Page 7 of Pray for the Damned

The thought makes me shake my head. Who am I kidding? I was born for this job. I can’t imagine a day where I won’t be ending lives and being paid for it, but a guy can always dream, I suppose.

I click out of the encrypted app I use to speak to my clients and move to the trackers I have installed in every pair of shoes she owns, as well as her phone and the ratty thing she calls a handbag.

Just thinking of the threadbare item that has been falling apart for the last twelve months makes my skin crawl. I can provide for her. I could give her everything she has never dared to dream of. But she’s not ready yet. And moreover, there’s someone standing between us.

My brother.

My twin at that.

He saw her first after all. He stalked her first. And therefore, I couldn’t take her even if I wanted to. Even if we’ve never seen eye to eye and he’s actively tried to destroy my business, I can’t take away the object of his obsession because he wouldn’t survive it any more than I would.

What are the odds that we’d both become obsessed with the same girl?

Probably not that high for normal siblings. But for twins? I guess it makes sense.

The app loads, and my brows tug together.

No.

Surely not.

There’s no way sweet little innocent Waverly, the girl who has spent the last decade, and perhaps even before that, afraid of her own shadow, completely oblivious to the two shadows that lurk in the night, could be where the tracker is showing her right now.

I switch trackers to my brother’s phone and find him in the same location.

The Scarlet Lounge.

The most exclusive sex club in New York, and the last place I would expect to find my girl.

Before I can think better of it, I turn on my heel and head back toward my bike. Has my brother finally made a move while I’ve been tied up with following this sucker around the city?

Or has fate finally forced him to step into the light?

CHAPTER FOUR

WAVERLY

Working the bar at the Scarlet Lounge isn’t all that different from any of the other clubs I’ve worked at. In fact, if I had to rate how I’ve been treated tonight compared to any other job I’ve had, this is by far the best.

Which is kind of wild when you think about it.

These people pay top dollar to be here, but they’re nowhere near as entitled as the people that come into the diner each day.

And the tips.

Fuck.

I’ve never seen money like this from a few hours of work, and even though I shouldn’t get my hopes up, I can’t help it. The things I could do if I had this kind of money coming in.

I could go back to school.

I could move into a safer apartment.

I could get my life together at last.

My entire existence has been a series of unfortunate events, beginning with being born to an gambling alcoholic and adeadbeat drug addict, right up to now, in my tenth year of living life on the run.

The likelihood that they’re still looking for me is slim to none. Why would they care about me after all these years? I’m not nearly as valuable to them as I was at sixteen.

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