Page 50 of Pink Poison

The sound of the elevator dinging piques my attention enough for me to turn my head in time to see Stevie wearing a mouthwatering, sheer, knit dress that leaves absolutelynothingto the imagination. The fabric dips low on her chest and under her arms to reveal a clear view of the sides of her breasts. I open my mouth to call for her, but the woman with bright red hair from Mo’s walks out of the elevator behind her. Their mouths move fast, too fast for me to keep up with. Based on the looks on their faces, I gather the topic is something I shouldn't interrupt.

I wait until both exit the doors I just walked through before walking up to the concierge desk. Icouldjust break into her room, but that would leaveher vulnerable—more than she already is—and no one wants that, so I'll have a key made. No harm, no foul.

Clearing my throat, I eye the inky-haired girl behind the desk. “Excuse me.”

“I’ll be right with you, sir,” she chirps.

“Take your time.” I smile before glancing down at her name tag.Sirena. “Rinny.”

Her nose scrunches at my attempted nickname. “Only my friends get to call me that, Mr…”

I extend my arm over the desk, offering her my hand. “Kash, and I like to make friends wherever I go.”

“Right,” she drawls, eyeing my hand suspiciously. “What can I help you with today?”

I pull my hand back and nod. She has some good instincts if she's wary of me. “I just need a key made,” I say.

Her nails click over the keyboard sitting in front of her. “Did you misplace your key?”

“Not the word I’d use.” I laugh. “I’m here to set up for my girlfriend’s surprise party.”

She pauses mid-stroke, lifting her brown eyes to mine. “Unless you’re here to use one of the available banquet rooms for a party, I’d suggest you find her and get her key.”

Damn, she's good.

“That defeats the purpose of a surprise,” I tease.

“How do I know you’re not a stalker?” she rebuts firmly. “Or worse, what if you’re a murderer?”

A gravelly laugh forces its way from my throat at how dead-on this woman is. Her lip quirks at my display, likely thinking that I find her joke humorous. I mean, it is, only because it’s true. “I assure you, I am no such thing. I just want to surprise my sweetheart, that’s all.”

I feel the smallest, tiniest pebble of guilt for lying. This girl, if she ever figures out the truth, is going to hate herself for not trusting her instincts. I don't take pride in lying or forcing people to do what I want, unless they deserve it. Unfortunately, I'll keep doing it for Stevie.

“Okay,” shefinallyrelents. "I need her name so I can look up her account.”

“Stevie Waters, though if you took her ID, it would be under Stephanie Waters.” I smile as I recite blondie’s name like I was born to say it.

“Found her. It looks like she’s in room 333.”

I already knew what room she was in when I walked her to her door last night, but I don't say anything. Her hands move on what looks like auto-pilot, grabbing a blank card and swiping it through the metal strip to code the key. Without looking back up, she hands me the key card. “Don’t make me regret giving this to you.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Turning on my heel, I walk towards the elevator with lighter steps. The doors closed promptly behind me as if they sensed someone had entered. Brushing my finger along the third-floor button, my weight is tossed in the cab as it speeds upwards to my destination. Within seconds, the doors open, revealing a simply decorated hallway. Stepping out from the elevator, I follow the numbered sign that directs me where to turn to reach the appropriate room. I round the corner, meeting her room.

Key in hand, I swipe it over the door until the small sensor turns green, allowing me access. The second the door clicks open, I suck in a deep breath and bask in her scent.Vanilla.The irony is not lost on me that she wears something so simple and inapt for her personality. Chuckling to myself, I walk through the room, not bothering to turn the lights on.I won’t be here long enough to need them.

Clothes and shoes sit scattered around the room without care, and her bed is unkempt. A genuine smile threatens to take over my face with theknowledge that blondie is a hot mess in her own space. I step closer, my eyes honing in on the gift box on her bed. “Motherfucker,” I growl.

Lifting the lid, a card withAngelwritten on it mocks me. My teeth grind together as I flip it open to see Hill’s flowery ass handwriting, depicting instructions to wear the clothing he sent for theirdateat Le Papillon.Creed Hill just made one hell of an enemy.He knew she was offfuckinglimits. Hell,sheknew she was off limits. I understand her anger at the club, particularly with Mack and Graves, but to put herself in the hands of someone who has the ability to hurt her—to ruin her for the sake of pissing us off…if I didn't think she'd like it, I'd spank her ass raw for this.

Her door slams shut behind me as I rush down the hall towards the stairs. If I have any chance in hell of catching her, I need to move faster. I jump down the stairs four, five at a time until the emergency exit comes into view. Without a second thought, I plow my shoulder into the door without a single care that I triggered the alarms.

My world becomes a blur in a blink. I barely have a second to register that I'm on my bike, flying out of the hotel parking lot like a bat outta hell. How could I when the only thing on my mind is finding Stevie and putting a bullet through Creed Hill's skull? It doesn't matter that it's broad fucking daylight out—if I see the bastard, hewillmeet his twisted ass maker. I didn't make her wear my cut last night for nothing. It was a warning and a promise, all wrapped around her sexy ass body for every single heathen within the walls of Lennon's club to see. They may be allowed to see her body—desire it, even. But, they willneverget to touch her.Ever.

My knuckles turn white while I grip the handles harder before pushing fifty over the city limit. Dread creeps through my muscles, tensing them until my entire body aches as I weave in and out of traffic like I'm not one wrong move from becoming roadkill. What should be a cool, twenty-minute ride quickly turns into a ten minute one, forcing me to slow as I whip down the oddly busy street. Pumping the brakes, I slowly roll to astop in front of Le Papillon, just in time to see Atticus Lennon step out from the doors.

Fucker.

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