Page 64 of Brutal Heir
Because whether I like it or not, I’m in this now. And I need to know what the hell just pulled Alessandro away from me before that almost-kiss becomes a never-was.
So I gingerly creep closer to the door until I’m leaning against it. Sneaking my hand behind my back, I try the knob. Shite. Locked.
Figures.
If I wasn’t being watched, I could jimmy the lock with my hairpin dagger. Even with my hair down this evening, I never leave home without it. It’s tucked into my bra like a proper lady. At least Da taught me a few useful things growing up.
But there has to be a key around here somewhere, right? I scan the area beneath the sprawling bar—boxes of booze, crates filled with tumblers, flutes and glasses of every shape and size. Then I spot it, a metal drawer with a key still inserted into the lock.
Where there’s one key there must be more.
I sidle closer and the next time Lance gets called across the bar, I give the drawer a little tug. With one eye following Lance to make sure I’m not caught, I rifle through the assortment of receipts, paperclips and pens. My fingers finally latch onto a keyring.
Closing my hand around it, I slip it out and hide it behind my back. Lance eyes me from across the bar as he pours a cosmopolitan for a flirtatious blonde. I throw him a quick smile as I back up toward the door once again.
I almost feel guilty.
Alessandro wouldn’t really fire the guy, would he?
Guess I’m taking my chances.
With his attention on the blonde with a sexy tiger mask, I ease the key into the lock behind my back. A quick flick of my wrist and the lock disengages. My pulse skyrockets, exhilaration trumping all else.
I’ve got you now, McFecker.
Twisting the knob behind my back, the door swings open, and I dart inside, slamming it closed behind me.
That metallic stench hits me like a fist to the gut. It’s sharp and unmistakable. Blood.
I’m vaguely aware of Alessandro’s presence but my vision tunnels, ignoring his order echoing in my head.Get out of here, Rory. I don’t care. Ineedto see.
The fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting a harsh glare over cold cement and chaos. And then I see it.
The body.
Splayed out like a discarded rag doll. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Eyes wide. Lifeless. A puddle of red pooling beneath the lifeless form.
I stop cold and clamp a hand over my mouth.
The air seizes in my lungs, and for a second, it’s notthisbody I see. It’s another. On another night. In another room. Everyone says you never forget your first. They were feckin’ right. The smell, the silence, the stillness, they all claw their way down my spine like ghosts that never really left.
My hand shoots out and braces against the wall. “Bloody hell…”
Alessandro’s voice slices through the fog. “Rory?—”
But I can’t look at him. Not yet. I’m too busy keeping myself upright, keeping my knees from buckling beneath the weight of what this means.
Someone is dead.Here. In his club. Inourclub.
And it’s not just the violence that turns my stomach, it’s the familiarity of the entire scene. Of the life I’d fought so hard to run away from. My pulse spikes. Then recognition slams into me like a freight train.
The blue dreadlocks bathed in crimson.
“Oh my God,” I finally whisper now that I’ve found my voice. “I know her.”
It’s Amber, the server I met on one of my first visits to the club. The one whose nasty comment about her boss had my blood boiling. Well, I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone. Anyone who makes such a cold, unfeeling comment about a man who’s suffered so much deserves punishment.
Maybe not death though.
