Trapped by the Sinister Heirs

Alexis Killing a man shouldn’t require heels this high. But here I am, strutting into a club like I’m on a runway instead of on a job. There’s something about men in suits that makes me want to roll my eyes and throw a drink at the nearest one. Maybe it’s the way they sit there, polished and perfect, like their three-piece Armani isn’t covering bloodstains and bad decisions. And tonight, one suit in particular happens to be my target. The music is loud enough to rattle my ribs, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat. The club smells like sweat and whiskey, which is exactly what I need. A place like this makes it easy to disappear. It also makes it easy to flirt without looking like you’re trying too hard. I snag a shot from a passing waiter and toss it back, savoring the burn that hits my throat. It’s the kind of sting I crave before a job. Good booze always tastes better on someone else’s dime. The glass is empty before I even hit the dance floor. I let my hips catch the rhythm, slow and easy at first, then bolder as the music coils through me. Eyes track the sway of my hips as I move through the crowd, some wearing wedding rings that glint under the lights. It’s almost disgusting, but I don’t pay them any mind. I have my own reason for being here. I’m here for him. Nicholas Blackwell. One of the infamous Blackwell brothers, the men who pull half this city’s strings. He’s dangerous and untouchable, with a reputation for being ruthless in business and reckless with women. I’m not sure what he did to earn a death order, but I’m not paid to care. Sure enough, I spot him, sitting in a corner booth like he owns the place. Which, from what little intel I got, he probably does. He’s leaning back, one arm stretched across the leather seat, talking to another man in a matching suit. Mafia men and their suits, all shine and no soul. I’m not a saint myself. Hell, I’ve got more blood on my hands than this entire club put together. But at least I don’t hide behind silk ties and polished shoes. His companion stands and walks away, leaving him alone. Perfect. I grab another drink from the bar and slip away from the noise, weaving through the crowd until the music dulls to a deep, steady thump under my feet. He’s already watching me when I glance back, his gaze sharp and steady. And damn, he’s hotter than the file photo ever hinted. Too bad he won’t live to see tomorrow. I let my heels click against the floor just enough to keep his attention while I close the distance. His stare doesn’t waver, and that heat rolling off him almost makes me grin. Men like him are always the easiest to bring down, the ones who think they’re untouchable. I lean against his table, tip my head, and let a slow, teasing smile curve my lips. “You look like you need another drink,” I purr, setting the glass down in front of him. His eyes flick to the drink, then to me. He doesn’t touch it. “And you look like trouble.”The words come out gruff, like gravel dragged over velvet. “Good thing you like trouble.” I take a slow sip and smile “You should see me on my good nights.” He chuckles, the sound deep and warm enough to twist something low in my stomach. “Something tells me this isn’t one of them.” “You’re not wrong.” I let my hips tilt just slightly. “But it could be.” Something shifts in his expression, amusement and curiosity maybe, before he reaches out, takes my wrist, and pulls me closer. I don’t stop. I swing a leg over his and boldly straddle his lap. I set my drink down beside his. For a beat, we just stare at each other, breathing the same charged air. “Ballsy,” he murmurs, his hand resting against my thigh. “I like that.” “That’s good,” I whisper, leaning in until our noses almost touch. “You’re going to like a lot of things tonight.” His gaze drops to my mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s already decided how this ends. That’s all the invitation I need. I crash my lips to his, and suddenly we’re kissing like we’re starving. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. I grind against him just to see what he’ll do. He goes rigid for a moment, then groans into my mouth and kisses me harder. God, this is hot. Focus, Alexis. When I finally pull back, I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Drink with me,” I murmur, picking up his glass and pressing it into his hand. He tilts his head back and downs it in one go, never looking away from me. I grab mine and do the same, the liquor burning hot down my throat. A slow smile curls on my lips. He has no idea what he just swallowed. “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private.” His only response is to grip the back of my neck and kiss me like he’s trying to brand me with it. I melt into him before I remember to breathe. His hand slides down my spine, gripping my hip and pulling me tight against him until I feel every hard line of his body. Heat pools low in my stomach, and I start grinding against him before I can stop myself. He groans, deep and rough, and that sound nearly undoes me. I break away with a shaky laugh. “Not here.” His gaze darkens, but he grabs my hand without a word and hauls me toward a roped-off hallway. I follow, my pulse a frantic drumbeat, until we reach a narrow staircase. He doesn’t slow down as we climb, and when we reach a closed door at the end of the hall, he shoves it open and pulls me inside. The room is dim and far from the noise below. Good. I barely have time to take in the amber glow of the single lamp before he kicks the door shut and pins me against it, hands catching mine and lifting them over my head. His mouth finds mine again, hot and demanding, and I kiss him back like I mean it. His hands roam my sides, slipping under my top, fingers digging into my skin as if he can’t get close enough. I almost forget why I’m here. I wrench one hand free and reach behind me, fingers closing around the syringe hidden against my thigh. This is my chance. Except the room sways. At first I think it’s just the adrenaline. Then my vision blurs, the edges smearing, and my stomach twists. A strange heat floods my veins, heavy and slow, dragging me down. No. My pulse spikes, hammering so loud I can hear it over the muffled music below. My fingers slip on the syringe. I try to force my body forward, but my limbs don’t obey, as if I’m moving underwater. Panic crashes over me. I can’t move. I can’t move. He steps back just enough to watch me, his eyes glinting like he knows exactly what’s happening. “You…” The word is slurred. My legs give out. He catches me easily, pulling me against his chest. My fingers still twitch, trying to drive the needle home, but it’s too late. “Relax, little killer.” His mouth curves into a slow, devious smile as he plucks the syringe from my hand like it’s a toy. “You won’t be needing this.” My vision tunnels, the edges going dark. My heart slams frantically against my ribs, but my body won’t answer me. That smile is the last thing I see before the world goes black.