CHA 2

Dean Wason

In a stiffening outfit, she moved with an entrancing loveliness behind the bar. Dean Wason kept her under surveillance, a predator eyeing his prey. Her rippling hair, a deep wine color, framed a face that was acute and smart-looking, the gold in her irises sparkling in the club lights. The withdrawn girl from the photographs he had studied was invisible. This Sama Arthur was a performance, a chameleon. No wonder she'd been so hard to track down.

He marked the hurt in her eyes, a fleeting shadow that recurred as soon as she realized he was there. Good. She was afraid. Up close, she was amazingly lovely, and her scent—honey, caramel, a volatile blend that made his internal Alpha stir—took his breath away. His dick throbbed in his jeans.

Home. The notion was foreign, unwanted. He suppressed the base impulse. Pretty and intriguing as she was, he was not there for that. He was there to hurt Crayons Arthur.

He had tried his usual charm, but she had penetrated it. Most people melted under his regard, but not she. He found it interesting. Perhaps they shared the same gimmick. The flavor of her terror was sumptuous on his palate, a delicious foretaste. He lingered, observing her for a few minutes longer, then dissolved into the throngs, disappearing through Delights' rear door after making a large tip. Not tonight. He wouldn't kill her tonight. Not yet. Perhaps he'd play with her first.

He was one step ahead. Sama Arthur's talkative roommate, Alex Henry, had been a book with pages open. It had not taken him more than minutes to look up her license number when she went outside to pick up her break. He programmed the address into his phone and drove the brief distance to the small apartment complex, which stood hidden behind ancient trees and an empty gas station. Sama Arthur had evidently relocated to the middle of nowhere.

It was simple to open the lock on the most distant unit. He got in before anyone could see him. Ordinarily, he did not go through such trouble. Murder was business, and nobody wished to pry into the affairs of a target. But with her, it was different. 

Sama Arthur's sweet smell hit him immediately. He hadn't bothered to bring light with him until he reached her bedroom, the clean smell growing stronger near her bed. In contrast to the sterile bedroom in Crayons Arthur's penthouse apartment, this room was lived in. Her pictures with Alex Henry adorned the walls. Small, glittering string lights swagged over the bed, alternating with discarded movie posters. A cluttered bookcase huddled next to a closet. It was cozy.

A pang of something akin to guilt jabbed his chest, a wayward thought. He suppressed it immediately. No room for sympathy in his line of work. He smiled, flipping her pillow. A knife gleamed. Paranoid, of course. Anyone would be, where she was. But that tiny blade would not stop him. She'd need one much bigger.

He wrapped the knife and tore open the nightstand drawer, rummaging through its contents. Suppressants. A scarf. A vibrator. His dick jerked again, the explicit image of her in bed, auburn hair fanned out over the pillow, the silicone toy sandwiched between her legs. Focus. He pushed the image away, opening the bottom drawer. In a black case inside, he found it.

He smiled broader. A gun. Small enough to hold in her hand. Cute. Even if she shot him in the heart, he'd get the best of her anyway. He walked over to the closet and began rummaging under a pile of towels. Underneath, a duffel bag of cash. And a wrinkled up piece of paper.

A low growl hummed deep in his throat as he read it. Dickson's number and name. Six digits. The cost his friend had paid for a fresh start. She was going to disappear completely. So would he, if he were she. That she'd managed to get Dickson's number gave her a slender sliver of respect. Slick. Competent. Shame that it was all going to amount to nothing.

He let himself out of her flat as silently as he’d entered, leaving everything exactly as he’d found it. As if he’d never been there.

Sama Arthur

The persistent feeling wouldn't subside. The enigmatic Alpha's face was seared in her memory, his intense eyes haunting her. He must be a stranger, passing by, correct? Searching for a good time, perhaps, or perhaps merely lonely. He doesn't work for your father, she reminded herself hard. He would have attempted to claim you.

But when she opened her apartment door, the familiar queasiness in her stomach churned.

"He tipped you!"" Alex Henry yelled from the living room couch, making Sama jump out of her skin. Alex, already in pajamas, was as bright as a presents-taped package, her blue eyes shining with excitement.

"What?" Sama breathed, still excited. "Who?"

"Dean Wason! The suit-clad guy? The one with the whiskey that you, for some crazy reason, gave to me?" Alex gave her the look of a complete idiot.

Dean Wason. Sama ran through the names of her dad's thugs in her head. Dean Wason wasn't ringing a bell. A tiny wave of relief washed over her.

Then Alex spoke, "He left you a thousand dollar tip!"

Sama stared. "What?"

"It's waiting out there on the counter for you, Sama! A thousand dollar tip!" Alex pointed to a neat stack of money in the kitchen.

Sama remembered how his gaze had pierced through hers, measuring and cold. And she looked at the pile of money. "No, it's yours. You worked with him for the rest of the night." She didn't need his money. Not that kind of money, not from him. There was a sum she needed, she was working on tick, but taking his tip felt wrong. Like signing an agreement she didn't want.

Alex's jaw dropped. "No! He didn't even order anything else. He said to give it to you especially. I said I would when I got home."

A shiver ran down Sama's spine. "You told him we live together?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, but I didn't say where we live," Alex said hesitantly, furrowing her brow, sensing Sama's suffering. "I would never do that, Sama. I promise."

Not on purpose, you wouldn't. Alex Henry possessed the biggest heart Sama was used to. When Sama had responded to her online ad for a roommate, showing up at her door with nothing but a bulging bag and a story of a violent father, Alex had taken her in without question, found her a job, and never asked why Sama only paid rent in cash. Alex Henry was an angel. And she knew only so much of the truth that Sama could share with her without putting her in danger.

"He just gives me the creeps," Sama complained, kicking her heels off and collapsing beside Alex on the couch. "I don't know. The way he looked at me…like he knew me."

"Think he's working for your dad?" Alex leaned in closer, whispering.

Sama scrunched up her nose. "I don't think so. If he did, I wouldn't be here talking to you right now."

"Shit," Alex swore, looking at her hands. "Want me to have Timothy get him blacklisted?"

Off the cuff as it was, Sama shook her head. "No. Timothy did me a solid by letting me work off the books. I'm not going to make any waves."

Alex nodded, though she still looked unsure. "Okay. But just say so, and I'll have security take him out of here on his backside."

Sama came close to smiling. As good as Delights' security team was, she couldn't picture Dean Wason going quietly. There was muscle, honed strength, under that expensive suit. She tried to rid her mind of pictures of his intense stare and wicked smile as she headed for her bedroom.

The moment she stepped in, a wave of chill swept over her. Someone had been in her room. It wasn't Alex Henry. Something was different, weighed down somehow. She remembered her father's abrupt searches, his men going through her belongings, taking things without hesitation. It had been a vile invasion of privacy. And it was all happening again.

She was frantic, rolling over her pillow, a wave of relief washing over her as her hand closed around the familiar shape of the tiny knife. It was hard to break the habit, but having it close at hand was a warped source of comfort. She rummaged through her nightstand drawers. Everything appeared to be in order. Maybe she had dreamed it all. No one was present here, she tried to reassure herself in desperation.

The last thing she did, as always at night, was count her money. Dean Wason's tip lay on the kitchen counter, and there it would stay. Taking it out felt illicit, like signing a contract, a commitment to which she wasn't ready to commit. She was four thousand dollars richer come evening without his kind tip. A few more months, and she could buy herself a new life. Hell, maybe she'd even take Alex Henry with her.

She could do it, be anyone. Go to college, be whatever she could be. She wouldn't let anyone or anything get in her way, not even her paranoia. No one was here. The surprise Alpha with the devastating eyes had just shaken her.

Just in time, a low cramp started in the bottom of her belly, crawling upwards towards her uterus. She clenched her teeth, seething at her body, at her Omega physiology. Her Heat was approaching. And the harder she'd try to think about Dean Wason's glassy eyes, the tighter the cramp.

Stop it! She settled down into bed, battling the rising panic. She climbed into bed, taking slow breaths, trying to will her body to relax. He wouldn't come back tomorrow. He was only a passing traveler. All would be well.

She shut her eyes and slept without dreams, one hand concealed under her pillow, resting on top of the knife handle.