Page 22 of Killer Kiss

Scary psychopath or not, he could go to hell. I reached around him for the doorknob.

He blocked me.

I glared at him. “You aren’t helping me with that job.”

Quick as a snake, he had my chin between two fingers, his nails digging into my skin. He jerked my head so sharply I gave an involuntary cry of pain.

He smiled, like the sound pleased him. “I didn’t ask for your permission. You need to get used to us working together. Eventually, that’s how we’ll do all jobs. I’ll meet you tonight for the surveillance I know you’re so fond of. I’ll wait for your text to let me know when and where.”

He leaned in, and my breath caught on a sudden burst of terror. He could snap my neck like this. I probably wouldn’t even feel it. I’d be dead on the floor without it even registering.

But he only placed his lips to the top of my hair and inhaled deeply. “Just like I remember.”

He walked out before I could argue, not bothering to say goodbye to his sister.

She glanced over at me from behind the counter, a worried expression in her light-colored eyes.

She didn’t need to say anything.

When Riddick chose someone, the way he’d very clearly just chosen me, it always ended in death.

6

AUGIE

Insomnia had been a constant companion for most of my life. Foster care had ruined any hope of a consistent sleep schedule after spending too many nights too scared to even close my eyes.

Bad things happened during dark nights. Letting down your guard left you vulnerable in a way I tried real hard not to remember.

The insomnia hadn’t improved any once I’d brought Banjo home. In those days, back when he was barely tall enough to see over the kitchen counter, I’d spent my nights lying awake, listening for anything that might try to hurt him in the night. I’d kept a hockey stick by my bedroom door and a gun tucked away in the top of a cupboard, ready to defend my brother against anyone who dared to try breaching the walls of the tiny home I’d tried to make for us.

It was ironic that the thing that had eventually hurt him the most was me.

My inability to sleep was why I’d taken up surfing in the first place. The beach at five in the morning, when the surfers were all out, waiting on the best waves of the day, was the one place I could go and be sure I wouldn’t be alone.

Fuck, I hated being alone.

I wasn’t much for making friends. I’d never been any good at that, but there were regulars at the beach. Those crazy few who cared more about catching the perfect early morning waves than they did about sleeping until their alarm blared and they had to shuffle off to their day jobs.

I didn’t even know their names, but some mornings, when sleep had evaded me altogether, sitting on my surfboard, knowing there were other people around me, was the only thing that kept me going.

Especially after Banjo had left.

I hadn’t surfed in weeks now though. Punishing myself because having something good in my life didn’t feel right when Fawn was missing.

But I couldn’t get Ophelia off my mind. I hadn’t slept in days, not since she’d stormed into my club like she owned the fucking place, and then told us all to go to hell.

Bleary-eyed, I dragged myself from my messed-up sheets and stumbled into the little bathroom on the second-floor landing of my tiny, government-owned house. The faucet spluttered when I turned it on, rusty-colored water spewing from the spout at first until it eventually ran clear.

I scooped up a handful of it and splashed it on my face, craving the cold shock.

It wasn’t enough. I needed more.

Without letting myself think about it too much, I threw on some shorts and a hoodie, retrieved my board and wetsuit from the corner of my room, and headed for the stairs.

Banjo’s old bedroom door was open a crack, everything he’d left behind still there, in case he ever returned for it.

His board still sat in a corner.

---