Page 68 of The Stallion
I fought to hold back the physical cringe that threatened to break through my seductive facade. I despised how he touched me, the feeling of his fingers as they dug into my skin. It screamed everysick intention he had, my clothes not nearly enough to separate the contact.
Pressing my palms into the padded wall behind his shoulders, I pushed myself off his lap and turned, seductively swinging my hips toward the door, giving him a thorough view of my ass.
Regardless of how I felt, I still had to play the role—to be the tease he wasn’t expecting.
“Mister Davenport, if you’ll so kindly follow me. Your new suite is on the third floor.”
I found it incredibly hard to keep up my cover, to hide the disgust, until my husband’s soothing voice spoke through the earpiece.
“If you don’t kill that fucker for touching you like that, I fucking will.”
I smirked, pressing my lips tightly to hold back my full expression.
Once we had reached the third floor, I pulled the black key card from my back pocket and held it to the scanner. The light just above the pad turned green, and with an audible click, the frosted glass door automatically slid open to the side. The motion lights activated and illuminated a deep purple room with matching sheer drapes hanging from the ceiling.
The illusion suite was far more impressive than the VIP rooms downstairs—the upgraded plush velvet instead of leather upholstery, with a large sectional on one side of the room and a massive bed on the other.
There's no surprise as to what this room was used for.
Gross… I hope those sheets are new. Where’s a blacklight when you need one?
I heard the door close and a zipper fall from behind me, and I shuddered at the sound.
“Mist—” I was cut off as I turned to face my target. A finger pressed firmly against my lips to stop my sentence.
“I don’t need whatever coy act Dustin is paying you for. Get on the bed and spread those skinny legs. Your looks alone sold me on my preferred form of payment.” His voice was gravelly and harsh, like nails dragging across my skull with every word.
I could feel the bile burning the back of my throat, moving well past repulsion at this point, my stomach already flipped on its axis. I had to keep reminding myself that I was here to kill and that he wasn’t going to take advantage of me.
This might’ve been my test, but I knew there would be plenty more targets like him to come, and if I didn’t get over this hurdle now, I knew that I never would.
Sensually sliding my jacket down my shoulders, I took slow, calculated steps backward toward the bed, dropping it to the floor once my heels hit the base.
The large man prowled after me, tossing his blazer aside before unbuttoning his shirt completely and removing his belt. He held the thick leather firmly between his sweaty palms.
“I said, get on the bed, little red.” The order was a blunt growl as he snapped the belt halves together in threat.
Dallas mentioned that I didn’t have to take my time; my test wasn’t one of prolonged, drawn-out torture, just to isolate andeliminate. All they wanted was this piece of shit dead and out of their hair.
Not taking my eyes off him, I kicked off my heels and climbed onto the bed as demanded, scooting back on my knees until I reached the headboard, and slid my fingers behind it for support.
This room was explicitly rigged for all business related to the MUR, and I felt my ticket out of here right at my fingertips.
Instead of crawling across the bed like I had expected, Leroy stepped up onto the mattress and stalked closer—the springs creaking with every heavy step.
I curled my fingers around the handle of a blade concealed within the headboard, and when he stopped, towering over me as if I were a cornered lamb, ready for the slaughter, I made my move.
Launching myself with an upward thrust, I moved to jam the knife into the side of his throat, but quick hands interrupted my assault, a firm hand wrapped around both of my wrists, squeezing until I released my grip on the handle.
Shit…
With cat-like reflexes, I was slammed onto the bed by my throat, struggling under his firm hold and weight.
“So, Dustin thinks he can play games now, huh? Always sending others to do his fucking dirty work.” I clenched my jaw at his sick chuckle of delight. “No matter. He won’t miss one of his fucked up harpies, even if he sent a pretty one this time around… Such a fucking shame, little red.”
Gasping for air, I clawed and dug my nails into his wrist and forearm while using my free hand to feel around and blindly search for the knife I had dropped.
Fuck, I’m running out of time…
