Page 6 of Red My Lips

Heat spreads through me—whether from fear or arousal, I’m not sure. After a second of hesitation, I reach into my top and pull out the hidden cash. His eyes break from mine to follow the movement of my hands as they reach beneath the mesh and lace to produce the evidence of my crime. Caught red-handed.

Damn.

“Well, would you look at that?” His face lowers, his mouth close to my ear. “Some of my money made it into your bra. I guess that means you need to start over.”

“You’re really just going to loom there in my personal space?” I shoot back, staring him down and quirking my brows. He grins, and I swear my panties dissolve.

“Seems like I’ve gotta keep a very close eye on my money around you. Besides, I really like being in your personal space.” His eyes move back to my hands. “Go ahead.”

I count out each stack of bills carefully, then count again to be sure. Once I’m satisfied, I move to the receipt with my tips from credit cards. The total comes out to just over two thousand dollars.

“Not bad, only three hundred and twelve thousand dollars to go.” His smirk doesn’t falter when my glare snaps to the mirror to meet his gaze. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together, little devil.”

“Don’t count on it,” I snap. “And my name is Jill.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

A thrill runs through me, my body telling me to run. But I’m not going anywhere. I simply narrow my eyes at him, unamused.

“I’m Gage Lawless. It’s not a name you’ll ever forget.” He leans in so close his nose brushes against my hair, sending goosebumps over my skin. “I own you now, Jillian Hart.”

Chapter Two

Jill

I didn’t expect to enjoy taking a life the first time I did it. Killing my abusive shithead of an ex-boyfriend, Carter, wasn’t supposed to spark this urge inside me. It was meant to be a one-time thing—and he had it coming.

I’d been with Carter Long for a little over six months the first time he hit me. He claimed it wouldn’t happen again, he promised me, begged me. Then he did it again. We’d fight a lot, and I’ll admit I’m a fairly volatile person, so I excused his violence as emotional outbursts during a heated moment. But that excuse didn’t last long when he started hurting me just for the hell of it.

One day, about eight months ago, after he tried to strangle me for disagreeing with him about what movie to watch, I snapped. He’d put his hands on me for the last time, so I threatened to end his life if he ever touched me or any other woman ever again. Then I left him.

Carter was an arrogant prick who thought rules didn’t apply to him—something I should’ve seen as the raging red flag it is. When I saw him out with his new girlfriend four months ago, I knew he hadn’t taken my threat seriously.

He should have.

When his young, admittedly gorgeous, new girlfriend raised her arms over her head, and I saw the bruises, I knew. The rage inside me burned white hot that night. The next night, I found him at the dock where he liked to smoke, all alone.

Plunging the knife into him wasn’t the best part, and neither was knowing my face would be the last thing he’d ever see. It was watching the arrogance fade from his face as the life drained from his eyes. It was the sight of his blood, so beautiful and perfectly red, against my skin as he paid for his sins.

The police had chalked it up to a random mugging gone wrong, and none of the suspicion ever landed on me. Carter’s wealthy parents—who turned a blind eye to their piece-of-shit son’s abusive tendencies and excused his behavior away—offered a ridiculously big reward for information about his death. No one ever came forward.

Pity.

His then-girlfriend is currently thriving. I follow her on social media to keep an eye on her.

But Carter, as it turns out, isn’t the only person I want to kill. Not even close. And now I know how good it feels—stealing one life to take back my own. Call it what you want: acts of revenge, sickness, the pure darkness of evil. Maybe all of the above. But that doesn’t change the reality.

I really like killing. And I have plans for who’s next.

The sound of footsteps catches my attention. And there he is, my next target.

Jonas strolls towards me like there’s no stopping him from getting what he wants. He’d murmured as much to me at the party earlier, saying, “I spent too long without sampling the goods. It’s about time I get some of this sweet ass of yours.”

I let him think that’s why we’re here. Being the man he is, so used to getting his way, he didn’t even question why I would tell him to meet me at the old loading dock behind an abandoned warehouse at three in the morning. All he heard was sex.

That’s his problem, not mine.

“Are you ready to get messy?” His eyes run over me. “I’m finally going to use that big mouth of yours for the only thing it’s good for.”

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