Free Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) by S. Ann Cole Page A

attempt at eradicating Chadrick Niiveux’s existence.
    Hence I was back to square one. And I had no damn doubt it would only get harder from here on out, because now that someone had tried to lodge a bullet to his brain, he was likely going back to having no shadows or footprints.
    See, over the past three weeks, all of a sudden, he’d developed a pattern; leaving traces, which made it easy as lying to trail him, easier for me to plan, know where he was going to be and at what time.
    I’d found it strange at first, considering I’d been studying him for all of six months and had never once gotten that kind of opening. It almost seemed as if he was deliberately leaving himself open. And I didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. I saw the opening, I took it…
    And I failed.
    I wanted out of this life. But knew I’d never get an out unless I succeeded.
    My nightly shivers were coming back. Since Sydney had left, I’d been sleeping by myself and the loneliness was haunting me. Driving me insane. For sex, I screwed around with the club girls, and ordered call-girls a couple of times.
    Otherwise, I was stuck being alone. Feeling claustrophobic in my apartment, as sleek and spacious as it was. And, mentally, it was taking a toll on me.
    Catching sight of the tall Indian stripper—the only one allowed up the stairway when Chad was at the club—approaching me, I uncurled my feet from beneath me.
    This particular stripper watched me constantly—not in a sexual way—and she thought it wasn’t to my knowledge that she did. I long deduced she was a spy for Chad.
    As she reached up to my booth, I straightened up and put my slut face on.
    “Hey, Blood.”
    I didn’t answer. Instead, I made a show of biting my lip and raking my eyes up and down her body. Though she wasn’t really my type. She was too lithe, too soft. I liked women who had a bit of firmness in the right places. But, hey, for all I knew she would probably be a better fuck than ‘my type’.
    Around my height, she had extremely long, jet black Indian hair, dark eyebrows and even darker lashes. And to say her lips were full and sexy was an understatement. They were damn near eatable.
    Indian Girl shifted in a wave of nervousness, watching me with careful eyes. “Um, I—”
    “I’m bored and horny,” I cut in. “Let’s fuck in the back room.”
    Eyes widening a small fraction, she quickly glanced around as though checking if anyone overheard our convo. Then she licked her lips, uneasy, bosom notably rising and falling heavily as a result of the change in pace of her heartbeat. “I’m sorry, I don’t do gir—”
    Faster than she could think to defend herself, I shot up and grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her, then slammed her face-down on the leather-covered seat in the booth.
    Stretching my body out along the back of hers, I swept her long mane over her shoulder and bit her lobe before whispering in her ear, “I don’t ask women to fuck me. I tell them to, and they just do it because they can’t fucking resist me. Like you won’t be able to, tonight.”
    She wiggled beneath me with a muffled protest, but I kept my body over hers in a sturdy but passionate way to create the illusion to others who might be watching that we were making out. “What’s your name, pretty Indian?”
    When she stubbornly didn’t answer, I pulled on her twisted arm and she yelped, but the club music was loud enough to drown it out.
    “I asked you a fucking question.”
    “Nadia,” she squealed into the seat. “My name’s Nadia.”
    “Are you a spy for the boss?”
    “No,” she said right off the bat.
    I pulled her arm tighter. “Tell me the fucking truth. Are you a spy for the boss?”
    She whimpered. “No.”
    “Then why are you the only one allowed upstairs?”
    Her answer was slow in coming this time. “I…have sex with him.”—Too late to be true—”We have an arrangement, and whenever he comes here, it’s only for me to fulfill his sexual