Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) (8 page)

“This time, yes, it is.”

The man’s brows furrowed, confusion written in the creases. “What could possibly be new about someone trying to snuff your lights out? Do what you do. Meet them halfway and kill them first.”

“This one’s already gotten close. Close enough to succeed.”

The man looked completely thrown. “Okay, Chadrick, I’m lost here.”

“This one’s a woman.”

“Annnnd since when did gender matter?” Then he laughed and waggled his brows in jest. “What, you got the hots for this killer chick or something?”

“Yes,” Chad confessed. “I do.”

Real fucking bad.

The man puffed out his cigar smoke in an array of circles. “So? Fuck her, then kill her. It’s a win-win. Hey, you can even pretend to be a Dom—”

“Ricardo,” Chad said, cutting him off, “this one’s your
sister
.”

Chad only half-listened as Kevin Bates yapped on excitedly with his presentation of potential bike concepts for Red Rhage—a rudimentary sports bike business he co-owned with his right arm, Jahleel aka JK.

Kevin Bates—short, average, with black-rimmed glasses and a mouth that spat a thousand words a minute—was from a small manufacturing company they planned on using to build the bikes, and, while he flipped through different concepts, dumping information overload, Chad sat loosely in a rather comfortable chair around the long, glass conference table, with his head tossed back and his gaze trained on the ceiling. White, plain, boring.

For the presentation, they were occupying a conference room at the Viscas Hotel, because Chad had a few bigger, momentous meetings after this one. But for this hour, it was just him, JK, and Kevin, along with Kevin’s preppy, wimpy sidekick.

Chad couldn’t focus for shit, though.

Far away from this room, his mind was on
her
. The little black Byrd was all up in his thoughts. Her essence still clinging to him, stuck to his skin, a distinct mixture of vanilla and lemon.

He could still taste her on his tongue. Could still feel the soft and suppleness of her lips against his. How
right
she’d felt on top of him. Even when she was about to snap his neck, he’d been high on her. Willing to die by her cruel but delicate hands.

That night, Chad could’ve fought back and knocked her out easily, but he hadn’t. Because she was right: her kicking the rotting shit out of him had given him the hardest fucking hard-on he’d ever had. Big time.

For the whole time, all that had been on his mind was how badly he wanted to fuck her so fast and so hard she’d forget who and where she was.

But when she started offering herself to him, reality had kneed him in the balls, stealing his hard-on, and he’d had to back off.

Of course, having her in a room alone, for himself, he’d wanted that shit more than anything. However, having
her
in a room alone with
him
was precisely the thing that could not happen.

Goes without saying that he couldn’t trust her. If her sole purpose was to eliminate him, then voluntarily getting in a room alone with her would mean lust-blindingly handing his life over to her on a silver platter. While he’d be losing himself in euphoric pleasure, she’d be trying to find the best angle to take his breath away. Literally.

Since that night, three weeks had zoomed by, and he’d made sure to keep his distance. Careful never to let her get so close again. Not until he figured things out.

Each time he went to Empty Cage, though, he would stand in his office all night and watch her through the one-way glass like a fucking creep. Watching her dance onstage seriously got him off. He’d never seen anyone wrap themselves around a pole as skillfully as her.

Curved in all the right places, she had the perfect height—leaving him about a head taller—and long, slim waist, her perpetual ponytail hanging down her back, swaying, like a horse’s tail.

Jhay was a dream.

Half an hour before the club closed, he would head out early so he could get home in time to watch her on the cameras he’d planted throughout her apartment. The girl masturbated at least five times a day. And he watched everything—even while she showered.

Yep, he was a creep. A sick fucking voyeur.

Though he wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into him. Why she consumed him this much. Doing pathetic things like this wasn’t his MO.

But she was just so…fucking perfect. He was caught up in her. He’d hoped, for twelve long years, to see her again. Wondered how she was. If she was happy. If she ever thought of him—good thoughts, of course; not the ugly ones. For twelve years he’d done a lot of wondering. For twelve years he never stopped caring. Never forgot. Her.

Yeah, he was going to die. This girl would end up killing him because he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. Neither would he be able to let himself keep away from her. He probably wanted her more than he wanted to live, and when he wanted something, come hell or high waters, he had to have it.

He just wasn’t sure how to subdue a girl as fatal as Jhay. For the first time in, well, ever, he was at an utter and complete loss.

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” he heard JK mutter out loud. “I’ve been sittin’ here for the past fifteen minutes tryin’ for shit to focus on what you’re presenting. But I just can’t take you serious while you’re wearin’ that shirt, dude.”

Kevin Bates’ wimpy assistant stifled a snicker, and Chad reluctantly dragged his gaze from the ceiling. He’d been so zoned out that it felt like he was seeing everyone for the first time that day, because when his eyes landed on Kevin’s shirt, he had to stifle a laugh himself.

The shirt was baby-pink, with a very confusing image of a cat driving the Batmobile that’s being chased by a dog in rollerblades, and that dog was being chased by a horse in high heels.

What the fuck?

Kevin glanced down at his shirt, frowned, then back at JK. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

Deadpan, JK said, “Just know this, I haven’t heard a single word you’ve said since you came in here. My mind’s been busy tryna figure out the story behind the cat, the dog, the horse in heels and the Batmobile. And it’s fuckin’
pink
.”

This time, Chad couldn’t hold his laugh in, and it seemed the wimpy kid couldn’t either, because they both burst out laughing, while Kevin scowled.

JK didn’t have even a hint of a smile. The guy’s tolerance level was only yay high. “Look, man, I got places to be. So just run downstairs to the gift shop and buy yourself a new shirt so we can get this meeting over with.”

Still scowling, Kevin slammed down the projector remote on the desk. “You’re a dick,” he shot at JK before storming out the room.

Unoffended, JK looked down the table to the wimpy assistant. “You, go with him and make sure he buys a
plain
shirt. ‘Cause if he comes back in that coconut and palm tree shit I saw in the display window, I’m done.”

The kid nodded and fled the room.

“You didn’t have to be such an ass,” Chad said, though grinning.

“C’mon, Chad. He’s unprofessional. The guy’s comin’ here to fuckin’ present to us, and that’s the shit he wears?”

“Because he knew I wouldn’t mind. I’ve known him a long time.”

Kevin was a gimmick. He was known for stuff like this. But therein lay the clash, because JK was a no-nonsense, class-A asshole. So Chad predicted there would be some serious bickering going down between these two during the constructing of Red Rhage. And he planned on keeping out of it at all costs.

“Well,
I
mind,” JK replied. “That shirt was just…wrong. On so many levels.”

Chad couldn’t help the light chuckle that came. “Lighten up, man.”

“You’re tellin’
me
to lighten up? You’re the one who’s been staring at the ceiling like—”

JK’s words collapsed as his eyes widened in horror, like he was witnessing a horrific plane crash, live and on the scene.

Before Chad could ask his friend what the problem was, JK shot up, his chair knocking back in a noisy tumble as he leaped across the conference table and knocked Chad right off his chair. In that same second, he heard the shattering of glass, and then just above his head, the wall ruptured, tiny pieces of concrete exploding from where the bullet lodged.

Then silence, nothing but their heavy breathing.

“An infrared was on my forehead, wasn’t there?” he asked JK, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Death, man!” JK shouted, still sprawled on top of him, shielding him. “Fuckin’ death was on your head!”

With a grunt, Chad shoved JK off him and jumped to his feet.

“The fuck are you doin’, you sick fuckin’ lunatic? Stay down!”

But Chad disregarded the threat of danger and bolted over to the shattered floor-to-ceiling window just in time to spot the shooter on a skyscraper directly across from the building he was in.

In all black, the shooter was hotfooting it across the roof with a sniper rifle Drag Bag in hand, hurrying away. But Chad didn’t miss the long, black ponytail swaying behind, the wind whipping it around.

It was her.

Jhay.

Guess the kiss in the parking lot had meant nothing, then. She still wanted him dead.

The door to the conference room flung open, followed by a deep booming of an expletive. Ronnie.

Chad turned.

JK warily got up to his feet. “You got a fuckin’ death wish or something, man? Why’d you go there?”

Ronnie burned sulfurous eyes into Chad. “You saw the shooter. It was her, wasn’t it?”

Chad didn’t respond. He didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself.

“Her?” JK asked. “Hold up, you know your assassin this time?”

“It’s…complicated, JK.”

“Actually,” Ronnie said, seething, “it’s not. It’s pretty damn plain and straightforward.” He turned to JK. “The assassin who’s after him this time is a female. Who’s working
in
his club
under the pretense of being a dollar hoe. She almost
killed
him in his parking lot three weeks ago, and when I finally got the chance to blow her head off, he ordered me not to. Then
he lets her go
. Scot-free. And now, here we are.”

Mouth hanging open, JK looked at Chad as if he had seven heads.

Sighing, Chad gave Ronnie the signal to leave. When Ronnie just stood there glowering, Chad voiced in his don’t-fuck-with-me tone, “Ronnie, leave. And make sure no one gets past you to this room.”

Ronnie had been with him for over a decade, loyal to the bone. But at times he could be a real pain in the ass. Although Chad knew the man’s leeriness was for his own benefit, to keep him alive, sometimes, like now, he had to remind the guy who was boss of whom.

With a disgruntled sniff, Ronnie pointed at JK and said, “You need to talk some sense into him,” before stomping out the door in a giant ball of anger.

“What the fuck, man?” JK asked, righting the upturned chairs around the table before sitting down. “You mind fillin’ me in?”

Blowing out a breath, Chad ambled over to the table and sat down across from JK. “Do you remember the family I told you I offed when I was eighteen?”

“Yeah, the Byrds. And you let the little girl live.”

Chad nodded. “Well, the shooter just now was that little girl.”

“No shit,” JK muttered, leaning back in the chair. “So this is a vendetta then. Not another assignment.”

Chad shook his head. “No idea. She’s a trained killer, so it seems like an assignment. But then, she’s the girl who survived, so…”

“Maybe it’s both.”

“Yeah,” Chad agreed. “Maybe.”

“Look, man,” JK said, resting his arms on the leather-covered chair handles. “I know you’ve suffered with the guilt of what you did to this family for a long time, and you’re probably thinkin’ there’s some way to make it up to this girl…but, dude, she just tried to blow your fuckin’ brains out.”

“No…it’s not the guilt…it’s…”

“What?”

Raising his head, Chad stared his friend right in the eyes. “I want her, JK. I want her so ridiculously bad it’s making me irrational.”

And there was that look on his friend’s face again. The wide-eyed, open-mouthed, what-the-fucking-fuck look. “No, Chad, it’s not making you ‘irrational’. It’s making you
suicidal
. Sui-fuckin’-cidal.”

Chad’s shoulders jerked up in a careless shrug. “I can’t help it. I want her.” Pushing up from his chair, he pulled his dress shirt from out of his pants and began unbuttoning it.

JK eyed him. “Ah, I know I’m overwhelmingly hot and all that, but butt-fucking’s not my thing. Save the striptease for that freak show, Kevin Bates.”

Chad ignored the cocky little shit and popped the last button, then parted the shirt open to display his tattoos. He pointed to the lyrics on his side. “Remember how you laughed at me and called me a pussy when I got this song tatted? When you asked who it was for?”

“You never told me.”

“For her,” Chad said. “I did it because I missed her. Every day. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t make myself stop missing her. This girl, she means more to me than you know. I can’t. I can’t help it. I can’t kill her.”

With a long, loud, disbelieving sigh, JK scrubbed his hands down his face. “Long as I’m alive, I’m your friend, Chad. But I wasn’t raised like you. Wasn’t raised to embrace and condone crime and bloodshedding. You’ve been dealt a shit hand in life. You never asked for any of this, and for that reason, I’ll never judge your double life.