Page 42 of Slaying for Santa
“For fuck’s sake. He can have anyone. Can’t he just let me have her?”
The bouncers glare over my shoulder at Curly, before gesturing to the opening path to the VIP section, and I leave Curly behind, my eyes trained on my target as I approach him, giving my hips extra sway to make sure I seal the deal.
CHAPTER 13
KIT
The fuck is she thinking?!Why would she willingly put herself in danger like this?!
“Which fucking club?!” I roar across the room where Cipher looks like he wants to tear my throat out.
“You know how many fucking clubs there are in Sydney and surrounds? She’s a needle in a fucking haystack, mate! You want me to pull a miracle out of my arse too?” Cipher’s fists are balled tight like he’s seconds away from making it physical.
“Okay ladies.” Doc steps between us with his palms raised. “Take a fucking breath before someone starts bleeding on the floor.”
“You grew up with the fucking hob-knobs of this city, Julian,” I snarl at Cipher. “Where the fuck do the gangsters hang out?”
Cipher’s lip curls, his uppity accent breaking through as he speaks. “What? Because Daddy had a yacht, I must’ve snorted lines with the mobsters at the marina? Get fucked, Kit!”
Before I can throw another word at him, Colt’s hand landsflat against my chest, his ghostly silver eyes locking with mine.
“She’s different.”
Two simple words. But they silence the room, because when Ghost speaks, we fucking listen.
“Different how?” I snap. “Crazy different? Because you don’t need to fucking remind me.” I drag a hand through my hair, pacing.
“Not crazy.” Colt shakes his head. “Intentional.”
I stare at him, trying to decode whatever the fuck that means.
“Mate…” Wes moves up beside me, his eyes trained on Colt. “You keep saying that kinda spooky shit and I’m gonna start thinking you’re clairvoyant. Besides…” he trails off, nudging me with his elbow. “Insulting our leader’s new girl is a bad move, man. She’s already scary enough sober.”
Nobody laughs at Wes’s attempt at humour, Colt’s gaze flicking back to meet mine.
“She’s got deep trauma,” Colt explains. “But also, she creates it in others. I saw it in her eyes.”
The entire room is dead silent for a few long beats, all of us trying to decipher his meaning, knowing it’s important. I just can’t figure out what the fuck he means.
“Pretend we are first graders, Ghost,” Wes urges. “Spell it out for us.”
Colt sighs like we are slow moving idiots and cuts to the point.
“She’s a killer. Either a contractor like us, or… someone who picks victims for herself, following a pattern or routine, and may even leave a calling card.”
I blink.
Then blink again as Wes starts laughing.
“Mate, are you saying she’s a serial killer?”
I roll my eyes. “Bell Bishop is no fucking serial killer. She just likes people to think that, so they give her a wide berth.”
Colt just shrugs. “I’m telling you what I see.”
“Ghost seldom misses on this stuff,” Bruiser points out from his lazing position in the armchair as he tosses a pinned grenade up and catches it again like it’s a fucking tennis ball.
“So… what? You want menotto fucking worry about her?” I snap. “Snake, the fucking craziest leader the Serpents have ever had, not only has my little girl, but has my…”
