Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) by Steele Suzanne

Author:Steele, Suzanne [Steele, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Suzanne Steele
Published: 2015-09-10T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty Five

Melanie

I negotiate my way through the crowded bar and eye my reflection on a mirrored wall. I have on a red wig, bright red lipstick, and a tight red dress. I’ve purposely dressed slutty in the hope of drawing attention, preferably the attention of one of the dirtbags who has made the mistake of victimizing women for Richard Roundtree’s pleasure.

I lean against the wall in a darkened corner while taking inventory of the room and its patrons. I want to do a couple of things: find my mark, and get a feel for the atmosphere. I’m nervous, but it’s more like an adrenaline rush than fear of what I know has to be done.

I’ve purposely hidden in the shadows until I spot my mark so I don’t have to be bothered with unwanted attention. I am here to do a job, and that job is to kill a man.

Loud music reverberates off the walls as sweaty bodies wildly gyrate on the dance floor. They’re strangers teasing each other with promises of a one-night stand after last call. I had just about given up when I finally spotted one of the three men. It isn’t the owner of the bar, but he will do. I really don’t want to have to deal with more than one of the killers at a time, so this is actually going to work in my favor. I push my body off the wall and saunter over in his direction. He plays right into my hand when he reaches out, grabbing my arm as I pass him. I resist the urge to jerk away from his disgusting touch and, instead, paste on a seductive smile. I willingly follow him over to a table and purr in my sexiest voice, “Buy a girl a drink, why don’t ya?”

I’m intentionally looking and talking trashier than I am. My heart sinks when I watch him try to wave a waitress over, but it’s quickly followed by a wave of relief when he can’t get her attention. He gets up and growls, “What’s it take to get a fuckin’ drink around here?”

As women, we’re taught not to leave our drinks alone. Men don’t generally worry about things like that because they don’t have cause, or so the average man thinks. This is a case of double standards working in my favor. Oh, the fucking irony! I love it! He thinks I’m weaker because I’m a woman, and he truly believes he’s going to take advantage of me. Knowing this, and also knowing I’ll have his ass on a platter by the night’s end, is very gratifying. As soon as his back is turned, I reach two fingers just under the fabric of the plunging v-neck dress I’m wearing and retrieve the pre-measured GHB my husband gave me. I pour it into the drink he left behind, and he’s none the wiser when he comes back to the table and tosses it back, immediately starting on the next one he’d ordered.

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