Page 34 of Colton’s Secret Identity

To all of the team.

Let his stooges think they were spinning him up. He’d have them, Hank and Rex all apprehended before any of them could blink. And he’d face down Slim, too.

Take out the kingpin. But first he had to locate Slim, and he wasn’t going to do it sitting in this DEA-confiscated McMansion. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to do it without Veronica, who needed his backup.

Loud, pulsating music reverberated through each and every wall and surface at Frisky as the night continued and Veronica silently took the money Hank kept handing her in exchange for whichever drugs a client requested. Her hands were sweaty under the silicone gloves she wore. No way would she ever risk skin contact with any of the drugs, never mind they were in tiny plastic packages. It didn’t make a difference to her if the illicit substances were from Rex’s supply or that of Dylan, aka Hawk. It was all poison.

The sweat wasn’t from the club being so warm, though. It was pure stress perspiration, a response to the fear clutching her gut. Gus and Will had strolled into the main floor half an hour ago, and only Hank’s quick nudge and hand motion under the table had clued her in.

Rex wasn’t letting go.

She glanced at the office clock. Not even midnight yet and they’d gone through the same amount of product it had taken almost an entire week to sell less than three weeks ago. Before Hawk Masters showed up.

A tap on her shoulder forced her gaze from the till to Hank, who mouthed, “Office. Now.”

“Not while those jerks are sitting over there.” She didn’t make any motion toward Gus and Will. Hank knew who she meant.

“Forget them, boss. It’s Rex. Rex is in your office and wants to talk to you now.” Hank’s voice cracked.

She raised her brow, trying to appear calm and uninterested while fear swirled acid in her stomach. “Can’t you see I’m busy here? Tell him we can’t stop the job right now.” Her throat strained from shouting as her mind switched from retail sales to survival. She eyed her oversize purse on the floor behind the bar, next to their setup. It was in reality her go bag.

Hank shook his head with so much vigor he reminded her of the bobblehead dog with neon green hair on the shelf at Pixie Hair Salon. “You have to go! It’s Rex!” There was no mistaking the abject terror in his voice.

Was this it? When she had to choose between continuing as Monique and risk a beating—or worse—from Rex, or getting the hell out of Dodge?

Think.

She scrunched up her face and crossed her legs, no easy feat in the stiletto boots. “Tell him I’ll be right there. I have to pee first.”

Dylan saw Veronica grab her bag and make a beeline for the women’s restroom, disappearing through the door marked FRISKY GIRLS. He’d come in with his hair under a ball cap and dressed in very un-Hawk-like clothing, wearing a simple dark hoodie and joggers. He would continue to sit in this dark corner of the club, watching the continuous stream of customers for drugs, seeing how Veronica played her role as Monique to perfection, knowing all the while her mind wasn’t missing a single detail of each customer, of each dollar spent for their next high.

Except he’d come here to warn her about what he knew would become a lethal situation. If Scar and Slash were wrong about Hank overreacting, and Rex wasn’t pacified with earning the extra cash. If he were Rex, Dylan would have already gotten rid of Hank, and Monique would be next. By the way Hank had just behaved, and how Veronica had all but run to the bathroom, Rex was already here, in the back.

There wasn’t time to go to the office, to confront Rex and Bulldog, whom he’d no doubt brought in tow. Instead, he placed his barely touched beer on the bar, slid off the stool and sauntered to the bathrooms, two doors painted black in a dark, short hallway. After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him, he pressed into the women’s restroom.

And came up against a locked door.

“Where the hell is she?” The words thundered from the other side of the thin wall at the end of the hallway. From Veronica’s office.

He had seconds to save her life.

Veronica had hurriedly dead-bolted the main door behind her, and was now atop the toilet tank in the last of four stalls. Her stiletto boots weren’t made for scaling old ceramic toilet tanks, or for providing great balance while she pried open the double-paned utility window. It was going to be an awfully tight squeeze—

Bam bam bam!

Someone was trying to get into the bathroom, but she didn’t bother to shout a reply. Every breath, every second of focus mattered. Because she had no doubt in her mind that Rex had come here to kill her.

Bang. Someone was trying to barge in, but she ignored it, kept working on opening the window. She managed to get the rusty lock open, but pushing the levered window out far enough to allow her to snake herself through was another matter. Should she take the boots off? No, there wasn’t ti—

Knock knock knock.

“Hello? Come oooon, man, I gotta go!” The shriek of a young woman carried over the godforsaken dance music that pounded out front.

The creak of the window hinges spreading straight out was like sweet birdsong as far as she was concerned. She threw her go bag out, heard a soft plop as it hit the ground. Now all she needed to do was hoist herself up and go through the window, head first—there wasn’t enough space between the minuscule window sill and ceiling to do anything else.

“Move!” A deep, masculine growl. Menacing. And then, “Get the hell out of the way! Get this door open!”

Rex.