Page 10 of Beyond Hate (Beyond #3)

Otto

A month had been too long, but it had taken that long for me to get everything in order.

I secured the money from the accounts Marco told me about—more than enough to take care of myself.

It wasn’t just that, though. I’d had to get control of the urges I had to hurt London.

It had taken me watching him, stalking him, acquainting myself with who London was to trust myself to get close to him again.

And now… well, now all of that careful and meticulous work was washing away as I saw the man’s hand land on London’s hip. My chest was burning—I had memories from multiple lives dancing in my head, and I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever felt like this.

It wasn’t exactly anger. It wasn’t exactly jealousy. It was some odd mixture that drifted in between and told me if I didn’t do something, I’d burn the building down with everyone inside.

London’s expression was wide and just a little terrified, but the slender, older man tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in, whispering something in his ear.

His gaze didn’t leave me as I tilted my head, almost daring him to go through with it.

Like he couldn’t help himself, London plastered on a sweet smile and nodded to the man beside him, leading him toward the rooms in the back of the building.

It wasn’t as though this was some kind of brothel masquerading as a strip club—from what I’d seen while watching and researching London, it was a pretty reputable establishment.

That didn’t change the fact that the man slid his hand through London’s offered arm. I’d watched from a distance—I’d never gotten close enough to see this happening.

It didn’t change the fact that a part of me was pretty sure anyone who touched London was signing their own death warrant.

I stayed where I’d been for another few minutes, wondering whether I could talk myself out of what was obviously a very bad decision.

I’d scouted the place enough to know that the security cameras existed in strategic locations to give the dancers their privacy…

and as long as I moved just right, I could avoid them seeing my face if I pulled the hood of my jacket up.

I could get away with this.

And…

A bigger part of me didn’t care if I got caught, as long as I got my point across first. I still took the time to yank up my hood and leave the building, reentering through the emergency exit in the back that the security guards left propped open so they could easily get in and out when they took smoke breaks.

Amateurs, honestly.

The room London had led the man to was in the area of the building with the most privacy—there were cameras trained on the hallway leading to and from the back rooms, but there weren’t any on the specific doors.

Probably so the men who stayed to blow their load after a private dance could feel like there was at least a modicum of privacy.

Either that or because their emergency exits really shouldn’t have been left propped open. There was supposed to be one way in and one way out, so tracking who’d come back here should have been simple, in theory.

This life, my last life… any life, really…

I was more than happy at ineffective security measures, because they made doing nefarious things so much easier.

Maybe the person this body used to belong to—the one who’d been a true, cold-blooded killer—had gotten up to more misdeeds than I had… but that was fine.

I had the instincts of a boy trained by a cruel mother—the drive of a man reborn and driven mad by some unknown need for revenge.

All of those lives wrapped into one made me the thing my family never could. I was the perfect killer, honed by multiple lives of bloodshed to back up the claim… and I knew without a doubt that I wasn’t going to leave this building tonight without blood on my hands.

It was just a question of who was going to bleed for me. I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore… I just knew every second that London was in the room with that asshole who’d leered at him while he danced, who put his hands on him as soon as he could, was another cut, another tear.

More blood.

Being away for a month had only convinced me further that London, Nikki, whoever the person in that body truly was… he was mine.

It drove me forward silently, and I could hear music coming from two different rooms. I didn’t hesitate, though.

I’d watched London dance. I knew his body.

I knew he preferred a beat that was deep and slow, something that thrummed into your bones, instead of the fast sound pulsing from the room behind me.

I’d been fascinated with the way he seemed to come alive on the stage.

Nikki hadn’t danced, but London moved like he lived in the pulse of the music.

So many ways they were different…

At least I had the forethought to slip on a pair of dark gloves. As much as I wanted to feel the heat of blood soaking into my fingers, there was something I needed more.

I didn’t have to be quiet as I stepped into the room—the slow, grinding pulse of the music London was dancing to covered any sound I would have made. I even took the time to close and lock the door behind me.

The man London was dancing for had his back turned to me. The room was surrounded in mirrors, but his eyes were all for London in pink lingerie, all for the one thing he had no right to look at.

No right to touch.

And his fingers were on London’s hips as he swayed them a few inches above him.

I didn’t think when I moved, I just stepped forward and yanked him out of the chair.

At least I took the few seconds necessary to turn his body, so when I slid a knife across his throat, cutting off a gurgled plea for help with lacerations deep enough to slice through his vocal cords—the arterial spray soaked the mirrors and not the shocked man who was standing there, staring at me with wide eyes.

“You’re not very good at listening, are you, London?”

“Otto—” The gasp that ripped from his throat was cut off with a small shout as I unceremoniously pushed the now limp body to the side and slid easily into the vacant chair.

My brow arched as I looked up at him, my eyes roaming over the little lacy panties and bralette he’d stripped down to as I pulled off my bloody gloves and slipped them into my pocket.

I couldn’t reconcile this image with the one I had in my head of Nikki. Looking at him, I couldn’t see my wayward brother at all. That was the problem, though, wasn’t it?

Even though I couldn’t see Nikki, I still felt that same inexorable draw, the want and need that had gotten me into so much trouble back then. It reared its ugly head and made sure I knew vengeance wasn’t the only thing that had followed me through one life and into the next.

This was here too. I’d felt it at the facility when I’d dragged him to safety.

I’d been so confused then, wrapped up in gunfire and the feel of his mouth on mine—torn between the want to kill Nikki and the need to keep London.

I told myself after that I’d only saved him because I wasn’t finished, but he’d been right before.

I was a liar… and I didn’t like lying to myself.

I wanted him. I’d wanted him while he was trapped in that room. I’d wanted London even when I realized he was nothing like Nikki at all. I’d wanted him in the month I’d been watching him, careful to keep myself away, drunk on learning how he moved in a world without me.

And I wanted him now, dressed in pink lace and looking at me like I was his nightmare come to life.

“I’m pretty sure he paid for the room… Better not make his entire life a waste, London.” I gestured to him with the bloody knife I still held, and his eyes widened. “Go on, dance for me.”

“Otto, I—”

“Did you really think I was going to let you go, little rabbit? I told you I’d come for you.”

Even death couldn’t make me let him go, apparently. And the few weeks we’d been apart? The few weeks I’d been watching him? Knowing he was here? Knowing he was at his apartment with his asshole of a boyfriend who’d left those marks on his face the first night I’d seen him?

Well…

It had nearly driven me crazy. It had definitely driven me to follow him back into this room and commit murder when there was a very real chance that someone might walk in.

I’d have to kill the entire club and everyone in it.

And I realized without missing a beat that I would do it—for a chance to touch London, for the sight of him in the lingerie he wore, his body trembling as he tried to find the rhythm of the music again, I’d kill everyone in the building. I’d burn it down.

For him, not for Nikki.

For London.

My fingers were careful when they reached up, brushing the skin of his exposed hips like I was admiring a piece of art.

It made him shift, brought his eyes up to look at me, and I could see the way his pupils were slightly blown—even though I’d just killed someone—as he stared at me beneath him like he wasn’t sure I was real.

Was this what they’d been talking about in the facility? The shit I’d found in the files I’d been going through the last few weeks?

Fate? Soulmates? Two people meant to meet each other over and over again? It made sense. The body I was in had been drawn to his exact physical type until it finally found London… and I…

I wondered what would have happened if Nathaniel West hadn’t found me, hadn’t brought me back… But that curiosity was pointless, because I knew. I knew what this body would have done to him.

It made my fingers on his hips spasm, and he let out a small moan as my nails dug into his skin.

Right. London liked pain.

My eyes drifted up to meet his, and the shame and fear burning in the depths of his stare was too intoxicating for words. When I splayed my hands and spread my grip across the span of his waist, his body practically melted into mine.