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Enter my brother. Gris is the kind of handsome that makes girls go mental. Preston Wingate never stood a chance. In a matter of days, Gris had broken up the engagement and claimed Arabella for himself.
That part that shocks me is how sincere he seems about her. How earnest. She must have a magic pussy.
None of my brothers are men with a lot of emotional depth. Me least of all, but that’s a completely different and really fucked up story.
What matters is that when Arabella broke up with Preston, he beat the shit out of her. And people think I’m a sociopath.
That’s when Gris decided that Preston had to die.
Imagine my luck when my two projects—the Russians and Preston Wingate—became a two-for-one.
And the fact that they’ll kill Preston, while I learn how to take them out? Could the situation get any better?
But that’s when I hear the door from the restaurant that leads into the alley rattle. Fuck.
One of the staff must be taking out the trash.
The Russians are ruthless and anyone who gets in their way disappears.
Which is fine by me, I couldn’t give a shit about who dies, as long as it’s not her.
There’s this one waitress who I can’t help but watch every time I’m here. It’s the way she moves, the sound of her voice, the curve of her smile. Chloe, is what the other waitresses call her.
I still haven’t decided if I want to fuck Chloe or dirty her up in far less wholesome ways, but I have no intention of letting these fucking Russians put their hands on her before I decide.
The Russians melt into the shadows and Preston ducks behind the dumpster.
A cook comes out, whistling as he goes, tossing two large bags up and over the side of the dumpster.
The sound of them hitting the bottom echoes through the alley, as the cook goes back inside, locking the door behind him.
As for me…
I’ve seen enough. If the Russians don’t take care of Preston in the next week, I’ll do it myself.
He’s ceased being useful to both me and them. Poor pitiful Preston.
I’ll keep watching the Russians right here at the bar. It’s been very handy, what I’ve learned here.
And then I can keep an eye on Chloe too. What did Gris say I was doing? Playing with my food?
A salacious grin tugs at my lips. Yeah. That sounds about right. When it comes to my little waitress, I think I’m definitely ready to play and it’s… Game. On.
CHAPTERONE
Chloe
“Sweetheart,”some swinging dick from the corner booth waves a hand at me. He’s like most guys in this place with his slicked-back hair, expensive Italian loafers and a gut from too much pricey bourbon hanging over his equally expensive belt. “Another round.”
“Of course,” I smile and nod as I turn and hustle to the bar. Mike is working tonight and he’s one of my favorite bartenders because instead of also being a jerk, he’s funny. “Hey, Mike, two more Macallans, please.”
“Twelve?” He responds with a wink.
“Oh no, those guys only drink it if it’s been aged eighteen.” I smile back.
He shakes his head with a low whistle. “Good tips for you tonight.”
I hope so. I need them. While the spring semester is almost over, I’ve got one more to go in the fall before I graduate. I have to pay monthly in order to cover the costs my scholarship doesn’t, so it basically means I’m always making payments to the school and my next payment is due next week. And that’s the late deadline.