Page 4 of Assassin's Obsession

Is that for me? Her Angel of Death. Now that she's seen me stab a man's hand, she must have asked around about who I am.

And she's dressed like an angel for me.

I nearly come in my pants thinking about it. I'm on my feet before I'm aware of moving, but I manage to stop myself moving out of the shadows.

I don't like how close the customers are to Candi as she moves between the tables. If I go to her, I'll kill the man offering her a roll of twenties for a lap dance.

Asshole.

But I have to let my girl do her thing.

For a little longer anyway.

The club is packed with bodies and I remain standing so I can watch my girl dance. She's moving her body sensually and smiling at her lap dance customer, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

Because she's not dancing for him.My girl loves to dance, but she doesn't love dancing for men perving on her body.

That's why I know she isn't going to mind quitting here.

Once I make her mine, no other man gets to see that sweet ass move like that.

I might have to kill the man she's dancing in front of right now. The way he's looking at her pisses me off.

I'll do it away from the club. Disappear him.

No body. No crime.

I don't leave other evidence behind.That should be circumspect enough to make Severu happy.

Chapter 2

CANDI

Tonight, the club is packed and the customers are riled up.

Since Bianca left, the club has hired some new dancers. One is on tonight and in her last two sets, she stripped down to a G-string so tiny it doesn't even cover her pussy lips. She's still on the stage and the punters are horny.

I like that word. Punter. I got it from one of my mom's British crime shows. It's better than calling the customers johns because that implies I do sex acts with them for money. I don't.

The sour smell of sweat assaults my nostrils and it's all I can do to keep the fake smile fixed on my face. A guy wearing a cheap suit, which is a step above the usual attire in here, waves me over with a roll of twenties.

The other men at his table are dressed like him and all wear similar expressions too. They think they're flirting with the wild side coming to a strip club and offering money for a lap dance.

"Twenty-five for ten minutes. No contact." I always spell it out beforehand.

He nods and peels off two twenties before laying them on the table. "Make it good and you can have both."

I don't roll my eyes. I want the forty bucks, but seriously? Make it good?

Shaking my barely clothed body within a foot of him will have him coming in his underwear. He's that guy.

Ignoring the music playing over the club's sound system, I start dancing to the soundtrack in my head.

I'm cupping my breasts and twerking my ass when suddenly harsh fingers dig into my hips.

Yanked backward, I nearly trip, but I've been dancing four nights a week in six-inch heels for three years. It takes more than pulling me off balance to make me fall.

Wanting those meaty hands off my body, I jerk forward, but the fingers dig in and I end up on polyester clad thighs. "Come here, baby. I'll give you a hundred to sit on my lap for a minute."

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