Page 59 of Say My Name

Distraction. Deep down, the rational part of me knows she means a distraction from the funeral, but the irrational part can’t stop thinking about whether I’m a distraction from the boyfriend.

I place my finger under her chin, directing her attention back to me. “Did you do what I said?”

“What?”

“That night you danced for me. Did you go home and slip under your covers?” My voice comes out husky, and I lean an inch closer. “Were you my greedy girl?” My cock pulses to life, and tonight, I’ll need to jerk off twice as hard as the night she danced for me.

“Yes, I was,” she whispers.

I’m so turned on I nearly kiss the fuck out of her, but I know I can’t. Anger blurs my vision.

Goddamn. “Get out of my car,” I snap at her, furious over my weakness.

So weak.

Her eyes flash with anger, her mouth opening and closing like she has something to say, but nothing comes out except a pissed off growl. She finally opens the door and rushes out.

Fuck. I blow out a long, ragged breath. I had to kick her out of my car, because I was too afraid I’d kiss her if she stayed a second longer. Her scent lingers, suffocating me with its innocence, and I yank at my tie, watching her drive away from the gravesite.

She’s taken.

I’m right in kicking her out.

Even if she thinks I’m an asshole. I guess it’s better if she does.

Five days have passed since Luna’s funeral, and I still catch myself expecting to see her in my club. Understandably, it’s a slow Monday night at Club Greed, so the twins and Adele have convened in my office for a meeting. I’d wanted to close the club down, but Ledger and Roman talked me out of it.

They said the only way to catch this asshole is by leaving our front doors open. By placing an enticing jar of honey just inside and trapping him. Hopefully, the fucker is a bee.

“I don’t understand how throwing a party is a good idea,” Adele snips, looking like she’s going to stomp her five-inch heel on Roman’s face. The murders are taking a toll on everyone, and I understand her frustration.

“A party is excellent bait,” Roman answers before puffing his cigar.

Ledger dangles his whiskey glass over the arm of the wingback chair he’s sitting in, wisely letting his brother handle Adele, who is clutching a clipboard to her chest. She loves her clipboards.

“We’re short staffed, if you haven’t noticed. Ebony quit after Luna’s death.”

I move across the room to stare out the window. “I expected more girls to quit. I’m surprised there was only one.”

“I just don’t think we should invite trouble to your doorstep,” Adele says.

I laugh, turning from the window to face her. “It’s already here.”

“Adele, baby, you can’t get mad at Dev for wanting to draw out the killer,” Roman says.

She parks a hand on her hip. “Yes, I can. You’re not Sherlock Holmes. Let the police do their job.”

Roman’s sarcastic laugh booms throughout the room. “Ha. What are they doing?” He stands and moves closer to Adele. “I’ll tell you what they’re doing.” He dips his head down. “Absolutely jack shit.”

“That’s not true. They’re questioning everyone. They’re doing their jobs.” The normally unflappable Adele looks ready to come apart at her designer seams. “They’re building a case.” She pokes him in the chest with a French-tipped nail. “Let them.”

It’s true what she said. There isn’t an employee at Club Greed that hasn’t had the detectives at their doorstep. But there’s nothing to show for it.

I stride to my desk as Roman returns to his chair. “I don’t doubt the police are doing everything they can, but I won’t sit here and not do everythingIcan.”

Adele stares at me for a beat and then sighs. “Fine. What’s your plan for a party?”

“A sinner and saints ball. We can do it next week. Saturday.” Adele jots down notes. “Masquerade style. Make it classy. A grand adventure.”

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