Page 11

Selene

It’s just past midnight and I’m bone-tired, my body aching like I’ve been dragged through hell and back. Taking yet another shower left my skin raw, the scalding water doing nothing to wash away the weight of tonight—the blood, the nails, the fucking texts I got earlier in the night that said my name. I even tried using that new cucumber melon wash but now I just don’t feel like me.

My silver hair is damp, clinging to my neck as I stumble into the living room, naked and shivering in the cold of my shithole apartment. Three trash bags sit by the door, stuffed with bloodied sheets, plastic scraps, and the rags I used to scrub the guest bedroom clean. I should burn them in the fireplace and then discard the ashes, but now I have to find another plan of attack because leaving isn’t an option. Not with some bastard out there holding my hammer, my birth name, my fucking life in their hands.

I need a drink, something to drown the panic clawing my chest, but the kitchen’s dry, not even a drop of cheap vodka left. The last kill had me on a whole ass bender as I danced around my apartment, singing some bullshit from a band I don’t even like. “Fucking perfect,” I mutter, grabbing my phone from the counter and checking it again. Nothing from the caller, no new taunts, just silence that feels like a trap.

The problem is that while I’m terrified, I enjoyed the thrill of that moment. The idea that I didn’t know who was pressed up against me, the sultry edge to his voice, the hunger in his words. I already know that I’m a sick bastard, but that just drives it home. Some part of me wants him to bend me over and stick me with that cock he had pressed against my ass. To take me and fuck me senseless as he whispered, “Sparrow,” in my ears.

“Jesus Christ, Selene. Absolutely not. ”

It’s fantasies like those that get me in trouble because then I go looking for things. A few years ago, I ended up on some kind of kink app and nearly got choked out from an overeager patron that didn’t understand “no” or “stop.” Nope, all fantasies have to stay locked up unless I can goad Dante into it.

For now, though, I’m getting myself that fucking drink I promised myself, and then I’m going to lose myself in bad decisions. Like a one-night stand with someone who has a cock big enough for me to feel it tomorrow. And then tomorrow, I’ll make a real plan—pack, run, start over somewhere far from Ashthorne.

I grab something from the dryer, another tight black dress that’s cut low enough to show off my cleavage. One of the dresses that would have Dante growling at me and murmuring ‘mine’ in my ear as he fucked me into the mattress. He’d kill me for wearing it out, for flaunting what’s his, and that makes it all the more thrilling.

Pulling on my boots, I grab both of my phones and head out, ready for a few hours of bliss before I have to return to the crime scene in my apartment. The night air is a welcome relief as I make the few blocks over to Sinner’s Notch, the only bar still open at this hour. It’s quieter now, past the peak of Ashthorne’s depravity, but there’ll be enough drunks and losers to buy me drinks, maybe take me home for a quick fuck to dull the edge.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I yank it out, ready to growl at another cryptic text, but it’s not my regular phone. It’s the burner, the one only clients use. My stomach twists as I slip my phone back into my pocket and pull the other one out. Another job so soon feels wrong, like a setup, but I answer, pressing it to my ear, my voice sharp. “Yeah?”

A voice crackles through, distorted by a changer, low and mechanical. “Need a job done.”

I stop walking, the streetlamp casting my shadow long and jagged. This feels like the start of some awful horror movie where I’ll need to start looking over my shoulder. “Who?” I snap, my grip tightening on the phone. “Need more details, big guy.”

He chuckles, the sound grating in my ears. “Need a guy dead. Heard you’re the one for that.”

My laugh comes out sharp and bitter, my breath fogging in the cold. “I might be, but I need more information, or I’m hanging up and blocking your number. Since you called me, I’m guessing the police can’t or won’t help with this.”

“You’re good,” he says, a hint of amusement breaking through the distortion.

“No, I just know if you’re calling this number after midnight, it’s not a booty call,” I retort. “Who the fuck is it?” Most people calling me are shy as fuck. Only a handful of them know exactly what they want and have the funds to immediately pay to get the job done. But this asshole sounds like he’s messing with me.

“Philip Smission.”

I go silent because now I know he’s messing with me. Philip Smission is the mayor’s son, a spoiled prick with a rap sheet he’s never answered for. Drugs, assaults, and whispers of worse. Killing him would put a heavier spotlight on The Reaper, a bigger one than is already there and I can’t afford that. “That’s the goddamn mayor’s son. I’m gonna need a damn good reason for that bullshit and it’s gonna cost you a fortune.” All that illegal shit Philip’s been up to is none of my business. I deal with abusers, rapists, piss poor excuses of men that have or will evade the law. Not someone who takes a bit of meth and makes their father, the mayor, look bad.

I know I shouldn’t touch this, shouldn’t even listen, but I’m already in too deep, and part of me wants to hear him out. Because without this outlet, I’m not sure where I’ll end up. This craving to right the wrongs so violently won’t just go away if I disappear from Ashthorne. It’ll just manifest into something else.

The voice hums, considering. “Actually, I was thinking this job’s a tit for tat. I’ll send you a reason he needs to die and you’ll kill him. I’ll pay you after.”

I scoff, my boots scuffing the pavement as I start walking again, the bar’s neon sign glowing in the distance. “That’s not how this works.”

“It does when I know about a certain black Camry that dropped off a pretty little present today.”

He’s talking about the courtyard, the body I nailed to the tree, my car parked just out of sight. “Are you the fucker that called me Sparrow?” I snap, my voice shaking with rage and fear.

He laughs, a low, distorted sound. “Who the fuck’s calling you Sparrow? No, “killer” or “sweet death” suits you better. Now, do we have a deal?”

So, now there are two fuckers blackmailing me? Great. Just great. “Send me the reason,” I growl into the phone before hanging up and marching the last few steps to Sinner’s Notch. “Somebody in there better be open to buying me fucking tequila.”

Someone, in fact, was very interested in buying me shots, sending them over like water. Some big fucker in the corner with a few of his friends. As long as his cock’s fat, I’ll head on over in a few minutes and demand he take me home. He doesn’t look like he’ll be my speed, but if I’m on top, everything will work out just fine.

Knocking back my last shot, I blow out a deep breath and push to my feet, knowing that any more alcohol will render me useless, and that’s the last thing I want. The shaved head and leather vest screams trouble as I approach the guy at the back, his hungry gaze raking over my curves. He straightens up when I stop just a few inches from him, his friends whispering and chuckling as he stands to greet me.

“Was wondering if you were going to come on over here, you pretty thing.”

Strike one. Pretty thing? What kind of fucking come on is that?

Still, I’m horny and pissed off and he’s the only one in here that looks worth my time… Well, some of it. I let him pull me close; his mouth tastes like cigar butts and disappointment, sour and stale. His tongue is sloppy, pushing too hard, and I gag, shoving at his chest. Strike one thousand. Kisses aren’t really my thing with one-night stands but they’re absolutely off limits when the guy tastes gross as fuck. “Yeah, this isn’t happening.”

He doesn’t listen though, his finger digging into my hip, this sorry excuse for a guy thickening against my belly. A few years ago, I would have freaked the fuck out that this man was ignoring my ‘no’. Now? I’m equipped with several weapons in this bar that will allow me to get the message across. Letting those nasty kisses trail down my jaw and to my neck gives me the vantage point I need as I reach onto the table and snatch one of the steak knives there.

Then I drive my knee up into the man’s cock, taking the moment of shock and pain to send him crashing to the floor. I’m on him in a second, straddling his chest, the blade pressed to his throat, the point biting into his skin. “The drinks don’t make you entitled to all of this, you asshole. When I said it wasn’t happening, I meant it,” I hiss. My hair falls over my shoulders, obscuring part of my face and I know from experience how terrifying that makes me look with my gray eyes.

Fear swirls in his expression, but it’s masked by the booze. No doubt he’d be screaming if he was completely sober or cursing at me, but the knife at his throat is doing a pretty good job of keeping him quiet. Unfortunately, I only have a few seconds before one of his friends tries to jump in. My grin turns feral as I focus on the blade against his flesh, a small trickle of blood pulling free as I dig the metal in just a little bit deeper.

Oh, that’s going to scar really pretty, isn’t it?

Before I can do something I’d regret, strong arms haul me off him, my feet dangling as I’m carted across the bar. I’m too shocked to struggle, the knife still clutched in my hand. One of the bouncers deals with the burly guy, dragging him up and shoving him toward the door, while another voice barks that they’re closing early, shooing the stragglers out.

The bar empties faster than I’d expect at this hour, everyone scrambling to obey orders that don’t make a lick of sense. Sure, I had a knife to a man’s throat but he fucking deserved that shit. Although, a few more minutes and he’d have become another victim of mine. I’m about to yell at the fucker who’s got me pinned to his side, when my feet touch the floor, a rather handsome face staring down at me with more concern than I can handle right now.

I recognize him as the guy who owns the bar, deep hazel eyes always catching everything that happens here. The weird part is that despite his dangerous aura, he’s gorgeous. Like, “tall, dark, and handsome” gorgeous. Like a “wicked smile and tattoos that make me want something I shouldn’t possibly be focusing on when I need to be planning my exit” gorgeous.

He reaches a hand up to rub the stubble along his jaw, muscles straining beneath his black shirt as he studies me. And then that boyish grin I’ve seen on his face before makes an appearance as he slips the knife from my hand and sets it on the table near us. “As hard as it gets me with a knife to his throat, he’s kinda important, so I couldn’t let you kill him here. I also don’t like cleaning up messes like that. You gonna be okay to get home?”

“You ruined my chance at a good hard fuck,” I retort, brushing my hair back into a ponytail before straightening my dress. Nearly flashed everyone, Selene. Although that might have gotten you a fuck. I just sigh, knowing that my favorite vibrator is going to get a lot of action tonight.

The bar owner throws out his hand, willing me to take it like we’re just two people meeting at a fucking coffee shop. “Ronan. And if you’re asking, I’m offering.”

I raise an eyebrow as I step closer, my eyes locked on his. “Is this some kind of trap? Does that line work for you? Because I know you own the fucking place and yet you closed an hour early. Seems like an awful expensive play if you close the bar every time you decide you want to get a fuck in” The door says two am and it’s barely one.

He doesn’t flinch, his hand still outstretched, his gaze raking over me like he’s already picturing me under him. “And you’re the woman who came in here obviously looking for a bad decision,” he replies, an edge to his voice promising me a man who knows how to use his cock. “I’ll be the best bad decision you can make tonight or I can be a respectable gentleman and make sure you get home safe. Your choice.”

“I’ve had a pretty fucking shitty day,” I say, pressing my chest against his, watching his smile widening even more. “How hard can you fuck me?”

Ronan’s grin turns feral, his eyes darkening with hunger. “Would you like me to leave you feeling me for a few days? Because I can do that. String you up, fuck you unconscious, whatever the heart desires. Say the word, sweetheart.”

He reaches forward, gently wrapping a hand around the front of my throat. Unlike Dante’s fingers, Ronan’s aren’t as soft, a gruffness to them that tells me he knows he’s capable of fucking me as hard as I need him to. “Alright, show me what you got, pretty boy.”