Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
As the head of security for the club, with years of being in charge of all kinds of venues under her belt, Xhex had a radar for trouble—and that was before you threw in her symphath shit.
The fact that he didn’t move from his position was what had first gotten her attention and made her assess him. He wasn’t that tall, he wasn’t that broad, and with his brush-cut hair and stubble, he was very forgettable—in a calculated way. Like he wanted to project an image of being just another twenty-ish man in a part of the city where there were thousands of them.
Even so, she might have dismissed him—if it hadn’t been for the way he was looking around with such a pointed lack of emotion. If somebody was searching for someone specific, like if they’d lost the buddy or the date they’d come with, they got frustrated after a while. If a person was after sex, they were greedy as they focused on the objects of their desire. If they were giving up because they’d been ghosted or nobody wanted them, they were depressed.
Not this guy. He was like radar, sweeping back and forth with only his eyes moving, as if he didn’t want anyone to know who he was focusing on. Law enforcement undercover? No. They checked in with her as a courtesy—and anyway, his attention was too diffused, even in its intensity. He was searching for a type, not an individual. A vibe. Something that was inside of him sparked by someone outside of him.
He would know it when he saw it.
The way any predator can pick out the weakling in any group.
And when he found what he wanted to take, then he would move. He would start to track—
A couple who were arm-in-arm passed by her, cutting off her field of vision. As soon as they were clear, she looked back to see if the man was still—
“Of course you’re right there,” she muttered under her breath.
Read him, a dark part of her demanded. Read him and see the truth your instincts know for a fact.
“Yeah, and then what,” she said.
You know what you want to do.
Xhex laughed. “Far as I’m aware, I’m at work and perfectly happy overseeing my staff and watching the crowd. So what I want to do is my fucking job—”
If you read him, you are free to do what you want.
In the recesses of her mind, she was aware that the back-and-forth was taking “talking to yourself” to a level that should probably be professionally assessed, but it was fine. She was fine.
Everything was fine—
“I’m free now.” She looked away from the man to prove the point. “Free as a bird.”
Read him.
“Will you leave me the fuck alone—”
“Sorry, I’m just following up on the text you sent earlier?”
With a jump, Xhex focused on her second-in-command. T’Marcus Jones was pointing to his iPhone as if to prove he wasn’t wasting her time. Not that the former Marine ever wasted anything. He was a consummate professional, always in control of himself and anyone around him. His black shirt might have had STAFF on the back in big letters, but like he’d be confused for anything other than BADASS?
What the hell had she asked him to do?
To cover her confusion, she waved his arm down. “Yeah, yeah. Good. What’s the answer?”
His brows went up. “Ah, I did it?”
“What?”
“I set the schedule for next week and sent it out to everyone?” When she just blinked at him, T’Marcus leaned in, like maybe if they were closer together she’d understand what he was talking about better. “You told me you were coming in late tonight and asked me to take care of it first thing. Bobby, the new hire, is covering for Mike while he’s on vacation, and the rest of us are splitting Bobby’s night off on Wednesday. S’all good.”
“Oh. Right.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
“You need something else?”
“I’m fine.” Making a show of checking her watch, she said, “Is it me or is this night crawling?”
T’Marcus nodded and asked her something she didn’t track. As she nodded to whatever it was, what she was really concentrating on was the flare of panic kindling in her brain stem—and when he walked off, she told herself to get her shit together.
This time, the voice in her head wasn’t some version of her own, but Rehvenge’s: Your grid is still collapsing.
Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, she said, “No, it isn’t.”
As she answered yet another disembodied opinion, and then resolutely blocked out Blade’s second opinion on the subject, she looked back for the man in the hoodie—
He was gone.
Her senses came alive, and she moved without being aware of deciding to. Her body ambulated on its own, striding forward, shuffling through the humans getting their good time on. Tracking her prey—