Page 16 of Killer Kiss

I liked men.

Until they opened their mouths and ruined it.

So what did it matter if I married someone Mom picked out for me?

We’d reached the back door. Scythe peered through a dirty window while I fingered what appeared to be a patched-up bullet hole. It was hardly surprising. We were deep in the heart of Saint View, which wasn’t exactly known for its upper-class population.

I hated that this was where Fawn had found herself.

Hated she’d been so miserable in her life with us that this had been preferable.

“There’s a lot of people inside,” Scythe reported. “Mostly women. Some kids. A couple of big guys. Weird crowd for a strip club, but it’s still early, so maybe they haven’t opened for the night yet. They’re all just hanging out.”

I fought the urge to press up on my toes and peer in as well, just to see if the man from the train was inside. “Is there a blond man who looks like he should be on a runway in Paris?”

Scythe took another peek. “Yeah. Plus an older guy and—shit. There’s a dark-haired man in there who I think might be a cop.”

“How would you even know that? He in a uniform?”

“No, but I’m sure I recognize him from my latest stint in prison.”

I eyed him. “You want to pull the pin on this then? He could call for backup.”

My brother, in typical Scythe fashion, rolled his eyes. “Don’t be insulting. I’ll just kill him if he tries.”

That suited me just fine. “Fair enough. After you, then.”

I made a grand gesture toward the door, and Scythe thumped on the heavy wood.

“Do you ever knock politely?” I asked.

“Why?” He seemed honestly confused as to why he should bother.

Sometimes it still shocked me how different Scythe and Vincent were.

The door opened, and a wall of muscle stood on the other side, fluorescent light hitting them from behind and illuminating their broad shoulders. There was an older guy who’d heaved open the door. Two younger, dark-haired men who glared at us with distrust written all over their faces. I didn’t know which one Scythe thought was a cop, but I didn’t get much of a chance to think about it because my gaze landed on the hot blond from the train.

His eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and recognition.

A slow tingle worked its way down my spine as his pale-blue eyes locked with mine.

I raised my head in a tiny nod of acknowledgement, but that tingle in my spine wasn’t just because the man was hot. It held a silent warning.

Men couldn’t be trusted. Especially not men who looked like him. Beauty was easily used as a weapon. It was why I’d never seen my mother without a full face of makeup. It was why she hounded me about losing weight if I so much as glanced at a donut.

He had the sort of face that left other people tongue-tied and awkward. I bet he liked it. I bet he’d used it to his advantage more than once.

He’d be stupid not to.

He didn’t seem stupid.

“I’m Ophelia,” I said to the group but with eyes only for him. God, they were really fucking blue. “That’s Vincent.”

“Scythe,” he corrected.

I blinked and glanced over at him. He gave me a questioning look, and I knew he was wondering why I’d used the wrong name.

I didn’t even know. One minute I’d been caught up in noticing that man’s eyes, the next my brain was clearly misfiring.

---