Page 17 of X's and O's
I took in Whip’s outfit. Gone was the usual “blend in with the crowd” jeans and T-shirts we all tried to stick to, so we were as inconspicuous as possible. “You look as fancy as Gray does. What’s with the outfit? Got a hot date?”
“I was on my way to work.”
My gaze rolled over his expensive clothes. Fittedpants and collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The top couple of buttons undone. With his graying hair, but fit, well-toned body, he was exactly what my mother called a silver fox. Who knew? I’d never seen him look this…nice.
“What is it you do for work again?”
Whip side-eyed me. “I’m a lion tamer.”
I stifled a grin.
But without even saying it, Whip had reminded me of the rules.
No killing outside the list.
No witnesses.
No personal information.
Shame. Because it would be really hard to send them an invite to my wedding if I didn’t know their real names and addresses.
5
VIOLET
Running through the streets of Saint View in nothing but my underwear and a killer’s shirt had not been on my bingo card.
I hadn’t even dared stop to get my shoes, but I barely felt the hard sidewalk scratching at the soles of my feet, tearing my skin. I just ran, as fast as I could, putting as much distance as possible between me and that house on Olympic Drive.
My thighs ached from where they rubbed against each other. My chest wheezed because cardio and I were not friends on a good day, and definitely not when my heart felt like it had been electrocuted a few times.
Watching a cold-blooded murder, then thinking you were going to be next, kinda felt like having a heart attack. So I really didn’t blame it for the way it beat erratically now.
People out walking their dogs for the evening stared at me as I scurried past. Cars slowed, their drivers staring at the fat girl with no pants on, running for her life.
Nobody offered to help me though.
And wasn’t that just the story of a fat girl’s life? People were always happy to stare. But most of them didn’t really see me as human. I was just something to gawk at. Someone to make fun of. If I’d been a tiny little thing, would someone have stopped and asked if I was okay or if I needed help?
I already knew the answer. But because I was big and tall, nobody thought I might be in danger.
Bitter tears pulsed behind my eyes, but I refused to give in to them.
By the time I got to my apartment building, I didn’t need to look in the elevator mirrors to know what a hot mess I was. My makeup was a smudged disaster, half sliding off my face with sweat. My hair stuck to my forehead, and my neck and chest flushed with heat.
The murderer’s long-sleeve shirt clung to my curves.
It smelled like him. Something sweet and spicy. A cologne I couldn’t put a name to, but one that was deliciously tempting.
My skin crawled beneath it. I didn’t care that it smelled good when the man who’d worn it was a monster.
The trembles started back up the moment the elevator opened and I practically fell out into the hallway of my floor. A sob broke through my defenses, and I stumbled to my door, shakily letting myself in, praying Toby wasn’t home.
Our apartment was quiet, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I made my way to my bedroom and locked the door.
Then fell apart.
The terror came rolling out of me in great gulping sobs I could no longer hold back. I ripped off the shirt and my underwear, tossing all of it into the trash can in my bathroom, and turned the shower on as hot as it could go.
