Page 68 of Tracking Luxe

He was bored more and more lately and that was never a good sign.

There hadn’t been anyone to kill or torture recently and that was just a crying shame to let his skills rot in the dirt. He was a surgeon who needed to keep in tip top shape.

The heat was killing him, reminded him of times he’d rather forget of the stench of a trailer park, if he stepped outside of the air-conditioned room he’d sweat bullets and that just pissed him off. Lawless hated being irritated by anything, small or big.

Sweat running down his back or someone begging for their life, it was all the same irritating noise to him.Please, don’t. Please, I’m sorry.If only he had the sweet pleading sounds in his ears.

It was the way his mind was created; all his wires and neurons didn't always align perfectly and he was fine with that until he wasn't.

And justwho the fuckwas eyeballing him? Goddamn greedy eyes.

What new fish would dare try to eye-fuck him …

Only it wasn’t one of the locals, was it? Nah, they knew too well not to fuck with Lawless. They told stories about him, posted about him on their little Facebook feeds, like he couldn’t hack each one of those accounts in his sleep if he wanted to. Let them talk, let them gossip. Fish were boring.

His eyes narrowed, moving past Pretty-boy getting hot and heavy with Mariettaandher cousin, wicked dude double teaming. Lawless smirked but didn't take the time to voyeur, he wasn't interested in a sex show if he wasn't involved and public displays of ... anything gave him the scratch.

Didn't he almost shit a brick when that kid of Zara's ...Angela... clung to him like a goddamn koala last year. Shit, he could still feel her claws under his skin.

Digging. Digging. Digging.Pleadingfor help.

Nasty business.

Air shunted through his chest, he stopped moving his gaze.

He knew who it was. The little bitch wouldn’t dare.

He felt the stare in the middle of his forehead, a hot poker and it just stirred him up in all the wrong ways because they'd had this crap out before and Lawless didn't do repeat conversations. Wasting his time and breath was for fools and unless it was his momma no fucker would dare call Lawless a fool. Not unless he wanted to die slow and painful begging to Jesus to take them.

One groupie associated to the club a few years ago had once called him a crazy psychopath. The naughty little maggot had been attracted to not only the club's notorious reputation, but to Lawless' own dark façade. Not that he went for any of the sort, he wasn't slapping on guy liner or growling at saccharine innocents. He'd found it funny and indulged the bad meat for an hour or two, she'd walked away satisfied and formed an attachment he didn’t pay a second’s attention to. But now he couldn't even recall her name, maybe she'd gotten herself caged with a wedding ring, maybe she'd died. Who cared.

He wasn't a monster, or so he liked to claim, but that was the truth, he didn't care much of anything. He didn’t see the day coming when he cared like Rider did for Zara or Preacher with his woman. It just didn’t feel right to him, like the noise was a drone of wrongness, it made his eyes itch right in the socket.

The sensation persisted. His skin tingled, his throat burned and he sought out the fucking eyes on him.

Bingo.

Heat and lust and greedy, greedy want waved through the crowd.

Only this pair of eyes on him, as he'd suspected, were familiar eyes he saw every day.

Oh, you mother of all Motherfuckers.

He had no time for covetous little monkeys.

Lawless' eyebrows dropped, he stared nastily for a minute, nostrils flared, mad as hell, and he shifted himself off the wall and headed in the opposite direction, one legged stride after another, down the long corridor of doors and didn't stop until he reached the very end, he stepped inside one of the storage closets, his custom ankle length coat flapping making his entrance, the place had several similar rooms, mostly for the kitchen shit, Zara was making quite the pint-size queen running domestically around the clubhouse nowadays, his boots connected to a crate of bottled waters, he used his toe to move it back a bit, shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over a sack of whatever-it-was. The room throwing off shadows.

Iftheyfollowed he'd know it was more than a mere eye-fuck.

Don’t you fucking dare. He warned.

And Lawless didn't have to wait long at all. He was behind the door when it creaked open like it did on those Scooby Doo cartoons he watched as a kid when his momma was in one of her better moods. E.g. Not being her usual crazy-bitch-self.Momma, what did I do wrong?

He waited a millisecond. Oh, yeah, Lawless had the patience of a serial killer. Just so happened he was one, wasn't that funny? Maybe he should talk about it at his next book club meeting.

Letting air into his lungs, he narrowed his eyes.

He grabbed the neck of the eye-fucker before the door could close.

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