Page 1 of Sexy Killer

1

CHELSEA

The sound of glass shattering as I step inside my father's jewelry store puts me on high alert. The alarm isn't blaring, and the light chuckles of men rummaging through the shop's display cases shift my alert to rage. My father works his fingers to the bone creating custom pieces, only for these animals to destroy what he's built.

My line of work, masquerading as a firearms and safety instructor, kicks in as I crouch down and reach inside my bag to retrieve my weapon.

Fuck.

Of course my gun is in the car because why would I need it to go out to dinner with Dad?

My phone is the next best thing as I dial 9-1-1.

"Mapleton Police. What's the nature of your emergency?" the dispatcher answers in a tone that's annoyingly sweet.

I try to keep my voice at a whisper as I tell her, "There's a robbery in progress at Francine's Jewelers. 2210 Main Street."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I couldn't hear you. Did you say a robbery?"

"Yes," I hiss into the device, but I don't get to say anything else as heavy boots approach, and I drop my phone on the floor.

It's a beige floor tiled with specks of gold, black, and silver that Dad buffs once a week. Four long rectangular glass display cases frame the small shop, with two lining the left and right walls. The other two sit in a line in front of a mahogany wall. It doesn't take long for me to try to hide behind the display case.

"You know I can see you through the glass?" the masked robber states with a snicker. "Come on out here, sugar. Don't make me drag you out."

The sound of his gun tapping on the top of the glass display case makes me comply as I rise to my feet. He tips his head to the side to take me in from head to toe with a slight nod. I can only imagine he's licking his lips behind his black-knitted ski mask, sending tremors of fear down my spine.

At just shy of six feet, the guy's stance tells me he's not prepared for me to put up a fight. 160 pounds, black shirt, black pants, black gloves—nothing to identify him but dark brown eyes and a sinister voice.

"Please don't hurt me," I beg in the most submissive tone I can muster. For good measure, I add a shakiness to my voice to reveal a morsel of fear rippling through me. However, adrenaline steadily overrides my fright. Once I catch a glimpse of my father's unconscious body bleeding on the floor, adrenaline and rage eclipse every other emotion.

"What did you do to him?" I screech and attempt to rush by the burglar.

A thick arm wraps around my waist to pull me back, stopping me from checking on Dad. "Oh no, you don't. Stay put until we're done. We'll be out of here in a second."

I immediately jerk my head backward, connecting with the center of his face. My elbow follows up with a blow just under his ribs as I break free of his grasp. He pulls his mask off, the blood dripping from his nose.

"BITCH!" He spits on the floor and charges me. The way his shoulder connects with my torso knocks every ounce of air out of me. My feet stumble over each other as he drives me backward until I'm slammed against a display case that rocks as I slide onto the floor.

I refuse to stay down, using every bit of strength in my powerful legs to kick violently. Every kick is frantic, mixing with panic and anger. The sound of a gun cocking behind me stops me immediately, leaving me panting on the floor.

"Stop now, and you won't get hurt. We'll be done soon." The gunman's restraint puts me at ease, but the one with a bloody nose is less than compassionate.

Stringy, sweaty, light brown strands of hair stop around his chin, clinging to a scruffy beard and mustache that's clearly struggling to connect to his sideburns. Brown eyes shoot daggers at me from above his fingers, which are pinching his nose closed to stop the blood from dripping profusely.

"Fuck that," he snarls, dropping his hand long enough for me to get a good look at his face. However, the moment isn't long enough for me to react to him. He grabs me by my shirt and slams me onto the ground. The force of my head smackingagainst the floor is enough to send shockwaves across my skull. Everything around me fades to black.

The dull sound of machines beeping creeps into my mind, pulling me out of a deep slumber. There's nothing to remember. No dreams. No memories. Only the black.

When a stern voice speaks over me, it's a blast from my past. Feelings of safety and lust wash over me as I force my eyes open to see a man so different from the person I used to date.

Standing beside my bed, Victor Bennett has my emotions all over the place. Dark brown hair sweeps to the back of his head, barely reaching the top of his ears. A square jaw without prickly hair in sight shows some of the weight he's put on. The bulge of the muscles under his shirt brings a smile across my face.

There's an ache traveling down the side of my ribs, causing me to moan and stir, which gets Victor's attention.

"Holy shit, Chelsea. What the fuck did you do?" he asks, hooking a finger under my chin to survey the damage that landed me here in the first place. Pale blue eyes stare into mine. They hold so much compassion that I've lost, and always convince me to be a better version of myself. And when circumstances didn't allow me to be better, those same blue eyes saw the path I needed to take.

"What's the matter, Victor? Don't you think I'm the most beautiful girl in the world anymore?" I shift to sit up. A shard of pain causes me to inhale sharply, but I blow out a breath as if it will ease the pressure.

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