Allison Brennan - Killing Fear

Before she could even reach the doorknob, he grabbed her from behind. She kicked and bit at his hand. Feisty bitch. Too little, too late. He’d always been stronger, and prison made him more so. Be strong or be killed.

Sherry had been such fun for him to torment over the years. Then she’d betrayed him in the worst way. Shared their private games with the world. Told everyone he was sick. Thought she’d have the last laugh. Wrong.

He wasn’t sick. He acknowledged that he was probably evil, but doing whatever he damn well pleased was so much fun. But sick? Hell no. That accusation had grated on him for years, as if something were wrong with him.

He’d pay her back for turning against him.

He whispered in her ear, “You thought you were going to get away with talking? Sis, I told you I’d kill you. Now you’re dead.”

He snapped her neck, holding her close to him while she fell slack, then dropped her dying body to the concrete floor. He knelt over her, looked into her eyes as they lost focus, faded, taking satisfaction that he was the last face she’d ever see. Sherry’s face was frozen in fear, her mouth open, silently moving, blood trickling from the corner.

He stood, found the cat where he’d dropped it, and tossed it on Sherry’s body.

One down.

He almost left, but had an idea. Something that would fuck with William Hooper like a bitch in heat.

Theodore went into his dead sister’s house as if he owned the place and quickly got to work. He had a message for William. The only thing he regretted was that he wouldn’t be here to see his face.

But he couldn’t hang around too long. He had places to go. First the library in downtown San Diego.

Glenn had left something there seven years ago, and couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. When Hooper saw it, he would go through the roof.

Robin left the gun range an hour later with renewed confidence. She could defend herself if she had to.

Before she left, Hank said, “Robin, you should consider hiring a bodyguard.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“What about added security for the club? What about the people who work for you? Glenn is a sadistic killer. He wants to hurt you, and the best way to do that is hurt those around you.”

Like he did last time.

She cleared her throat. “Can you recommend anyone?”

Hank flipped through his Rolodex and came up with a card. “Take it, I have more. Tell Mario I sent you.”

The card was blank except for MEDINA SECURITY and a phone number.

“Thanks.” She pocketed the card and left.

She ran some errands, then went to the club. What else could she do? Sit home and do nothing but be scared? She certainly couldn’t paint with the fear and worry consuming her.

Today there was a private lunch at the Sin. Laughter and good humor emanated from the special dining hall. That was the way the game was played at The Eighth Sin. Leave your problems at the door and have a good time.

The atmosphere was sexy, the allure was sensual, but no stripping, though she allowed it for private bachelor and bachelorette parties. It was all image. All on the outside. The public persona.

Much like her. Few saw the real Robin McKenna. That was the way she wanted it. Needed it.

Screw the men in her life. Seriously, what did she expect from them? First her father got her mom pregnant and told her to have an abortion because he didn’t want to pay for a kid. Then her first college boyfriend who, when he found out she was a stripper, brought all his friends to watch her perform. And did she give the performance of her life, before breaking up with him. The problem was that word traveled fast and just because she was a stripper, the guys on campus thought she’d be an easy lay.

She’d become a stripper in the first place to pay for her college education. Her first week on campus she’d answered a casting call for dancers in a school production. She’d gotten the part, but the rehearsals conflicted with her schedule and she reluctantly backed out. The production’s dance instructor, Brandi, told Robin that she moonlighted as a stripper and thought Robin would fit in at RJ’s. “And RJ pays well. You do your job, you get paid a helluva lot more than waitressing at some grease pit.”

At first, Robin didn’t think she could do it. But she found she had a knack for putting on a show. For creating an image that she wanted people to see. She put up necessary shields to protect her from the catcalls and the letches, and she danced so well she made great tips and RJ was happy. Or as happy as the sour old man could be.

Robin kept her two lives separate after that first boyfriend humiliated her. She never told the guys she dated what she did, and since she was in college they didn’t always assume she also had a job. The lack of honesty bothered her, but her heart needed to be protected. In her childish fantasies, she believed that when she fell in love, when someone loved her, it wouldn’t matter that she was a stripper working her way through college.

She’d kept the secret from Sean for over a year. They were in love. He proposed when she was a senior in college and he was a pediatric resident at a local hospital. He loved her, said he loved her, and wanted to marry her. So she told him the truth.

“Slut.”

She could still hear him whisper that word with such hatred and disdain.

She pushed back the tears. What had she expected? She’d taken her clothes off in front of men for money. Money to pay for college and help support her mother, but as Sean pointed out so crudely, she could get a different job that didn’t require her showing horny men her tits.

How could love turn to hate so fast?

Sean had been the last man in her life for a long, long time. Until she opened her heart just a little, just enough to make it bleed again.

She opened the club’s back door and walked down the hall to the Back Room. And there he was, sitting alone at her bar. In her club.

She’d seen Will Hooper on the news, but that was nothing compared to his physical presence. She couldn’t swallow, could barely move, her heart pounding loud in her ears, her eyes dry. He saw her at the same time, put down his coffee mug, and stood. He was tall, over six feet, lanky, and far too sexy. He could have been a model, with those GQ good looks, sun-bleached brown hair cut short on the sides and longer on the top, strong jaw, and dark ocean-blue eyes. But he wasn’t a sex god or a model, he was a cop. A cop who hadn’t trusted her, even when she thought he understood her. A cop who hadn’t loved her as she had loved him.

Robin realized that her act, her public persona, was all she had. No one believed she had anything inside, anything that needed love and respect and care. All she was to men was a body, a smile, and a wink. And whose fault was that? Stripping had been her choice. She had only herself to blame.

“Hi, Robin.”

She walked behind the bar, putting the solid mahogany counter between them. She pulled a water bottle out of the cooler. Opened it. Drank half of it. Tried to slow her racing heart, cool her hot blood.

He’d hurt her, betrayed her, and still she reacted to him. Still she remembered his lips on hers, felt his hands on the back of her neck. She’d once felt like she was the only person in his world, the only woman in his universe.

An act. Like her, Will Hooper was all about the attitude. The public act. Did he care about anything or anyone other than himself?

“Shouldn’t you be out looking for a certain psychopathic killer?”

His jaw tensed. “I’m heading the task force-”

She cut him off. “I saw the news conference.” She wanted him out of her club. Her emotions were too exposed, her fears too raw. She could picture herself falling into his arms, letting him hold her. Touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her. In Will’s arms, she had felt safe. Real. Loved.