Page 9 of Night for Ruthless Whispers

My text notification sounds then and I check it on the spot, by instinct. It's from Jackson, my business partner. I'm supposed to be the owner on duty tonight.

Sighing, I stand up. “I gotta go.”

“You were serious about not staying the night,” she jokes, covering her cleavage with the sheets.

A grimace furrows my lips. “I'd stay longer if I could, but...”

“Don't worry. I understand. You have nothing to explain to me,” she replies simply.

She stands up, allowing me another glimpse of her perfect body.

I revel in it as I look at her and then shake my head, knowing I must get dressed and leave as soon as possible. The club needs me.

But I can't just leave and walk away from her. I just can't.

“Hey,” I say to Kristine, pulling her back to me.

I take her hand and kiss it long and hard, leaving one of my business cards in her hand.

She looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “What's this?”

“My personal number,” I answer simply, hoping I'm not making another mistake.

Kristine looks at it and nods slowly.

“Don't disappear,” I ask her.

She gives me a small, precious smile. “Ditto.”

Kissing her lips one last time, I silently say goodbye, leaving the room in a hurry, and I walk the silent hallways with barely a glance to the side.

But when I reach the lobby, I discover something that catches my attention. A picture of a man, smiling, holding hands with a child and Kristine gathered to his chest.

Tall, with tanned skin and a perfect smile, dark hair, and an expensive suit. His looks vaguely familiar. And then, suddenly, I realize who Kristine's ex-husband is.

“Brandon Prescott... You didn't mention you were married to a son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself.

The renowned politician, Brandon Prescott, or as he’s known in the underworld: The Chameleon.

“Loved by all in daylight, but in truth...”

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The club thugs, Kristine's reluctance to leave with them, and her fear, as well as her warnings.

To challenge Prescott inside this city is to mess with death. But I don't care.

After all, for the first time in a long time, I think I've found something worth fighting for.

CHAPTER FOUR

KRISTINE

“Come on,Krissy, did you have to challenge me like that?” His voice, colder than the ice underfoot, slices through me.

I sigh, trying to hold back the scream that attempts to leave my lips, a product of my frustration.

Frost nips at my cheeks as I walk in the quiet hush of the winter morning. The air is crisp, clean, filled with the promise of snow, and each breath felt like a fresh start until Brandon called.

My boots crunch over the frost that carpets the path through Central Park. This place, a tranquil sanctuary in the midst of city chaos, has always been my escape.

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