Page 4 of Killer Kiss

Curiosity piqued again, and I crossed one leg over the other. The fact he’d just dropped that sort of information like it was no big deal was interesting. I studied him, trying to work him out. “Like what?”

“I sleep with women—men, too, sometimes actually—for money.”

He watched me with his guard up, his expression full of a dare for me to have an opinion on his chosen career.

I had a better poker face than that. Even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered.

I had no opinion on the man’s occupation, because I didn’t care what strangers did in their own time.

Only what my sister was doing. Had she been doing that as well? Sleeping with men in order to make ends meet? My fingers clenched into fists. I despised the idea she’d had to endure the touch of someone she didn’t care about just to make money.

When our parents had more than enough of it to go around.

The train conductor’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Next station is Providence.”

I glanced out the window, then back at the man. “That’s my stop.”

He stood to let me pass. Oddly gentlemanly of him.

I cocked my head to one side, studying him while I waited for the train to slow. In the silence, where we just stared at each other, curiosity go the better of me.

“Nice to meet you…”

“Augie,” he supplied.

“Augie,” I repeated back. I nodded toward the photo. “I hope you find your friend.”

The train came to a stop at the underground platform of Providence Station, and I moved for the doors.

“What’s your name?” he called to me as I stepped off the train.

I didn’t answer. My interest in the man had passed. I already had my phone to my ear. “Vincent?”

“Try again, big sis,” my brother drawled down the line.

I rolled my eyes at my sibling’s alter ego. “Scythe, then. Even better. We’ve got a problem, brother. A big one.”

Vincent or Scythe, depending on which day it was, had dissociative identity disorder, otherwise known as a split personality. So I never knew if I was going to get Vincent, his much more reserved and polite side. Or Scythe, the smart-ass lunatic with a penchant for violence.

Frankly, Scythe was probably the better option if Fawn’s ex had her. I shuddered at the thought of Eddie laying a single finger on her. I’d never liked that man. He was a big part of her removing herself from our family. Not the only part. We were all guilty on that front. But he wasn’t someone Fawn ever should have been involved with.

Scythe clucked his tongue. “Is this another one of your ‘my favorite contestant was kicked out of MasterChef’ dilemmas? Or is this something actually important?”

I strode through the underground. “That was you, dumbass. You called me and wailed about Sadie being eliminated for a good twenty minutes. Pretty sure you threatened to peel the skin from one of the judges if they didn’t get her back.”

Scythe snorted down the line. “Oh, yeah. But you have to admit, she was robbed blind.”

“Scythe. Focus,” I huffed.

“Fine. If it’s not a reality TV issue, what’s your problem?”

“Fawn’s missing.”

Scythe went quiet on the other end. “Missing as in the same sort of missing she’s been ever since she told Mom and Dad to shove it where the sun don’t shine? Or…”

“The other sort of missing. The kind with posters and milk cartons.”

Scythe swore under his breath. Even though I couldn’t see him, his entire vibe changed. “Where will I meet you?”

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