Page 6 of Pray for the Damned

She can’t have all these eyes on her.

My chest constricts so tight I can barely drag in a breath as panic reigns down on me. I’ve spent years keeping her safe. Years hiding her from the men that threaten to imprison her. Keeping her out of their grasp has never been easy, but it’s been worth it.

Waverly laughs nervously at something Wyatt says, and my grasp on the glass in my hand tightens until I’m certain it’s about to smash.

I swallow heavily and place the glass down as carefully as I can manage, but it still slams against the table, causing the couple in the booth in front of me to turn around.

I give them an apologetic look before turning my attention back to Waverly. Her dark curls are pulled into a neat ponytail that sits high on her head. Usually when she works at the diner, she has it piled on the top of her head in a messy top knot, but it’s clear she’s made an effort to style the usually wild mane.

Instead of her usual worn jeans and baggy shirt that hides her curves from the world, she’s wearing a skintight dress that barely covers her silky skin, and I swallow down the roar that threatens to escape. All these men are staring at her. Staring at what belongs to me.

Her breasts are pushed up high, showing off the cleavage she normally works hard to hide, and her black heeled boots give her a bit of extra height. On a good day she’s barely five feet, and even the highest heels probably wouldn’t do much to put her on even footing with the people who frequent the Scarlet Lounge.

Wyatt guides her toward the bar, and when she steps behind the sleek black marble counter, my stomach does a flip. She’s working here? How the hell did I miss this? I spend more time than I care to admit following her, and I never got a whiff of this.

“Having a good night, Pastor?” Elias asks as he slips his phone into his pocket.

I nod, forcing my body to release the tension that’s coiled tight through every muscle. “New waitress?”

Elias flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. Leighton set it up. She seems nice, a little meek, but it might just be nerves.”

“This place can be a little daunting.” I half laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. I’m on edge, as I usually am when it comes to the temptress who is talking to the other bartender on duty.

“It can,” he agrees. “Leighton seemed to think she could use the break. Said the girl was close to breaking point.”

I’m just about the only patron here he would admit something like that to, and I’m not sure if it’s because people are naturally drawn to confess things to me, or if he can tell I’m obsessed with the woman, even without me saying a word.

“I should go relieve Wyatt. We don’t like having Leighton home by herself,” he tells me, and I nod my understanding. “Have a good night.”

He disappears before I can respond, and I breathe out a heavy sigh of relief. I can barely think, let alone speak, when in the presence of Waverly.

I down what’s left of my drink and lean back in my seat, waiting for her to notice my glass is empty.

Perhaps it’s time I stop lurking in the shadows.

Perhaps it’s time I take what’s always belonged to me.

CHAPTER THREE

KADE

Blood coats my hands as I drag his limp body toward the dumpster where I plan to leave his body. It’s trash day tomorrow, so there’s a good chance no one will find the body until it gets to the dump, or better yet, not at all.

Not that they’ll be able to trace it back to me.

When you’ve been doing this job for as long as I have, you get very good at never leaving a trace. No one in this city even knows I exist after all.

I chuckle to myself as I haul the heavy motherfucker onto my shoulder to give me the leverage I need to toss him into the open dumpster.

Old Pete here didn’t really do anything wrong, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something he shouldn’t have, and I was the one that cleaned the mess up, just like I always am.

Once I’ve disposed of the body, I wipe my hands down my black jeans and crack my neck to the side. Remind me to start killing people in the location I’m going to dump them. It’ll make cleanup much easier and save my back from a repeat of what just happened.

I tug my phone from my pocket, and my finger twitches to check the tracker app, but I force myself to finish the job first. The more jobs I complete, the more money I have. And the more money I have, the more power I wield. And the more power I wield, the safer I can keep her.

I type out a text to the guy that employed me telling him the job is complete, and it’s only a few seconds before I receive the other half of my fee in my account.

Another kill closer to retirement.

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