Page 15 of Chad's Chase
A Kill-Ring was a plain titanium band one would spot on the finger of most assassins. An ever-present, inconspicuous weapon. Some rings had colorless powder poison (best for food), some had clear liquid (best for drinks), and some had a microscopic needle that is sometimes unfelt when pressed into the skin to inject the poison.
But if Jhay wanted to take him out, she had to get a little more creative, and a lot less predictable, because those tactics were old in his book. Ones he’d been doing since he was sixteen. Which had him wondering what ancient asshole trained her. The Kill-Ring was an abused method: old. Still effective yes, but to be used onhim? Nah.
Chad got the feeling Jhay had no idea he used to be an assassin, too. That he knew everything she knew, and more. Mastered, rated, five-starred.
If she’d known any of this, she would’ve devised a well-thought-out plan to bring him down instead of taking the obvious routes.
And now that he had eyes on her, he would always be three steps ahead of her.
Little Jhay…How did she get like this? What happened when he left her that night? He’d spared her life. Seen to it that she’d be taken care of.
But seeing her now, how ruined she was, made him wish he would’ve killed her to protect her from this life. This path she’d chosen. A life he’d never wish for anyone. A path he was forced to travel along. Childhood snatched away.
Now he was nothing but a wandering black hole mindlessly stealing souls.
Jhay didn’t deserve this life. But one look at her, and he knew she was long gone. At this stage she was probably wishing for death, but she wouldn’t die, she wasn’t allowed to die.
He’d been at this stage, too, once. And he knew exactly what it felt like; lonely, empty, black. Like he was living in a shadowy, windless world all by himself. With nightmares, darkness and screams into the void.
Chad had found his way out, though. And watching Jhay leave him right now, weaving through the crowd, he felt it incumbent upon him to save her.
Ronnie, his head of security, slipped into the vacant seat across from him in the booth, watching him watch Jhay. “I made the call in time, boss?”
“Yeah,” Chad replied, still eying Jhay as she accosted a customer, raking her fingernails down the ugly chump’s flannel-shirted chest while whispering in his ear.
She was working—or at leastpretendingto work. Most likely because she suspected he’d be watching her.
For one, she seemed to hate men. Despite heractof flirting and provocativeness just now, it was pretty obvious men intrigued her not one iota. And this notion crippled him. Because if she was bisexual, he would stand at least half a chance of stealing her away from this ugly, disgusting life, give her a clean, normal life and make her his woman.
Take her. Claim her. Rename her.
Sure, she’d offered herself earlier, but he was positive that was with the underlying intention of getting him alone in a room so she could slit his throat.
Ah hell. He. Wanted. Jhay Byrd. No sense denying it.
But that in itself was a major problem: one, she wanted to kill him. Two, she was a full-blown lesbian. And three,she wanted to fucking kill him.
With a resigned sigh, Chad settled in for the very stupid and very dangerous challenge of winning Jhay Byrd. His days were about to get real fucking interesting.
Ronnie’s voice had him breaking his hawk-watch on Jhay. “Can I ask you one question, boss?”
“What?”
“Why the hell haven’t you killed her yet?”
Good question.
Jhay should have been dead the second he found out her motive. And even if he’d decided to just watch her for a while, that poisoning his drink move should have sealed the deal. Idiots who came after him usually die halfway to their goal. But here he was, thinking about having an impossible relationship with a girl who, less than five minutes ago, tried to take him out.
He must be losing it.
Then again, he wasn’t sure he minded losing it for her. It wouldn’t be the first time he imagined an impossible relationship with her: When they were much younger; eight years apart. Yeah, his sick ass had wanted a little girl who hadn’t even started budding tits yet.
Impossible.
Avoiding Ronnie’s question, he asked, “Does she drive herself to work?”
“Yeah, a fucking 2013 Niiveux.” Ronnie scoffed. “Does she even realize how out of place it looks for a stripper to be driving a Niiveux to work?”
