He'd been watching the bastard for five days.

A low-level supplier turned loud-mouthed liability. Talked too much. Moved money that wasn't his. Made jokes about the wrong people. Now he was marked, and Julián had been sent. No mess. No noise. No trace. The kind of job he liked — clean.

But for the last two nights, he hadn't done the job.

Because the mark — a sloppy motherfucker who didn't even check his rearview — had a habit of hitting this club on the edge of town. Neon lights. Sweat. Loud bass and long legs everywhere. The kind of place Julián usually hated.

Except she was there.

The thick one. Always dancing. Like she was built for rhythm and ruin. And that body... Dios mío. Her hips. The way they moved — slow, like temptation with nowhere to be. The curve of her back, the softness of her arms, the way her face lit under the low lights — beautiful didn't even start to cover it.

He'd watched her too long. From the shadows. At first out of boredom. Then... it turned into something else. Something that clawed at his self-control.

Tonight, he'd adjusted himself twice just watching her move. Once on the upper floor where he had a perfect vantage. Once in the fucking bathroom with his fist around his cock, teeth clenched, her in his head. Moaning like he'd imagined she would. Saying his name in a voice that didn't exist.

He hadn't done that in years — hadn't needed to. Women came easy. He didn't even look at them twice. But this one?

Esta maldita mujer me tiene desquiciado. (This damn woman's driving me insane.)

Now he sat in his car, engine off, parked a block from the target's apartment. But instead of visualizing the entry, the timing, the disposal — he was gripping the steering wheel with one hand and jerking off with the other. Again. Fast. Angry.

His eyes were shut tight.

"Así me gusta, mami..." (Just like that, baby...)

The words hissed from his lips as he came hard into a cloth napkin he kept for cleanup. Disgusted with himself. He tossed it onto the floor, wiped his mouth, and leaned back with a sharp exhale.

"This ends tonight."

⸻

The club was even hotter than usual. Bodies pressed. Drinks poured. Lights low.

He found her after her last dance, backstage. He didn't knock. Didn't announce himself. Just moved through the narrow hallway like he belonged — because if anyone stopped him, they'd vanish.

She was standing there, beautiful and thick, unaware.

And then he was behind her. Close. One hand finding her hip. Full. Soft. Warm.

His voice dropped into her ear, rough velvet and heat:

"Estás jodiéndome la cabeza, preciosa." (You're fucking up my head, gorgeous.)

His fingers dug in just slightly, feeling the give of her flesh beneath his palm. She was everything he craved and hated needing.

"Look at me," he said, voice low and sharp. When she turned, he didn't blink.

"I don't kiss. I don't beg. I don't chase. But I'll pay whatever you want to let me on my knees. Right now. No bullshit."

His hand slid from her hip to the curve of her ass, his jaw tight with restraint.

"Let me worship this body," he murmured, the words reverent and filthy. "Tongue deep 'til you scream, mami. 'Til I taste your soul."

He leaned in, breath warm by her ear, whispering:

"Say yes."

He didn't care about the job anymore.

Tonight, he was the one getting hunted.