Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance - Riley Rollins Page 0,19

body. I think it makes me an accomplice to murder, or something like that.

But I know why I'm staying instead of bolting. Havok. He's the only reason.

I feel strangely unemotional as I watch droplets of blood trickle down from Brock's head. The flow is tapering off, and a metallic smell rises from the hot, bloody blacktop.

My heart skips a beat as I hear the door open behind me. I whirl around, my chest pounding, not knowing what I'll do if it's a dancer from the club.

But it's Havok, thank God. And his arms are full of... cleaning stuff. As if this is a kitchen mess that needs to be mopped up.

He holds the door open with his foot. "Get your stuff. Clock out."

I'm getting scared, and doubts creep into my mind. "Why are you involving me?" I say. "I didn't kill him."

"You're a witness."

"L-let me go," I stutter. "I won't tell anyone."

But part of me wants to go with Havok. This is the man I've been dreaming about for so long, who makes me horny as a schoolgirl, who's pure danger. And he's just saved me from Brock like I always wanted him to. It just happened way differently than I expected.

He shakes his head. "I can't take that risk."

I guess it's not even my choice, then.

I hesitate a moment longer, but he interrupts my thoughts. "Go!" I push my fears and doubts aside, scurrying back into the club. Inside, I can barely see, my eyes having adjusted to the outside sunlight.

In the heat of the moment, I'm trying to imagine life without Brock. And even though I know it'll be better in every way, I can hardly fathom it. I'm like a prisoner who's been released after decades in jail, who's more scared of going outside than staying inside.

Mackenzie is up on stage, and gives me a quizzical look as I enter the club from the back alley, half naked. I try to look casual as I march toward the dressing room, praying that no one uses the back exit while Havok's cleaning up out there. No wonder Mackenzie's giving me funny looks. It's supposed to be me up there right now. She's probably pissed.

I rush backstage and open my locker with trembling fingers. I've changed into jeans and a t-shirt when I hear Igor's voice behind me.

"Where the hell were you?"

I spin around, clutching my purse. "Igor... I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well."

He eyes me suspiciously. "You lying to me?"

I stare at my feet. I feel like every action is under scrutiny, that I must have guilt plastered all over my face. I'm paranoid.

"I'm sorry. I feel really sick." I look at him with puppy-dog eyes. The best way to get mercy from Igor is to suck up to him and let him know he's in charge.

"Fine," he says with a dismissive wave. "Be here tomorrow night, or you're out of a job."

"Okay," I say, and he exits the dressing room. Something seems off about him today, but I can't put my finger on it, and I don't have time to think about it.

Shaking, I grab all the pills from my locker—a bottle of maybe thirty or forty—and slam it closed.

I head back into the main club area, slinking around the stage without looking anyone in the eye. When I get to the exit, I take a deep breath and push it open.

Outside, the bloody scene in the alley has disappeared. There's no sign of Brock's body. Havok wears long rubber gloves, and is pouring bleach all over the ground, which is running off into a storm drain.

"What did you do with him?" I whisper, my eyes wide.

Havok grunts and nods toward one of the metal trashcans.

"Oh my god." I take a deep breath. "What happens now?"

He stands up straight and stops pouring. "We're getting the hell out of here. I'm claiming you."

14

Havok

"You're what?" she says, exasperated.

"Claiming you. Protecting you."

I snap the rubber gloves off and start to open the trashcan's lid. But I hesitate. Penny doesn't need to see this mess. So I turn my back to her, blocking her view, and crack the lid just wide enough to slip the gloves inside. Then I let it fall shut with a clang and turn around.

She clutches her purse uneasily, holding it in front of her as if to protect herself from the scene she just witnessed. "Protecting me from what? You?"

The poor girl has no clue she was about to be sold to an international human trafficking