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“I’ll have those right up,” Alexandra says. Seconds later, the full tray slides across the bar and Striker picks it up.
“Thanks, Smokey,” he says. “You going to join us, or you good here?”
I look from the table with the rest of the MC and to Alexandra, who seems disinterestedly interested, a mirthful twinkle in the corner of her blue-gray eyes.
“I’m good here.”
He leaves, and I turn back to my beer and Alexandra. I finish one while thinking about the other, and she refills my glass just as soon as I put it down. Not long after, I hear the guys behind me wrapping up and it isn’t much later that the bar gets empty.
Next thing I know, Alexandra’s calling out, “Fifteen minutes to closing time. Get your last orders in now or stow your complaints until I see you all tomorrow.”
Drink orders come in, Alexandra’s a whirl of activity filling the last thirsty demands of the other customers. I’m content to sit in my seat, watching her ass move in her jeans as she fills glasses. When the last order is filled, she turns to me with a twisted, tantalizing grin on her face.
“Fancy a nightcap before we round things out? Something special to set the mood for later?”
It’s so damn easy, so damn refreshing. Exactly the distraction I need.
“I could take a drink.”
The twisted smile on her face turns into a full-blown Cheshire grin, and she pulls a few bottles down from the shelves and a small bottle of something else from beneath the bar. Her hands are a flurry of activity as she pours the liquids into a cocktail shaker and shakes it with an exaggerated flourish that makes her tits bounce, then pours the contents into two glasses, and slides one to me.
“This one’s my own recipe. I call it ‘Closing time fun.’ I’ll be back for mine once I get these assholes to settle up their tabs.”
She disappears for a second, waving and calling for the remaining customers to settle up. I grab my glass and take a sip and a smoky burn crosses my tongue and fills my belly. In moments, my cheeks are tingling and my world feels pleasantly numb. This drink tastes like it’s part rocket fuel. Things get hazy as the last customer pays his tab, and behind me, I hear the bouncer stack the chairs on the tables. Then he wishes Alexandra and me a good night.
I want to answer, but my tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of my mouth.
I blink, and it takes monumental effort to re-open my eyelids.
What the fuck is happening?
The door slams as the bouncer leaves and Alexandra comes around the bar to stand in front of me. Casually, she picks up her glass and pours the contents down the sink.
Then she slaps my face.
I don’t feel a thing.
Though I’m frozen, my heart is going a million miles a minute while Alexandra looks at me with a triumphant smile on her face.
“You’re probably confused about what’s happening. Don’t be. Like I said before, I believe in straightforward communication: I’ve drugged you, Dixon Green. I’ve drugged you, and I’m going to kill you.”
Chapter Three
Alexandra
Finally, I’ve got him.
It took time, patience, and so much work to get to this point; to find his name, his new motorcycle club, where he lives, where he drinks — not to mention getting a job where he drinks — just to get here. Night after night, when my body ached and my heart felt like nothing more than an aching dead weight in my chest because I’d worked another shift and he’d been there, drinking, laughing, carousing, and all I could do is watch as he lived it up, remorseless, I’d fall asleep envisioning this very moment: him, drugged, slumping face down against my bar, drool dribbling from his mouth, his eyes fluttering, fighting to stay open, full of confusion, full of anticipatory fear, all while the lights are out and no one is around to hear him scream.
I’m so happy I could cry.
Because tonight, I’m going to make him suffer.
Tonight was the first night he noticed me, though I’d been worried for so long he might recognize me. Not that we’ve seen each other face to face before I started working in the bar, but he’s seen others in my family and I’ve been told times before that we share some resemblance. I’m happy he didn’t recognize me, because that would’ve ruined everything. If he knew who I was, he’d probably have killed me.
As it is, he has no idea who I am or what I plan to do to him — well, actually, I suppose he has some idea what I plan to do to him since I did just tell him I’m going to kill him, but he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know how, and all of that is going to be so sweet.
I’m going to draw it out. I’m going to enjoy this.
