Chad’s smile didn’t falter as he gave a slight shake of his head. “No. Not Derek.” Removing his hand from my shoulder, he gestured to the booth. “May I sit?”

  I swallowed. “Sure.”

  Okay. So here I was, right in the presence of the man I’d been chasing for months. I’d been figuratively praying for this opportunity. But instead of being on top of my game, instead of reaching for my nearest weapon, I was…flustered?

  Although I should have been prepared for a moment like this, an opening this wide, I wasn’t. Although I’d been watching the club entrance all night, I wasn’t fucking prepared. If I could strangle my damn self right now, I would.

  I was too close to my goal to be losing my shit right now. I should always be prepared.

  Always.

  “So, Not Derek,” I said in a whorish drag when he was seated across from me, “what’s your real name?”

  At this, he chuckled. And weird enough, I still liked that sound. It brought back good memories of when we were younger.

  “Chad.”

  Fucking hell, even his voice was still smooth and soothing, like warm milk pouring into a hot cup of French press coffee. Or something.

  I leaned forward and fixed my elbows on the table in a provocative manner that pushed my breasts together, seductively beckoning. Moving my right hand closer to his, I walked my fingers up the back of his big hand and dragged the tip of my index finger in teasing circles against his skin. “Chad. That’s a really hot name.”

  Slowly, his dark gaze lowered to my forefinger on his skin. Wordlessly, he just watched, an odd expression on his face.

  Keeping my cover, I turned his hand over, palm up, and teased into his lifeline. “Anything I can do for you, Chad? How about a private lap dance? I promise to make it worth your while.”

  Eyes moving from my finger and up to my face, he said, “I’m the boss. I don’t mess around with my workers.”

  Keeping up the act, I quickly snatched my hand away from his. “Ohmygod, I’m so very, very sorry. I had no idea.”

  A single nod. “It’s okay. You’re new.”

  Reaching for my drink, I took a sip. “So, what are you doing here with me, then?”

  Clasping his hands, he answered, “To ask you that same question. What are you doing here?”

  My heart ricocheted in my chest. What did he mean by that? Did he know? Oh shit.

  For six years, I trained myself to blot out fear. Rid myself of the emotion. Trained myself to fear nothing or no one. But this feeling right here, this galloping of my heart, this twisting in my stomach, felt very much like fear.

  Right then, I accepted it. I had to let myself accept the truth: I, Jhay Byrd, was terribly afraid of Chadrick Niiveux.

  That was the reason six months had gone by and he still wasn’t dead. Because I’d been playing it too safe. I was being a milksop.

  A waitress came just then and set a drink down before him. “Your screwdriver, sir.”

  When she left, Chad took up the drink, sipped it, and then looked over at me with expectancy in his stare.

  I sipped my own drink, cool and unperturbed, just as he was. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me.”

  Lips pulled up into a lopsided smile this time, he just stared at me for several long, agonizing minutes. I had no idea what that smile meant.

  It had been years since I’d been this uncertain, this fucking petrified. Why the hell was I even afraid? Death would be a good thing for me right now. If he found out who I
was and why I was here, I should be happy, because it meant I would be dead. Freed from bondage.

  Quietly setting his drink down on the table, he said, “I’m told that the customers are complaining that the best girl in the club isn’t working the floor. You don’t do lap dances, you don’t do private shows, and you’re not friendly to customers. But you are with the girls, though. So what are you doing here? Are you a stripper or a customer?”

  Inwardly I released a huge, and I mean huge, sigh of relief. “A stripper.”

  “If you’re a stripper, be a stripper. If you’re a customer, be a customer. You can’t be both in here.”

  Fuck you, asshole. I’m not a stripper or a customer. I’m your fucking death angel.

  Licking my lips teasingly, I flicked the silver ring around my middle finger one, two, three times. Just enough to partially unscrew the little opening beneath it. And as I did before, I seductively moved my hand across the table and walked my fingers up the back of his hand, inching closer to his drink. “I think whoever made that report about me is full of shit.”

  Eyebrows raised, he watched my face, which was exactly where I needed his eyes to be. “Are they?”

  I slid one finger up the side of his glass, scooping up the droplets of water. “You be the judge, boss.” My finger was on the rim of his glass now, circling it. “Just now, when you came to this booth, was my attitude anything at all like they reported? Was I not…accommodating? Were you not the one to enlighten me of who you are?”

  Wetting my lips again to distract him, I flicked the ring around my finger one last time and inconspicuously angled my hand so the poison stored inside the ring seeped out into his drink.

  Completely distracted and unaware, his eyes dropped to my freshly licked lips, lingered for a minute, then drifted back up to my face. But the warmth and amicableness were completely obliterated from them now.

  Now they were…something. Something unreadable. Something lethal.

  “You’re right,” he said in that irritably smooth fucking voice of his. “They’re full of shit.”