Page 8 of Red My Lips

“What about this one?” Lana asks, holding up a tube of red lipstick. I gaze at the color for a moment in consideration before shaking my head.

“Close, but no. It’s a little more maroon than that, more vampy,” I say as she puts the lipstick back where she found it on the makeup display. Strolling down the aisle, my eyes scan each lip product that I pass in search of the perfect shade.

“Don’t you already have, like, five red lipsticks?” Lana asks from the next aisle over.

“Yeah, so? I have to wear them to work a lot, and I get bored.” My eyes catch on the last color in the display next to me. “This one, this is the color I’m looking for.”

“Damn. Okay, now I totally see the vision. You need that,” Lana says from behind me, peering over my shoulder as I swatch the dark red lipstick on the back of my hand. The formula is creamy, and I’ll definitely need the matching lip liner to keep it in place. But the color is perfect.

Finding lipsticks the exact shade of the blood I’ve shed is addicting. The thrill when I find what I’m looking for—when the shade matches exactly what the tiny vial looked like when I collected my victim’s blood—is intoxicating. The first swipe of the bright red lipstick that matched Carter’s blood had felt like a hit of the best drug on the market—the high only second to the actual kill. Now I’m determined to grow my collection. With each new man I make bleed, a new lip combo will make its way into my makeup bag.

And now I’ve found Jonas.

Lana doesn’t know what this lipstick represents. I haven’t told her about my newest violent obsession—I haven’t told anyone. Lana would never turn on me, as my true ride or die, I know she’d be first in line to help me bury the bodies.

Literally. There’s no question of loyalty.

I trust Lana with my life—and my kills—but the only way to ensure something stays a secret is not to tell a single soul about it. Plus, it gives her plausible deniability and all that shit.

Since the day I met Lana Love five years ago, we’ve been inseparable. We grew close insanely quickly and never looked back—she’s my other half. Not to mention, she’s absolutely gorgeous with platinum blonde hair cut bluntly just above her shoulder, charming dimples that decorate her megawatt smile, and lots of body to work with.

We’re the same in that aspect, wearing the same size clothing with almost the exact same measurements. The only difference is where I have a little extra ass, she has more tits. Nothing beats having a best friend you can share clothes with, especially another plus-size baddie with great style.

“Red is definitely your color,” Lana states, and I agree.

“It’s a good thing, too. Red seems to have taken over my life lately.” It’s the truth. Between the red lipstick, the interior of Inferno, and the blood I crave to shed—there’s no escaping it. So I embrace it instead, and it does look damn good on me.

“Now help me find a lipstick for my date with Christos tonight,” she announces, picking up a plumping peach lip gloss to get a better look.

“You’re seeing Christos again? This is your third date with the guy in a week.” I give her a sly look over my shoulder, but she just rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“So? It’s not like it’s serious between us. He’s only in town a few more days, and he gives good dick. Why not get it while I can?”

“Okay…” My voice trails off, not the least bit convinced.

“Besides, he’s an arms dealer. You know I don’t do relationships with men who deal with guns—not after Nico. Never again.” The smile tilting her lips tells me I can’t believe a word she says. She’s drawn to dangerous men. Men who can’t file an honest tax return and are often on some sort of federal watch list. It’s one of the many things we have in common—we like to flirt with darkness.

“You can’t even say that with a straight face,” I point out. She flashes me a big, dazzling smile.

“I’m thinking tonight I wanna do a pink and pouty look.” She purses her full lips into an exaggerated pout, widening her big hazel eyes. “A look that says I deserve another Chanel.”

I tilt my head back and laugh. Lana does well for herself, we both do—or at least I did. Now that my paychecks are being taken for my brother’s debt, I’m left clutching at the lifestyle I’ve grown to love.

Lana knows my predicament, and she’s very generous. But I can’t let her act as my sugar mama, I can’t enjoy things knowing they’re draining her bank account. So if men want to buy us pretty things or pay for expensive trips, we let them.

“I’m sure we can find something that’ll do the trick,” I assure her. Lana doesn’t have any trouble getting what she wants and looks stunning in everything. Her sense of style ranges between glam streetwear, clubbing Barbie, and early 2000s with an urban twist. She reminds me of a Bratz doll if it were a fat babe with expensive taste.

I turn to show her a gorgeous pink lipstick when my eyes catch on a figure standing in the parking lot. A man is casually leaning against my car, tattooed arms crossed over his chest with silver rings glinting in the summer sun, looking into the store through the front window.

Looking at me.

Gage Lawless’ dark eyes follow my every move as I put the lipstick back on the shelf. When our eyes meet, he smirks and looks me over from head to toe. He’s completely relaxed, his presence like a dark cloud on a sunny day.

He looks out of place in this shopping center—it’s obvious he’s not here to buy cosmetics, get his hair done at the salon next door, or get a facial at the med spa.

He’s here for me.

And with how he’s standing out in the open so brazenly, it’s obvious that he wants me to see him. The sight of him picks at me, making annoyance itch under my skin. It feels like he’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t get to ruin my day.

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