I had a one-night stand. It wasn’t my first, but it will be my last.
A gun to the head.
A trained killer.
A deadly conspiracy.
Kidnapped and on the run, my life and death is in the hands of a sadist captor who happens to be my one-night stand. Armed with countless weapons, money, and new identities, the man I call Six drags me around the world.
The manhunt is on and Six is the next target. Can we find out who is killing off the Cleaners before they find us?
Two down, seven to go.
When it’s all over he’ll finish the job that dropped him into my life, and end it.
Stockholm Syndrome meets bucket list, and the question of what would you do to live before you died. The questions aren’t always answered in black and white. Grey becomes the norm as my morals are tested.
Death is a tragedy, and I’ll do anything to stay alive.
Are you ready for the last ride of your life? Six has a gun to your head—what would you do?
Chapter 2
An hour later we hit unlucky thirteen people in our group. Micha’s voice was growing louder with each drink. His hands had already run Sandra off to hide behind Damon, who was in a surprisingly good mood and on his third beer. Dr. Mitchell was deep in conversation with Dr. Alma, as we affectionately called her. It was mainly due to the length of her hyphenated last name.
The glass in front of me was empty, putting me in desperate need for another if I was going to make it through another hour. Up at the bar, I found an empty seat of the now bustling establishment, and waited for the bartender to come my way.
When I had my new drink in hand, I didn’t head back to the table. Instead, I sat, checking the time on my phone along with my social media notifications. Of which I had none. Where were all my friends? After college, we’d all split off. I had a few friends around, but they weren’t people I hung out with a lot. Add to that how my best friend was busy with two-month-old twins, no man in my life, and a homebody was born.
“Anyone sitting here?”
I looked up from my drink, and almost choked on it as I saw the man before me. He was the cliché of tall, dark, and handsome—not the usual guy I attracted.
Not entirely true—Digby was tall, blond, and handsome.
“You.” The word popped out of my mouth, proving I’d reached the happy drunk stage. Marcy did remind me earlier of my loose lips when drinking.
His blue eyes sparkled and his mouth drew up into a smirk. The sharp angle of his jaw was accentuated by what appeared to be a few days worth of stubble. His black suit was not off the rack, and his dark brown hair was long and grab worthy.
“Simon.”
He held out his hand and I slipped mine in. It was rougher than I expected for a man in a tailored suit. Heat flooded my cheeks as I thought of him touching me all over. Rough, strong hands…
“Paisley.”
He set his drink down, ordering another round for both of us, despite both of our glasses still being half full. Then again, they could be half empty, and he was just anticipating their eminent demise.
“What brings you here?” He took a sip of his vodka and tonic, lips pursed together as he swallowed.
The bob of his Adam’s apple caught my eye, and a strong desire to lean forward and lick it took hold.
Months and months with nothing but silicone between my thighs, coupled with the booze and the front zip dress, and I was a tipsy hussy ready to spread my legs for him. Apparently, I wanted to jump the first real cock that showed the slightest bit of interest.
Which is exactly what gets me into trouble.
Then again, it could just be that he was very good looking and seemed interested in having a good time.
“Business. You?”
Another sip of my vodka and cranberry to quench my thirst. “Work party.”
“Sounds…”
“Boring.”
He chuckled. “The rowdy bunch in the corner?”
I peeked over, and sure enough, Micha was on the table doing a strip tease. I shook my head and turned back. Working with the dead, it was probably the first time any of them had lived in months. “I have no idea who those crazies are.”
“I’m better company.”
I quirked a brow at him and took another sip. “Awfully sure of yourself.”
“I have a lot of self-confidence.” He beamed at me.
And I had a lot of ways I was imagining mounting him on his bar stool. “Do you now? Cocky men are not attractive.”
“There’s a difference between confidence and cockiness.”
“Enlighten me.”
His finger traced the rim of his glass, his eyes locked on mine. “They both come from inside, but cockiness derives from a deep seated need for attention to cover up insecurities and secure validation. I have no need for any of those.”
I was stuck, transfixed or maybe hypnotized, by him, unable to look away. “That’s a pretty cocky statement.” Even my words were stunted, low.
The man had me practically panting for him.
A bitch in heat.
Fuck me.