Page 8 of Ivy and the Deathstalkers

In response, she sends me an image of her running over a body in the road.

“You know I’ll let you get your shots in,” I assure her.

We arrive at the warehouse sooner than planned, but not early enough to beat the asshole here.Damn it.I pull into the parking lot and park by another bike. Too bad it's a hog. It's got a badass paint job that I do admire. It's black with a smoky scorpion that looks like it's about to jump off the bike.

I've seen it before somewhere, but I don't have time to waste trying to remember. The longer I spend pondering some random bike, the longer it's going to take me to seduce Stanley back to my house so we can have a little conversation before I kill him.

Walking to the door I get several people in the line whistling and some cussing me for line jumping. I ignore them all. My head’s in the game, nothing matters but my target.

At the door, the bouncer nods me over. “Morgan, good to see you. Joining or watching?” he asks.

I smile half sweet, half sadistically. “What fun is watching, Joey?” He laughs as he motions for me to go in.

It's loud and thankfully no one stops me as I walk through looking for my mark. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me though. Looks like the outfit is working. Here’s hoping it works on Stanley. Making my way around the room to the VIP area, I bump into something solid. Shit. Where'd the wall come from? Slowly I look up… and up some more.

“Damn you're a big one,” I say before I think better of it. He snorts a laugh. Making my lady bits tingle.

His eyes flash with something unnatural. Fuck he's a supe. “Uh, sorry. Have a good night,” I mumble.What the fuck was that.

“Right,” is all he says before he turns back to watching the cage match.

I follow his line of sight and my heart stutters as I get my first real look at him.

There he is.

The man that killed my parents.

The sight pulls me from my momentary distraction and the hot guy I ran into completely disappears from my mind as I refocus on my reason for being here.

My reason for being the assassin I am today.

Stanley Shiftlan.

As I approach the VIP section, a bulky dickhead in a suit steps in front of me.

“No way. Move along girly. You ain't the boss's type.”

Girly? Really. Oh, fuck him.I switch gears and I run my hand up his chest. “Good. I prefer tall and dangerous. Like you.” I purr. I run the tip of my tongue across my lip and his eyes follow the motion.

“Oh really? Gimme a taste.” He pulls me to him and kisses me. I try to relax but honestly, I want to vomit. He smells…wrong.

There’s a sudden growl behind me and I’m ripped out of his arms. I stumble back a step and my hero snarls, “Hands off what's mine!” before he punches the bodyguard. Who honestly was two minutes from death anyway. The guard crumples to the ground.

Two more guys come at us and I see Stanley rushed out by two more guys. “Son of a bitch he's getting away.”

The big guy is in hand-to-hand combat with the two guards so I rush to follow Stanley. Course, the shit luck I’m having tonight he’s long gone by the time I get outside. “Gods dammit!” I yell.

I feel eyes on me and snap my head to the door of the club. The mountain of a man is coming my way. I pull my keys and hop on my bike. He ain't gonna catch me in whatever he's driving. I tear out of there like my ass is on fire. Both the need to find Stanley, and the need to get away from that man, spurring me to push Scar’s limits.

Chapter 7

Jax

After all the years we’ve searched for this fucker, he falls right in my damn lap at the underground fight club. The club I frequent whenever the normal clubs and sweetbutts can’t distract me from the darkness creeping in and the only way to close my eyes is to exhaust myself in the ring until my body gives out. Luckily, that’s been happening less and less these days, so I haven’t been out here in a while.

Once Stanley and his entourage are inside, I sneak over to his SUV and plant the tracker. I don’t plan on letting the fucker get away, but better safe than sorry.

I make my way to the worn metal door and slip inside, nodding my head to the bouncer as I walk past. Looking around, I’m happy to see it’s the same block warehouse I used to come to every week. A beatdown ring sits in the middle of the large open space, surrounded by creeps that pay a hefty price to watch two men beat the shit out of each other. I suppose as a fighter, I shouldn’t judge the assholes that watch me fight, but one thing I pride myself on is never lying. Even to myself.

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