Page 9 of Vengeful King

And even if I die in the attempt, it won’t make a damn difference to Mr. V. He’ll just try again or blackmail someone else into doing it.

I’m disposable.

Thinking of dying makes my stomach clench. I can’t die. It’s unimaginable. I can’t leave my mother behind, can’t just let life go by without me. I can’t let this be the way I fall. Not after all I’ve been through. I have to succeed. There’s no other option.

I’ve fallen pretty far. I’ve sunk to depths I never thought I would, gone places I never considered before everything went to shit. I’ve dug my heels into the dirt and refused to fall to any of it. But my options are running out, and this is looking a lot like the end of the line.

I’m going to murder someone just to keep myself alive and protect my mother. But I have no choice.

I turn away from the sink, finally ready. I know I have no choice. I have to do this. So if I’m doing it, I’m going all in.

When I looked up Lachlan O’Reilly, I found the name of his club. Tír na Nóg. I don’t even know how to pronounce it, but I know what a club looks like. I know how it works inside. I can navigate this, maybe better than Mr. V could have ever expected. Or maybe he knew about me already.

Not that it matters. All my experience is going to be for nothing if I can’t pull off the one thing I really need to do.

I shut my laptop with a hard snap and go to my hanging clothes rack in the far corner. It’s a studio apartment, as crappy as it is, and there’s no room for anything. But I have one thing tucked away, the last figment of another life that I held onto for some sense of sanity. To remind me that there was a time when my life was more than this.

That it could be again.

But maybe it’s too late, and if I have a sequin dress that leaves little to the imagination, I think now is the time to use it.

I jump into the shower without a second thought. There’s no use waiting. If I’m going to do this, I know the clock is ticking. Mr. V will come knocking sooner or later, and I have to have something to show him. I need to try.

I dig out my only nice set of lingerie, a cream set with French lace. It still fits perfectly as I slip it on, a bra and panty set that sits just right on my body. The dress is short, barely reaching just far enough past my ass to be tasteful enough to walk around in. The front is low, hanging almost down to my belly button. It stays in place with prayers and some miracle of draping.

For just a second, I allow myself a moment to pretend. I look at myself in the mirror and imagine I’m someone else, with another life that doesn’t require me to do what I’m about to do. I can see in myself what people used to notice about me—how tall I am, the way my auburn hair is naturally wavy.

You’re statuesque,my mother used to say proudly. She would smile as she petted my hair, something distant in her gaze. I didn’t know she was fading even then.Someone is going to be very lucky when they win your heart.

And it was a battle to her. She liked to tease me that I was hard to get close to, and that was before everything happened. Before my world turned upside down.

Now, what I see in the mirror is a woman who can be looked at but never touched. And maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ll never be touched again.

It doesn’t matter. I have to focus, or the next time someone touches me, I’ll be dead. They’ll be dragging my body away. I flip my hair over my shoulder and fix a necklace in place, the point of it hitting just between my breasts, drawing the eyes down. I remember all the old tricks.

I’m going to need all of them now.

I throw a few cards into my phone case—not that any of them will work now, with their balances and the bill I just paid. I just know I have to keep appearances up, at least until I get an in at the club.

In reality, I know there’s really only one way for me to get in. One way to get close. It’s not like this Lachlan man is going to see me and instantly fall in love. He might not even notice me in a crowd of other women, especially in a club like the one he probably has.

No. It’s going to take more. I’m going to have to stick my neck out, put myself in danger, so close there’s no way I can fail.

I leave my apartment and start walking. Thankfully, it’s not like I live in a great part of town—I don’t have too far to go before I can get to where I need to be. I take the time to think about how I’m going to do this, how I’m going to handle the situation I’m about to be in.

I can do this,I tell myself. But I know just thinking those words doesn’t make them true. I can use positive affirmations all I want. It won’t mean shit if this guy decides I’m suspicious.

The closer I get to the dark side of town, the more I know that this is it. There’s no turning back.

The streetlights get farther and farther apart, their bright glow dimming as the neon takes over. The pinks and blues of the signs around me blink erratically, beckoning me toward the tattoo parlors and clubs behind them.

The people on the streets are laughing, but their voices all sound sinister to me, dark. Like they’re laughing at me. I try not to look around, try not to gawk like a tourist. I keep my eyes forward, my chin held level. I know they’ll smell weakness from a mile away.

The farther I walk, the more crowded it becomes. There are men everywhere, tattoos and perfectly tailored suits disguising their true nature. They seem impeccably dressed, rich. But I know most of them probably have money from doing things that no one will ever speak about.

And there, looming in the distance, is the club. Tír na Nóg. I can see its name emblazoned above the entrance, lit in emerald. The letters are thin, classy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a playground for rich bachelors.

But it’s a playground for another type of man, I think. One that’s even more dangerous.

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