“I still don’t like it,” Tyler grumbled. “Something feels off.”
“Have either of you ever seen Rourke in person?” I asked curiously.
“Nope, he was around before my time,” Tyler said.
“No,” Danny added. “But I’ve heard my fill about the wanker.”
“Do you actually believe all the rumors?” I asked. “Some of the stories about Connor Dade are so outlandish. Tying people up by their entrails? Severed body parts spelling out words? Some of that has to be fiction. It’s just too creepy to be true.” It was common for mercs to inflate their profiles—plant stories to make them seem worse than they were. Fear went a long way in keeping yourself on top, and it sounded like Rourke had plenty of years behind him to do just that. If nobody ever saw him, it would be easy to fabricate stories of grandeur.
Tyler grunted. “I don’t need to believe any of the stories. I’ve seen pictures.”
“What pictures?” I asked.
“Of some of his kills.”
“Where did you get a hold of pictures?” I made a face. “How do you know they were his?”
“Doesn’t matter. The man’s a brutal-ass bastard.” Tyler folded his arms.
“Hmm,” I said. “Sounds a little unsubstantiated to me. I could hand you any photo I wanted and give you a good story. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“I’ve seen glimpses of the pictures too,” Danny said, ignoring me. “In one, the dead bloke was missing all his fingers. Every one of them had been cut down to the nubbin, each to a different knuckle. And on the middle stump he left a finger puppet behind.”
“What kind of finger puppet?” I asked out of grotesque curiosity.
“The bloke’s own nose with a smiley face drawn on it.”
Jesus.
The restaurant was covered in sleek, hard lines, and the walls were coated with dark paint. The lighting was minimal, giving it a calming ambiance, and it was packed to the brim.
I pushed my way through people waiting for tables and veered left toward the bar. We hadn’t specified dining options, but I figured the bar would be the best place to check first.
Is he there? Tyler asked in my mind. He was on edge. None of the wolves had scented a fresh supe trail anywhere around the building. If he was here, the cat had snuck in without the wolves knowing. And no one was happy about it.
Gimme a minute. I just got in here. My wolf was on high alert. As I worked my way through the crowd, I scanned the room for possibilities.
Then I spotted a lone shape at the end of the bar. He was huge, so it was a likely pick. He was clad in a black leather jacket, his forearms splayed casually on the bar, a tall draft beer sitting between them. The well-worn leather he wore was in stark contrast to the yuppie dress clothes around us.
I wove my way toward him slowly. I think I have him.
Be careful. If it’s him, ask him how the f**k he got there without us knowing, Tyler griped.
First things first, little brother.
His guy’s head was angled down, but as I eased closer, it swiveled without hesitation in my direction.
His eyes lit on me.
Then he smiled.
My stride hitched momentarily. Holy Christ. That can’t be Rourke. I recovered myself by the next step, thankfully.
What? What do you mean? Tyler asked.
Um. Nothing, it’s just … he’s not what I was expecting a killer to look like. This man oozed power, it was true, but he was beautiful. Honey-colored hair brushed his collar in the back, and he had a set of the clearest eyes I’d ever seen. Even from a distance, I could see they were ringed in a sliver of deep green. They were completely breathtaking, and most definitely not on any normal color chart.
Snort. Who cares if he doesn’t look like a killer, just be sure—
Tyler, I have to go. I’ll get back to you. I cut him off with a single thought.
Rourke’s gaze intensified as I came closer. I blinked a few times, but refused to look away. I slid onto the empty barstool next to him and sat down without being asked.
He appraised me with open curiosity. More than a hint of humor flashed behind those ridiculously gorgeous eyes. Up close his skin was flawless, tanned deeply from the sun. He had a short blanket of blond stubble running over a defined chin.
So not what I was expecting.
His power vibrated around me, sending little pinpricks of energy into my skin. It came from somewhere deep inside him, I could sense that much. He was old, there was no question. Power like that took a long time to accumulate.
“Hello, Rourke,” I said, taking in my first full breath of him. I almost choked as my nails shot into the underside of the bar to steady myself. Hoooooly shit. My wolf started barking incessantly. Quiet, I can’t think. Be quiet!
He smelled like the woods, like I’d originally guessed, but there was no fresh-cut grass about him. What emanated from him was thick, dark, and rich, like some kind of molasses mixed with cloves. Its deliciousness made it hard for me to concentrate. My wolf was still yipping excitedly. You have to calm down. We look completely unprofessional and he’s not going to take me seriously if we keep this up. Get a grip. She quieted begrudgingly so I could get down to business.
Rourke shifted in his seat slightly, turning his body to face mine. He gave me an unabashed once-over without uttering a word. By the amused expression on his face—a lazy grin highlighting two faint dimples—he recognized my distress, indicating that this kind of reaction to him was par for the course.
“Pompous ass” came to mind.
He caught me off guard by extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Hannon. Your reputation for being the best in the business precedes you.” His voice held the same deep bravado I remembered and a tingle wound its way up my spine. The accent was more discernible in person, but I still couldn’t place it. Possibly South African?
I contemplated shaking his outstretched hand. Or not shaking it. I’d already lost valuable street cred by acting like a babbling teenager, so I grabbed on to his hand and was rewarded with a jolt of power up my arm. Dammit. I clenched my teeth and tried to ignore it. I couldn’t risk any more foolishness. “If my reputation precedes me, then let’s cut the shit, Rourke. There’s no need to keep the act going. I know you know who I am.” I was going with bad cop. It usually worked in my favor. Nick was good cop. “I’m just not exactly sure why you’re here and what you’re looking for, which is why I decided to keep our meeting tonight.” I lowered my voice. “Why exactly are you here, Rourke?”