Page 47 of Slaying for Santa
“My place. Just like I told you before,” he grumbles this time, the charming persona he spoke with when we were chatting in the VIP area of the Prince Hotel now long gone.
I giggle like a clueless idiot. “Oh, I know that, silly.” I slap his thigh playfully. “I mean, where is your place? What suburb are we in?”
“We are still in Greater Sydney, love,” he says, tucking his now flaccid dick back into his pants. “That’s all you need to fucking know.”
I want to stab the creeper now. It takes everything in me not to. But I know I can’t. Not yet. I need him alone and to find out where Libi is. And only then can I make him pay.
Clutching my purse at my side, I let him roughly drag me from the car like I’m his prisoner, not his guest, and the two bouncer dudes appear by the entrance door, like they magically teleported from the pub.
I’m hoping my poker face is well in place right now, because on the inside, I’m definitely frowning.
How the hell did they beat us here?
They weren’t in the car with us. They must have been ahead of us, but then again, they were standing in the parking lot when we pulled away.
This is not my first rodeo, so it’s entirely possible that while Snake kept me busy with my head in his lap, unable to see the passing streets out the window, the fifteen-minute drive could well have been a series of blockies to kill time and throw me off.
It’s the only way to explain why the bouncers are here before us, which means we are still in Cronulla. Or close to it.
That also means I’m still a long way from Kit.
Snake leads me into a house that was absolutely built in the eighties and hasn’t seen a lick of redecoration since. The bouncers follow as I’m led with a strong grip around my upper arm, down a long hallway, passing a kitchen where a group of thugs bag up coke, before leading me into a long narrow living room.
My eyes instantly find the lines of white powder on the table, like they were left behind like leftovers from dinner.
Instantly my mouth goes dry, and I drag my gaze from the coke as my heart begins to race.
Just don’t think about the coke, Bell. Think about the kill. How good that rush will be.
“Drink?” Snake asks, moving to a small rickety drinks trolley.
“No thanks. I’m good.” I smile sweetly when he glares over his shoulder at me.
“I thought we came here to party,” he hisses, and I lazily smile while waving him off, moving to the bay of windows to peer out into the night.
Where the hell am I?
“I’ve already had so much to drink,” I lie. “Any more and I’ll be a lazy lay.”
He doesn’t even laugh.
Fucking hell. Tough crowd.
“One more won’t hurt,” he remarks, and the finality in his tone has me stiffening.
Shit. This guy is either paranoid, knows why I’m really here, or is a worse predator than I thought.
Refocusing my eyes, I stop looking out the window and look at the reflection on the glass, watching him pour two glasses of scotch or whiskey, and then proceed to break apart a capsule into one of them.
Shit.
Not only can’t I drink the alcohol, but he just spiked it with something that I absolutely can’t have. I’m sober, for fuck’s sake. I can’t drink that. I can’t!
My heart thrashes wildly in my chest as panic for the second time today grips me.
It’s been years since I’ve felt this out of control. One night in Kitson Hall’s bed and I’m a fucking mess. I should be able to handle this situation. Instead, it’s freaking me the hell out.
Where the hell is the killer in me when I really need her?
