Betrayed 2(232)

I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat.

I said, “Hi, Rick, I’m Sandy.”

“Nice to meet you, Sandy,” he said, letting go of my hand and picking up the empty shot glass. He wiggled it at me. “Do you want another shot or something a little less toxic?”

I held the smile as I stared into his eyes. They were gorgeous, deep blue, with dark irises and long lashes. Everything about him was gorgeous, from his warm smile to the Kennedy jawline to the thick muscles of his shoulders and chest. His brown hair was cut short on the sides and pushed back from his tanned forehead. He had several days’ worth of thick stubble on his cheeks and chin. When he grinned, I saw a mouthful of perfect teeth. There was no silver tooth shining back at me.

“I think I’ll take one of those beers,” I said. My eyes tracked him as he went to the other end of the bar to pull two bottles of Coors from the cooler. His broad back tapered into the narrow waist of his black jeans. His ass was tight and compact. His legs were incredibly long. He was 6’4, according to his dossier. Brent was just 5’9. I towered over him in heels. I had planned to get married wearing flats. If I was standing toe to toe with Rick Wright, he’d tower over me.

He was the hottest man I’d ever seen up close, but he was still a monster. He might not have pulled the trigger that killed Brent, but he was responsible still the same. It was his gang, his deal, his fault.

“So, Sandy, what brings you to the dark side of town tonight?” he asked as he placed a napkin on the bar and set the icy bottle of beer on top of it. He took a step back and brought his bottle to his lips. “Looking for someone or just slumming?”

I took a slow sip of the beer and licked my lips. I had never been a beer drinker, but it wasn’t too bad. I could get accustomed to the taste much quicker than I could tequila.

I let my eyes around the bar to avoid looking at him. There was something in his stare that made me uneasy, like being watched from the shadows by a wolf that intended to devour you the moment your back is turned.

I took another sip and asked, “Why would you think I was looking for someone?”

He shrugged. “Why else would you be here?”

“Maybe I just wanted a drink,” I said with a shrug. I held the bottle between my hands to keep them from shaking. I’d imagined this moment for weeks. I had told myself that I could handle the pressure of meeting him, that I could convince him of the lie, that I could kill him when the time came.

He gave me a knowing look and slowly shook his head. “Nobody comes in here just to drink, Sandy.”

“Why do people come in here then?”

His eyes bounced from my lips to my tits like a pinball. “People come in here to get away, to forget, to get laid, but never just to have a drink.” He held the bottle to his lips and narrowed his eyes at me. “So, which is it for you?”

“Which is what?” I asked, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. His eyes focused on my mouth.

“Are you here to get away, to forget, or to get laid?”

I stared into his eyes and summoned every ounce of courage I had left in my body. He had braced his palms on the bar and stood giving me the eye. The muscles in his thick arms flexed as he drummed his fingers on the bar. I briefly imagined his arms going around me, pulling me to him, holding me tight. Without blinking, I said, “Maybe I’m here for all three.”

A broad smile crossed his lips. He held out his bottle for me to toast.

“Well, Sandy,” he said, tapping his bottle to mine. “You have come to the right place.”



RICK



Sandy quickly drank five beers while we chatted at the bar. She seemed nervous at first; taking pensive little sips like she was trying to make each bottle last. But with each bottle, she drank a little faster. And her lips got a little looser.

I grilled her easy, like a pro, and she answered every question without hesitation. If she was a cop or a mole sent in by the cops, I’d know it soon enough. Then I’d either toss her out on her sweet ass or let Eddie deal with her. Eddie hated rats; even ones as hot as this chick was.

She said her name was Sandra Duval, but she went by Sandy.

She was from here, born and raised.

She said she was engaged for a while, but it ended badly.

She lived by herself in a small apartment across town.

She had never traveled any place fun.

She had made a living cutting hair since high school but was tired of it now.

She liked the taste of beer.

Maybe she’d give bartending a try.

“Do you know anything about tending bar?” I asked.

“No,” she said, snorting. She nodded at Carl, who was standing at the other end of the bar watching a fight on TV. “But how hard can it be?”