Page 8 of Stalking His Assassin

“Absolutely. This is delicious. Michelin star worthy.”

“Muy bueno!I’ll add it to the specials list. Enjoy your meal.”

Harper talks me into sharing our food because my dinner is so good. I grumble about it, but I don’t mind since Emmanuel’s tacos are excellent, too. Everything here is good, so every bite is an experience no matter what.

Once we are done, I drop some cash on the table. Emmanuel refuses to allow me to pay for my meals, but I make it up by leaving a big tip for the servers. Harper links our arms again as we walk back to where I parked. She’s already buzzed from the two margaritas she drank with dinner. She turns her playlist on again; this time, she dances in her seat, singing along with the songs.

It only takes fifteen minutes to get to Pink Diamond, but it takes another ten minutes to find a parking spot. Harper gripes about me not using valet even though she knows it’s a futile argument. No one drives my cars. Not because I consider them something precious that can’t be touched by anyone else, but because they all have a mini armory hidden inside, and even though it’s highly unlikely some valet driver would stumble across the secret compartments and utterly impossible that anyone but me could open them once found, I would rather not risk it.

Harper is chatting a million miles a minute about how excited she is while we walk to the entrance. She presents the passes to the doorman like she’s got an invitation to a royal ball. The people waiting in line whine when he soundlessly opens the door to let us in. I might feel bad if it weren’t their own stupidity that has them wasting a perfectly good Saturday night waiting in line to get into a club they probably will never step foot in.

As soon as we enter the club, I immediately want to turn around and leave. The music is so loud I can’t hear myself think, let alone what Harper is yelling at me. Thankfully, I can read lips, so I know she wants to get a drink before hitting the dance floor. She grabs my hand in a viselike grip and drags me through the crowd to the bar.

Between the music trying to deafen me and the cloying smell of too many perfumes and body odor mixing in a nauseating cocktail, I’m literally in my own personal Hell. I would ratherbe back in Germany fighting assholes twice my size and getting stabbed than spend the next three hours here.

Fuck my life.

Harper orders two shots for herself and a soda water with lime for me. It’s less conspicuous to have a drink than to stand around empty-handed. She quickly downs the two shots and cheers. She’s fully in her element, especially with the attractive bartender flirting with her as he mixes her third drink. She turns and winks at me with the fruity pink drink in hand.

“Let’s find a spot before the show starts,” Harper yells in my ear.

I nod and let her drag me through the crowd towards the back of the club. There are two stages in this part of the club, along with five raised platforms that have nearly naked women dancing seductively on them. The vibe back here is different. The frenetic energy from the bar and dance floor isn’t as thick. It’s more sensual. Somehow, the loud music isn’t so overwhelming back here. There’s a smaller dance floor filled with people who are moving like they are seconds away from stripping down and having sex right there in the open. Several tables are set up in front of the stages, and booths wrap around the perimeter, which are more like private islands amid the crowd.

I can’t find any fault in the design. Whoever conceptualized this place did an excellent job of making it feel like a high-end strip club without missing any of the dance club vibes. It’s a good mishmash.

“This place is amazing!” Harper squeals.

I force a smile and nod, which gets me an eye-roll in return. I can’t help that places like this are awful. I’m a solitary creature. I spend more time with a cat than with humans, and I like it that way. Most of my human interactions happen when someone is about to die. I handle most of my Shield Security work viavideo conference from my home office. I rarely go into the office, which suits me just fine.

I drag Harper to a free table near one of the stages as a woman struts onto the stage like she owns it. When she starts dancing, I decide she does own it. I’m not attracted to women, but I can see her appeal. She moves with a grace and sensuality that I’ve never seen. She’s good. From how her body moves, I’d guess she classically trained as a ballerina at some point, but she has none of the rigidity that ballet demands.

“Wow, she’s good!” Harper yells.

“She’s definitely talented,” I reply loud enough for her to hear over the noise.

We watch the woman dance long enough for Harper to finish her drink, and then she drags me back to the other part of the club to the dance floor. I don’t fight the inevitable; I let the discomfort of so many bodies surrounding me go, and I focus on the beat of the song. Harper throws her hands in the air and starts moving her body. The girl is not a great dancer, but she makes up for her lack of rhythm with enthusiasm.

I move my body to the music, losing myself for a brief time. I tense when a guy puts his hands on Harper’s hips and pulls her against him. She giggles and starts moving with him. She notices that I’ve stopped dancing and gives me a wink and a thumbs-up, letting me know she’s okay. I nod once and start dancing again but remain focused on the man touching Harper. He notices me watching and gives me a cocky smile. It makes me want to stab him in the eye. My fingers twitch with the desire to pull one of my knives.

After several songs, the guy says something to Harper, and she nods. She reaches for my hand, and I follow them to the bar like a lost puppy. The dude is obviously annoyed that I’m accompanying them. He’s not hiding it. Too bad for him. Even if he didn’t have a stab-able face, I wouldn’t let him drag my bestfriend off without me when she’s been drinking. Hell, even if she were sober.

He orders their drinks, then starts pouring on the charm like the sleazeball I have no doubt he is. Harper laughs and flirts back while sipping her drink. I order myself another soda water and a water for Harper too. It’s too loud to make out what they are saying, but I can imagine he’s angling for sex. I turn so it looks like I’m focusing on the crowd around us, but my focus is still on Harper and the douche.

He uses my perceived inattention to move closer. He tucks Harper's hair behind her ear and leans in close to talk in her ear. I roll my eyes at his player moves. Men are so damn predictable. A few minutes later, two guys that look like clones of douche walk up with drinks in hand. Douche #2 hands a drink to Douche #1 and Harper, while Douche #3 tries to hand me a pink drink while giving me a slimy smile.

Yeah, don’t think so, Douche #3. I take the drink Douche #2 handed to Harper away and give it back to him. Douche #1 gives me a hard look that I return easily. These guys must think women are idiots. Rule number one at any bar, club, or party: Don’t accept drinks from strangers.

If I didn’t already want to stab Douche #1, I would absolutely want to stab him after this. Harper has lost her happy smile and looks at the three men suspiciously. She’s not an idiot. She knows two strange men randomly showing up with drinks is a red flag. She wouldn’t have drunk it even if I hadn’t taken it, but she would have been nicer about declining it than me. She gives me a knowing look and subtly tilts her head to the exit.

I gently tug Harper from Douche #1’s hold until she’s free of his touch and is practically plastered to my chest. I smirk up at her before I cup her face and pull her down so it looks like we are kissing. We make a good show of it before breaking away with broad smiles.

“Bye, boys!” Harper says.

She’s giggling as we walk away. The little show we just put on was her idea for when guys get too pushy. I told her I could make any asshole leave us alone, but she lectured me about how violence isn’t the answer and came up with the idea of us pretending to kiss as a distraction before we bail. I’d much rather deal with assholes my way, but I can’t deny that her way works. Besides, if it ever doesn’t, there’s always my way to fall back on.

The relief I feel as soon as we exit the club into the cool night air is immense. Even with the sounds of the city and the people talking loudly in the line that’s still gathered in a futile attempt to get into Pink Diamond, it feels nearly silent in comparison.

Harper is quiet as we walk back to the Range Rover. Once inside, she heaves out a sigh and turns to me. “Do you think the drinks were drugged?”

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