Page 6 of Assassin's Obsession

I notice the money's no longer on the table. Did he offer it to lure me into a vulnerable position for his friend?

"You should have gotten that when I said it five minutes ago," I snap, in no mood to play nice.

Angelo's handsome face twists in a scowl, which he turns on the guy who is doing enough crying for both of us. "You hurt her."

"I didn't mean to," the perv blubbers.

Yeah, right. "Not true. You took what I didn't want to give and would have taken more if you could get away with it."

"You're a stripper for Christ's sake. That's what you're here for." This little bit of wisdom is from one of the other office drones sitting at the table.

I spin to face him, to admonish him for saying the one curse word my mom would wash my mouth out for, as much as for being a total asshole. Only, his face drains of color before I can even get my mouth open to blast him.

Looking back over my shoulder, I see that it's now my accoster's whole hand hanging at an odd angle from the wrist.He's dangling limply from Angelo's hold, passed out from the pain.

"She's a dancer," Angelo says with pure menace. "Apologize for your mistake."

"Fuck you. You can't get away with this." The guy who just claimed being a dancer makes me fair game for whatever the punters here want is brave with a table between him and Angelo. "Let Ronnie go!"

My laughter shocks everyone at the table.

I shake my head at them. "You all really are stupid, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" my original lap dance customer asks.

"It means that if you don't want to end up missing a hand, like your friend here," Angelo answers before I can. "After you apologize to her, you'll get your asses out of this fucking club, and you will never come back."

If I were them, I'd be pissing myself with fear, so I'm not at all surprised every single one of the group stands up and mumbles an apology to me before sidling around the opposite side of the table from Angelo and their friend.

The creep wakes up with a woozy moan while his buddies are trying to get away from him and Angelo. "Need the hospital," he slurs.

One of his braver, or more ridiculously foolish, friends steps toward them. "I'll take you."

"Pick him up in the alley behind the club in fifteen minutes." Angelo's words crack like a whip. "I'm not done with him."

"No, please, I'm sorry!" Ronnie implores Angelo from his knees.

"Apologize to her, not me."

The man who called me a bitch begs me with his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? Call off your guard dog. Please!"

I shake my head. I have no power over Angelo. And even if I did? I wouldn't tell him to leave the guy alone. Why should I?

No one told my attacker to let me go. Not one of his friends said, "Hey, that's not cool."

No, they all laughed and watched us like we were putting on a show for them. That show lasted less than a minute before Angelo stepped in, but it was long enough for one of them to show some decency.

None of them did.

"Go to hell," I say.

Angelo's mouth quirks in an almost smile, his pale gray eyes reflecting approval of my words.

Then he looks away from me and he's pure retribution again. "You will never bother Candi again."

"We're never coming back here, don't worry." The guy who offered to take my attacker, who has become Angelo's victim, to the hospital says this like it's a hardship for the club that they aren't ever coming back.

And not an order they don't dare refuse.

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