Page 53 of Killer Kiss

Reporter Robyn didn’t seem to share my same ideas about oral sex in public places. She huffed and edged away from Ophelia like she had some contagious illness. “That may be so, but strip clubs are what breeds men like that, aren’t they? The traffickers and drug lords of the world.”

“What the fuck?” I tightened my grip on the tabletop. “How do you figure that?”

Robyn’s mask of politeness had disappeared entirely. “Taking part in those sorts of…acts…alters your brain chemistry. When women take their clothes off and dance for men, it just encourages the sex response in their brains.” She looked at me. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control those basic human urges. But women can.”

Ophelia stared at me, and for once, it was clear we were on the same page.

“Is this bitch for real?” Ophelia coughed out.

Robyn scoffed as she packed up her phone and papers. “This interview is over. We won’t be running any stories about women who bring this sort of thing on themselves. The City Daily is for serious stories only.”

I glared at her. “How is a missing woman who the police are doing nothing about not a serious story? Before you knew she was a stripper you were all for this fucking story, and now it’s suddenly not of interest to your stupid elitist newspaper? Piss off then! Like we fucking need you!”

Ophelia reached across the table and put her hand over mine.

The warm touch of her skin was an instant balm to the storm raging inside me. I glanced over at her in surprise, waiting for her to tell me to calm down like Eve would have.

But Ophelia’s eyes were just as fiery as mine. The ire behind them was aimed solely at the reporter who was so up her own fucking ass she wouldn’t know a real-world problem if it bit her.

“Lady,” Ophelia seethed. “I don’t know what sort of patriarchal bullshit your mama fed you as a baby, and I don’t care that you’re too sheltered to have ever moved past that. But if you don’t get your scrawny, fake-tanned ass out of my sight in the next three seconds, I will not be held accountable for what I do next.”

Robyn froze at the threat, and frankly, I couldn’t blame her.

Ophelia’s voice had turned stone-cold. It was so low and deadly, I could practically feel the barbs on every syllable.

“Run, Robyn, run,” I added quietly, playing along.

The woman did, slipping on the tiled floor in her high heels before skittering away down the aisle of booths.

I couldn’t help laughing when she shot one terrified glance back at Ophelia, who snapped her teeth together like a rottweiler waiting to be told to attack.

The door closed behind her, and Ophelia finally looked back at me.

And then down at our hands.

She quickly pulled hers away and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

I shrugged, taking my hand back to my side of the table as well. “Yeah, you did. I meant it too. Fuck her. Nobody gets to talk about Fawn like that.”

“She was talking about you too.”

I’d swallowed that bitter pill a long time ago. “Nothing new for me, sweetheart. People have been saying that shit about me for as long as I can remember.”

“So why do it? The…”

“Whoring around for cash?”

If anyone else had asked me, I probably would have told them to go to hell the same way I had with Reporter Robyn just now. But Ophelia had asked in a way that wasn’t full of judgment. Just curiosity.

She cleared her throat and turned away. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I just…” She shrugged. “I have money. She could have come to me. She didn’t, and I hate that.”

I didn’t know what to say. All Fawn had told me was she didn’t want anything to do with her family, and as far as I knew, that included her sister.

Something in the troubled depths of Ophelia’s eyes told me she knew why, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

I hated the way it hurt her though.

Which was stupid because I hated her too.

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