Page 20

Selene

Sitting on the floor, chugging a rose` in black lingerie doesn’t make me feel as sexy as I thought it would. Especially since I look like I’m studying a suspect to a crime rather than a guy who’s going to end up as one of my victims. I have to figure out which jar I’m going to use for him as well because this kill wasn’t planned. Probably the one with the banana or maybe the one that has the hand on it. God, I have no fucking clue.

Gulping another mouthful, the bitter tang burns my throat, matching the heat pooling between my thighs. Across the room, a makeshift cork board of pins, photos, and notes maps out Philip Smission, the mayor’s sleazeball son and my target, due dead by midnight tomorrow. He’s a dirty old man, no question, but a hot one, all silver hair and sharp jaw, and despite his cringe-worthy lines, he’s sent three dick pics today, each one proving he’s not lying about his size.

Taking him for a trial run before I kill him doesn’t sound half bad. He’s a cheater, not a monster, no abuse in his rap sheet, just a wandering cock. Another swig of wine and my phone buzzes on the cushion beside me, the screen lighting up with his name.

I’ve been goading the fucker all day, teasing him with descriptions of what I’m wearing but not actually sending him a picture. I have to be just enough of a tease that he’ll still want me tomorrow but not too much that he shuts down.

Because after dinner tomorrow, it’s game on. I need to kill him away from my apartment, somewhere discreet. A seedy motel twenty minutes out, no cameras, no questions, is perfect, and there’s a high-end Italian restaurant I’ve been dying to try. Classy enough to lure him, dark enough to slip away. I type out a flirty replay, cringing at the words.

You’re making me hungry, big guy.

Bet I can satisfy that appetite.

I roll my eyes, my pussy clenching despite the disgust, because I’m horny as fuck. He’s also not really the only one stoking the fire.

The phone buzzes again but this time it’s my mystery suitor, the one that calls me Sparrow . I open the text, knowing I should probably be more wary about all the unknowns around me. It’s just one picture but it has me groaning, resisting the urge to slip two fingers into my panties.

There’s a red mark on a man’s chest, carved abs toward the edge of the pic. I squint to see what the mark truly is, a kiss print in crimson lipstick, the shade I picked up at the boutique. Most guys send dick pics, but this is different, personal, and I should find it creepy, him watching me, stealing my color, but my twisted heart finds it endearing.

It’s attention, devotion, and I’m fucked up enough to crave it, to want his lips brushing by my ear again. Playing into his desires might also get me my hammer back.

It’s very pretty.

Next time it’ll be my sparrow’s lips.

When are you giving back my hammer?

When I see you next.

A sigh escapes as I tip my head back, the wine bottle resting on my thigh, condensation dripping onto my skin. Despite the thrill of the game, I don’t really like being in control. At least with Philip, if everything goes right, I’ll be able to breathe a little.

Friday evening wraps Ashthorne in a cold, neon haze, and I’m sitting across from Philip Smission in a swanky Italian restaurant, my dark purple dress hugging my curves like a second skin. The fabric’s elegant, shimmering under the chandelier light, but it’s gonna be ruined by blood and guts before the night’s over. Good thing, because I fucking hate purple. I brushed off three calls from Dante earlier, swearing I’m fine, my voice all sugar to keep him at bay, but my nerves are shot, my pussy still tingling now that three men who’ve touched me in the last 48 hours.

And now I’m here, playing the seductress, ready to drag Smission into the darkness. Every detail’s planned. Dinner here, a quick fuck at a seedy motel twenty minutes out, no cameras, no questions, then a knife to his chest where I drag out my prize and send my mysterious caller the proof. I’ve backups too: a back alley, a deserted lot, even a rundown cabin if shit goes sideways. The caller’s been silent, no texts, no threats, so I’ve kept up appearances, smiling at work, texting Smission’s sleazy ass, setting the trap.

I guess the worst part is that Smission is gorgeous. He knows it too and even though he’s got nearly twenty years on me, I’d do him in a heartbeat especially with the way he fills out that suit. He’s ordered some stupidly expensive wine, the kind that tastes like money and regret, and he’s droning on about the stock market or accounting, maybe both. Can’t tell, don’t care.

My fork pushes two bites of pasta around my plate, a smile plastered on my bright red lips, all happiness and bedroom eyes, but inside, I’m screaming. His face card’s the only thing he’s got going for him. Open his mouth and he’s boring as shit, a walking sedative. I just need him to offer to take me somewhere, anywhere, so the fun can start.

The waiter clears our plates, bringing dessert but it might as well be cardboard for all I taste. My smile’s starting to ache, my fingers itching for the knife strapped to my thigh, hidden under the dress. Smission’s still talking, something about dividends, and I nod, giggling like he’s said something clever, but my mind’s elsewhere, replaying the research I did on him.

His last girl, some blonde with a vacant stare, wasn’t smart, just pretty, a trophy he paraded around before dumping her. That’s when it truly hit me. He doesn’t want brains or a challenge. He wants beautiful airheads, arm candy to stroke his ego. I’ve been playing this all wrong, leaning into flirty and sharp when I should be dumber, softer, a doll for him to play with.

Leaning forward, I let my cleavage spill a little, my earrings catching the light as I twirl a strand of silver hair around my finger. “Wow, Philip, you’re so smart,” I say, my voice high, breathy, a giggle tacked on for good measure. “Like, I don’t get any of this money stuff, but you make it sound so… sexy .” The words burn my throat, but his eyes light up, his smirk widening, and I know I’ve got him.

He chuckles as he leans back, his hand sliding across the table to brush mine. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty head about it,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Just keep looking gorgeous and I’ll handle the rest.”

My stomach twists, but I keep the smile, batting my lashes, letting my fingers linger under his. “You’re so sweet,” I purr, tilting my head. “This place is amazing, but… maybe we could go somewhere more, like, private? Just us?”

The hunger in his eyes is instant, his cock probably already hard under the table. Gag. It’s just too fucking easy. He signals for the check, his hand squeezing mine. “Got just the place. A little spot not far from here. You’ll love it.”

Bingo . My heartbeat kicks up but I keep my expression as clueless and blank as I can. “Oh, I can’t wait,” I giggle again, my fingers tracing circles on his hand. The motel’s twenty minutes out, and if he’s thinking what I hope, he’ll drive us there, thinking he’s getting laid, not dead. My car’s already parked a street over with all of my supplies but time’s ticking and if we don’t hurry, I won’t meet the fucking deadline.

I stab my fork around the dessert plate, hoping he’ll catch onto what I’m throwing in his face.

“Full, baby?” He asks, squeezing my hand again. “That’s alright. We’ll get a box to go. Besides, I think it’s time to move into something a little more fun, yes?”

Oh, Philip, I thought you’d never ask.