Page 23 of Pretty Monsters

"If you're sure–"

With a jerky nod he shoves the cart forward.

"I told you," I begin once we are out of earshot of his admirer. "Lots of bored housewives."

He grunts and starts ringing up our items at the self checkout. After he feeds the cash into the machine and collects the change he hurries me back out to the truck with our bags.

Inside the truck I pull the hat off my head and take off his sweatshirt. "Maybe you should have worn this instead of me."

"Not now, Raven."

Tension radiates off of him, and I instinctively know to leave him alone.

He pounds the steering wheel several times. "God-fucking-damnit! We were supposed to be invisible."

Letting my eyes travel up his body, I'm not surprised he drew her attention. His t-shirt might be plain, but the way it clings to his biceps is far from ordinary. It stretches across his broad chest and highlights his tapered waist. His relaxed fit jeans cling to strong thighs. He's nothing short of exquisite.

"You could never be invisible," I speak, turning to look out the window.

"That's all I've ever been, Raven."

I see you, I think to myself. I don't think he'd appreciate hearing it.

Locked Up

Sin

As soon aswe return to the apartment I busy myself with replacing the doorknob and adding new locks. Only after I'm done am I able to relax. I'm not used to being around bored housewives, as Raven called them, and the attention set me on edge.

Playa Pacifica should be large enough for us to hide out for a while and figure out our next move. It won't be though if too many people remember us. I don't think Damien will go the media route to find us, but that entirely depends on how desperate he is to align himself with the family he plans to marry Raven off to.

It's enough of a risk for Lucien to be going to work. I hate strip clubs, unusual for a twenty-one year old man, but it's just another way powerful men sell flesh. It might be legal, but few of the women who they employ would be there if they had any other means of making that kind of money. The powerful always prey off the weak.

Still, I understand why he chose that type of job. Legal or not, a lot of seedy shit goes on in strip joints. More often than not the illegal is dealt under the surface. Sex, drugs, you name it, and it can likely be found in a strip club. Not exactly the type of people who would rat us out. Unless of course they are working for Damien.

His network extends far beyond the borders of Devil's Crossing. Hence his desire to become governor. What better way is there to protect his business than to head the government. Not to mention the fact that Governor Whitmore has been a thorn in his side for years.

The governor started his career as an assistant district attorney and has climbed steadily in the last twenty years. His anti-organized crime task force threatens to bring Damien's house of cards crashing down, and that is not something he'll allow without a fight.

He can't conduct business as usual with the governor though. The man is built like a soldier more than a career politician, so no one would believe he died of illness. Creating an accidental death could lead to increased scrutiny, because there is always someone out there smarter to figure out what happened. If someone like the governor died prematurely, especially one that appears to operate on the right side of the law, it would undoubtedly draw out the best investigators around.

Damien isn't always smart about who he targets, but Lucien and I are the only ones who stand a chance at making a clean hit. Without him meeting our requirements though, we wouldn't take the job. Not that I can make those demands, but the prince of the Blackthorne kingdom has sway.

Lucien wasn't wrong when he told Raven I am a killer. Technically, since he has always been involved in the planning of our hits, he's equally as guilty, but the blood is on my hands. Not that I mourn a single one of the bastards I've helped put in the ground. Child molesters, murderers, and drug dealers don't deserve a moment of guilt from me.

Sweaty, and covered in wood shavings, I test the locks and head for the shower, thankful Raven thought to get towels. The water pressure isn't as strong as I'd like it to be. The pipes groan when I turn the faucet, and it spits out tepid water. I don't complain though.

For starters, I don't want to see the sick fuck of a manager up here around Raven ever again. The way his beady eyes feasted on her right in front of us made me want to show him exactly what I'm capable of. If I were to look into him, I have no doubt I'd learn how depraved he is.

I don't waste time in the shower, as the water goes from tepid to glacial in less than five minutes, making my balls retreat into my body. Toweling off, I realize I've forgotten to bring clothes in the bathroom with me.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I go in search of my bag. Raven is busy cleaning every surface, as she has been since I started working on the locks.

It looks like she's almost done, not surprising since the apartment is barely larger than a shoe box. We're going to have to figure out the sleeping arrangements. I should have thought to get a blow up mattress while we were at the store. Not that it matters too much. I can sleep as well as I ever do on the floor. My life hasn't been filled with luxury.

"Have you seen my bag?" I ask her as she's bending over to put cleaning supplies under the sink. Her round ass, surprisingly plump for a woman so small, wiggles in the air and suddenly I'm ready to return to the cold shower.

"I set it on the bed," she replies, not bothering to straighten up.

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