The Executioner's Game by Gary Hardwick Read Free Book Online Page A

though it could put one’s life in danger, the rules of the predator nonetheless applied.
    He waited.
    â€œCan I squeeze in?” asked a woman’s voice very close to his ear.
    Luther didn’t say anything. He just shifted his weight and got off his barstool, sliding his drink over. The woman slid in next to him, smiled, and cocked her head to see his face better.
    She was pretty and obviously a mixture of several ethnicities—most notably Asian, which was strong in her almond-shaped eyes. She wore a little leather skirt whose top stopped just below her belly, showing off her muscular stomach, which she was undoubtedly very proud of. The swell of her chest caught his eyes, and her dark hair was cut short and feathered nicely.
    She was a stunner, he thought, but his face betrayed none of that sentiment. A beautiful woman doesn’t want a man she thinks is easy or eager. She wants what she shouldn’t have.
    If a woman goes through all the bother of getting dressed in sexy attire, fixing her hair, and spending God knows how much on all this, she is not going to hook up with some man who she thinks just wants to put his dick in her and disappear. She wants something more, something special, and if she can’t get it, she’ll go home alone with her fantasy.
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    â€œNo problem,” said Luther. He looked at her and didn’t stop. He stared directly into her eyes and dropped all pretext from his mind. She saw this, and curiosity started to rise in her face. Luther then turned away, just enough to break the connection.
    â€œDo I know you?” she asked.
    He waited a beat, then another, just long enough for her curiosity to peak again. Then he said, “I’m the man you came here to meet tonight.”
    â€œReally?” she asked. “Never heard that one before.”
    She was about to say something else when Luther took herhand and led her to the dance floor. She followed him with an amused look on her face.
    â€œI don’t suppose it would make sense to resist,” she said.
    â€œIt would,” said Luther, “but where’s the fun in that?”
    They embraced and moved with each other. The song, a bumping, forgettable hip-hop tune, was five times faster than the tempo they were dancing, but they took no notice. Luther was excited and didn’t even try to stop the erection building in his pants. He pulled her close to him and felt her hands exploring.
    â€œI’m Tomiko,” she whispered.
    â€œJordan,” said Luther. It was the name of a good friend he’d gone to school with.
    â€œBlack and Korean, if you’re wondering.”
    â€œI wasn’t, but it’s nice to know.” Luther said this to her in Korean.
    â€œOh! You speak it?” she said, surprised. “I’m not so good. What did you say?”
    â€œThat it was nice to know.”
    â€œYou are surprising,” said Tomiko. “What kind of black man speaks Korean?”
    â€œJust me,” he said, smiling.
    Tomiko looked at him for a moment, seemingly unable to respond to his statement. For a while, they merely felt each other’s embrace, and Luther could sense that she got his meaning.
    â€œYou don’t seem like the kind of guy who would come here alone. Where are your friends?”
    â€œThey’re late,” said Luther. “You?”
    â€œMy cousin and her friends invited me here on my layover.”
    They stopped dancing and went back to the bar. It was full, and so they just stood by it, leaning on a bare corner. They talked fortwenty minutes or so about nothing. She asked Luther about himself, and he cleverly avoided telling her anything.
    Luther was preparing to start a line of conversation designed to get Tomiko to go to bed with him when he spotted Frank on the other side of the room. Frank saw him, waved, and started to wade through the crowd.
    â€œThere’s my friend,” said