Page 20 of Pretty Monsters

Lucien starts spreading out his mat and sleeping bag, and climbs in. The protective older brother act disappears without even making sure his sister is settled in and safe. Whatever his earlier apprehension of leaving Raven in my care apparently doesn't count when he needs to sleep.

I grab her sleeping bag and spread it out on the seat inside the truck. Since her fucker of a brother left me to figure out her sleeping situation, I double up the two remaining mats for myself. Only once she's tucked away in the truck do I climb into my own sleeping bag.

She slides the window open and peers down at me. It doesn't escape her notice that her brother is softly snoring. Her brow furrows, but whatever she's thinking, she doesn't say.

"Goodnight, Raven," I whisper.

"Same to you," she replies, and her head disappears from view.

The last thing I think before closing my eyes is that I'm going to miss holding her. Just the thought shakes my foundation. I don't get attached, especially not to women.

* * *

Lucien pullsup his GPS app and inputs the address for the apartment complex, and the computerized voice begins to give directions. It's his turn behind the wheel, and I'm free to watch the landscape as we drive the final leg of our cross country journey to Playa Pacifica.

Lying along the windward side of the Azure Mountains, Playa Pacifica is a popular tourist location, which will allow us to blend into the crowd. People tend not to scrutinize faces when they are accustomed to a steady stream of new ones. Combine that with an emerging tech community, and there is a sizable population for us to blend into.

As the day winds down we begin to descend down the mountain. Multi-million dollar homes dot the landscape, with views of the city below and the stretch of beach that lures people from all over the world. As we get closer to the main part of the city, sky scrapers dominate the landscape and block out the beach. The tall glass structures glitter under the late afternoon sun and reflect the cars traveling the streets below.

The GPS guides us to the freeway where we take a route around the city. Further from the beach, the buildings become more squat and utilitarian. Warehouses and other industrial buildings line the road, many with busted windows and graffiti covering their brick façades.

In the middle of this urban wasteland, we take an exit and drive through a rough part of town. Rent will be lower here compared to the polished city of glass, but it'll be harder to make sure Raven is kept out of harms way.

Soon, he pulls in front of a square apartment building. There are a few stores and gas stations, but nothing of the conveniences offered in better parts of town. All the structures have bars on the windows and project a sense of unwelcome. The sidewalks are cracked with weeds growing in clumps along the jagged seams. This isn't the Playa Pacifica that draws in the tourists. Rather, this is the part of town where the people who serve them reside. The income disparity laid out in concrete, glass, and steel.

He gets out and pockets the keys. "I've been texting with the manager, and he said he'll meet us here shortly. Pretty soon after we're inside I'm going to have to go and meet the manager of the bar that's a few blocks away. I guess we're going to see for sure if our IDs are going to work."

They would. I told Luce I had a guy who does them, but what he doesn’t know is I’m better. He prides himself on being the brains of our operation, always relegating me to do the dirty work. It isn't that I don't trust him, but I've been taught not to let anyone see all of your cards, and that includes my best friend. I'll have to find some time while he is working to make the documents Raven will need, since I had ours made months before she even returned to Devil's Crossing.

Focusing on the task at hand, I get out of the truck and help Raven down. The roughness of the neighborhood is going to present problems in keeping her safe. It seems hiding her from Damien won't be our only concern.

Her beauty, though she doesn't seem to see it, will be a beacon for horny assholes. Training her to defend herself is going to become a top priority. I make a mental note to find a place where I can teach her what she needs to know to stay safe in case Lucien or I can't protect her.

Dust and Doilies

Raven

"If you decideto take the apartment, I'll need first and last before I can give you the keys. There's one bedroom, and the sofa pulls out into a bed. I'll accept cash or money orders. No checks," he says around a mouthful of the hot dog he's been eating while quickly showing us the apartment.

Sin glances over the apartment with a blank face. We could be anywhere for as much as his expression gives away. Lucien seems reluctant to touch anything in the apartment. I've never seen the conditions either of them lived under in Blackthorne Manor, but it's clear watching their reactions there is a gulf between what each of them is used to.

It's fully furnished, I'm guessing some time in the eighties judging by the brown shag carpeting, brown floral couch, and off-white appliances. The kitchen is only big enough to fit one person. There's a window cut out over the counter that allows you to see into the kitchen. Both the floors and countertops are laminate. The floor is also off-white with a beige repeating pattern. Deep gouges mar the surface, along with some random burn marks. The counters are a sickly yellow color, and contain years of scratches and chips.

It's hard to determine the color of the walls. The light coming in through the small windows is weak, and highlights a color that seems beige, white, and yellow simultaneously. My guess is it is probably years worth of grime from cigarette smoke, preparing food, and dust.

A light coating of dust covers all the furniture, except where a few dingy doilies are placed in a sad effort to dress up the depressing decor. I know if I sit on the sofa I'll be engulfed in a cloud of dust. Unfortunately, we don't have cleaning products or a vacuum. Really, only a lit match will improve this place.

Still, it's the first place I've ever been where I felt my lungs were able to fully inflate. Even when I was away at school, there was always the sensation of being watched. Not that I knew then I was being watched to make sure I remained valuable to my father when he decided to sell me into marriage.

It didn't matter I had beautifully appointed rooms at all of my boarding schools, or that I was sent to luxury homes on my breaks. My life has been spent in a cage. Perhaps that's why I was really named after a bird.

I feel his eyes on me before I even turn around. The apartment manager stares at me with more hunger than he regarded his hotdog moments ago. Lazily, he wipes his greasy fingers on his stained white tank top. His protruding gut seems to have caught some stray crumbs. Thin, oily hair is poorly combed over his bald head.

Having his attention makes my gut flip. His gaze is nearly tangible, and it slides across my skin like a film. He's clearly fantasizing about me, making me want to scrub my skin.

"Do you keep copies of the keys to the apartments?" Sin's voice cuts through my unease. His unaffected demeanor is gone, replaced by barely contained loathing.

The manager stupidly licks his lips, still watching me. His hand sits on his beer gut, making the already strained and threadbare shirt rise to show a sliver of pasty skin.

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