I’m definitely tearing that gown off tonight.
She grinned at me as if knowing what I was thinking.
Okay. Stop thinking about her pussy and back to business.
I tuned out the chatter and music around me, scanning the space and checking each exit.
The waitstaff moved throughout the room, dressed in black and white.
Where are you?
I checked everyone’s faces, burning them to my memory. Zola’s stalker could be here, sitting right next to her or even watching me.
This ends tonight. Show me your face.
Until I found him, I would be suspicious of every person that came near her.
29
And the Mission Was Death
BROKENHEARTED
Tonight, there would be no more questions. No more hiding or running away from the truth of the mission at hand.
The mission was death—pure relief from a life that didn’t have her in it.
The death would need to be swift—not with a gun but a sharpened knife, dotted in the blood of a newly sacrificed goat.
And the death would need black candles and ancient chanting and the tears from one who loved the deceased.
The tears were the most important.
They had to be bottled up and kept for thirty days, fill the jar. The tears would need to be real. True sorrow. Serious heartbreak.
The tears sealed the dead one’s desire as they sat in their jar on the windowsill right as the new moon went up. Those tears would need to remain there—on that windowsill—for all the phases of the moon.
One didn’t half-ass these things.
On the full moon, the mourner would drink what was left of the tears, and they would light the last candle.
So much detail.
So many things that needed to go specific ways.
I’ve been ignored enough now. You have your love, now let me have mine! Where are you?
Tonight, the truth would come.
Soon, the dead would be reunited.
We just needed death,
and then tears.
30
Mask Off
Hunter
The event began.
Stark, Meridian, and Baptiste had not shown up.
Where are they? It’s not like them to not report. Something’s wrong.
I kept my gaze on the crowd throughout dinner and assessed any number of variables that might present a threat. I studied each of the guests’ faces, searching for body language that appeared guilty or with evil attentions directed Zola’s way. No one looked like an obvious enemy. Not that I thought it would be easy to find the stalker this evening.
My body remained tense due to my missing men.
Where the fuck is Meridian? Baptiste? Stark?
I pulled out my phone and dialed all three of the men. No one answered. Sighing, I texted them all.
What’s going on?
A minute later, Stark was the only one to reply.
Stark: I had to leave. It’s an emergency.
Leave New York?
That didn’t make any sense. I’d had Stark’s back since we’d known each other. There was no way he would run off from helping me, unless something had spooked him. I wanted to go outside and call him, but the award part of the charity event was starting.
The lights dimmed. Zola would need to go on the stage soon.
I can’t leave here by herself.
I typed into the phone.
Me: What about the results on the paint?
Stark: This is a very uncomfortable position for me.
What the fuck?! Do you know who did it?
My heart hammered in my chest. I had to maintain my composure as Stone Mason got up on stage and began doing a speech on his commitment to humanity.
I typed again.
Me: If you know anything, you need to tell me now.
I didn’t want to threaten Stark, but I had to. This was about Zola, and no one would bring her harm.
I gritted my teeth and typed some more.
Me: If something happens to her, I will kill you Stark.
Stark: Hunter.
Me: Don’t fuck with me on this.
Stark: Damn it. You can’t tell him.
This wasn’t good. Stark was terrified. Besides me, Meridian and Baptiste were the only men that scared him.
No. All this time, Zola’s stalking was really about me? Why?
Me: STARK!
The crowd laughed.
I jerked my head up, scanning the space and trying to calm myself with this new possible revelation—that one of my own friends was trying to hurt Zola.
My phone buzzed.
I turned my attention to it.
Stark hadn’t sent a text. Instead, he delivered an image of the results. I lifted the phone closer to my face and zoomed in on the picture. Stark had written notes on the page in blue marker.
I read the note. “This is the same paint from Hunter’s training sessions.”
My training sessions?
I thought back to the first year of my company. I’d just been starting. At the time, I only could afford to do obstacle courses in my huge backyard. There, I trained my men, having them hide in the trees, teaching them how to snipe and watch someone without them knowing they were being watched.
My training?
I’d used this red paint the first year to serve as a mark for a person that was killed. I’d stopped using the paint due to Nakita having a skin reaction and breaking out in hives.