Page 8 of Bred By the Mercenary
“My little dove, don’t ever think that. But I have been waiting for this call. Fuck, it’s at the worst possible time,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “I’m so hard to fuck you, it hurts.” He stares at me, then steals a kiss, the kind that has me momentarily forgetting his weird behavior.
Then the crackling sound comes back, and he’s backing away from me abruptly, tapping his ear.
“Go home, Amelia. It’s for the best. I’ll come find you, okay?”
“Wait, what?” I’m completely thrown off. This sounds borderline stalkerish, and I have no idea what’s going on.
He taps his ear again and mutters, “Fuck!” he mutters. Glancing at me one last time, he quickly blows me a kiss, then turns to the railing. In a fluid motion, he grabs it with both hands while swinging his legs over, then vanishes from sight.
I cry out from the terror and disbelief seizing me. Rushing to the balcony railing, I spot him hitting the ground on his feet. He’s just jumped down from the third floor. Then he’s running into the shadows, disappearing into the night. Standing there, I’m left speechless.
“God, how do I always attract the crazies?”
CHAPTER ONE
AMELIA
“So, when do you get off work?” a bald guy in a faded denim jacket asks, catching my eye as he smirks at me.
I cringe internally but flash him a playful grin as I reach over to collect the empty beer glasses from his table.
“In your dreams,” I quip, the corner of my mouth twitching up in amusement. With a light chuckle, I pivot on my heel, moving smoothly to the next table where a group of rowdy friends are raising beer glasses, signaling some kind of celebration.
The Cactus Canyon Bar is bustling tonight, and I’m on autopilot, collecting and clearing out anything needing a wash, offering my fake smiles as I hurry along. It’s just another night of drunks and pretending I care about their drunken stories.
Then a song starts playing over the speakers, a fast-beat song I remember from the masquerade party several months ago. In my mind, I’m back on the balcony with Daxton. That night, one I can’t seem to shake off, leaves me sighing heavily. It’s like a perfect summary of my luck with dating and meeting guys. It’s why I’ve steered clear of anyone since. Yet, despite everything, Daxton lingers in my mind. Even if he did skip out on me…
Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus on my job and head behind the bar. I set on loading the dishwasher, trying to drown out the song and the memories it brings.
Jessi finishes serving a cider to a guy and comes over to me, nudging me in the arm with her elbow.
“Did you see the news?” she asks, her huge eyes filled with excitement.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just now, look at this!” She pulls out her phone, opens her browser, and shoves it practically in my face. I have to push it back a bit to read what’s on the screen. And there it is, the headline…
Body Found at Cresthill Mansion.
I keep reading the first paragraph.
In a recent shocking development, authorities have launched a full-scale investigation into a murder at Cresthill Estate, believed to have occurred three months ago during its annual masquerade ball. The discovery of the body on the property grounds has prompted an intensive search to identify the perpetrator, with police interviewing attendees and scrutinizing the exclusive event’s guest list. The incident has transformed the once opulent Cresthill Estate into the focal point of a high-profile criminal investigation.
Jessi takes back her phone.
I blink, unable to believe what I’ve read, especially when my thoughts raced to the douche in the corridor, then to Daxton, who had choked him and tossed him outside.
Could he have actually…? No, that’s crazy.
He’d been barely gone for a minute, but then again, Daxton did act strange on the balcony. Suddenly, I’m sweating bullets, but I shake off the thought. I’m just being paranoid.
“Does it say who was killed?” I ask.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “They haven’t released a name yet. But can you believe there was a real-life murder at a party we went to? We might get interviewed… It’ll be like we’re on one of those crime TV shows,” she exclaims with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“This isn’t something to be excited about,” I say, a chill running down my spine.
Giggling, she moves down the bar to serve a customer.