Page 43 of Beautiful, Violent

“You didn’t grow up here?”

“Nah. Different moms, different childhoods. I didn’t even know she existed until I was in my mid-twenties. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to catch up, get to know her.”

I’m impressed. Deciding to let him live stings a little less now. “That’s nice. At least you have a sibling to hang out with.”

“You’re an only child? Why does that not surprise me?” I catch the hint of a smile and it infects me with … something. It feels like my insides have just been poked with an electric pulse.

“Are you suggesting I act like an only-child?”

“You come off a little spoiled, like you might be a daddy’s girl. I would have guessed only child, or at least only daughter.”

“Spoiled? Huh. I’ll have to up my game. But at least you didn’t use the term ‘princess’.”

“Princess?” He bobs his head. “Maybe …”

“Well, pillow princess is the exact term.” I have no clue why I’m telling him this. It’s like my mouth is moving on its own accord.

“Oh,pillowprincess. Yeah, that I would believe.”

I shoot him the middle finger and he chuckles. “You probably don’t even know what it means.”

“I can deduce.”

“Oh, you can.”

“I have mad deduction skills.” He holds my gaze with a smirk, all those sexual innuendos silently floating between us.

The waitress brings out our drinks. And we sit quietly for a moment as we infuse our systems with caffeine. My thoughts briefly float to Rigger, wondering what he’s doing, how he’s spending the morning. And then I remind myself what I’m supposed to be doing here.

“Tell me about your suit-wearing business, what kinds of things you do.”

“I developed an app for kids, like a social media app. Right now it’s free to download so I’m always looking for people who want to invest.”

“That must have been challenging. You didn’t hire a coder?”

His eyes flick to the side, and he clasps his hands on the table. “Well, yeah. I have a partner of sorts who helped me find one. And he made an initial monetary investment, so he gets some of the proceeds.”

“Is he involved in the day-to-day?”

“He welcomes new users on the app, chats with them and builds trust. Also handles support issues. Saves me from having to deal with it while I’m running my renovations.

“Sounds like a lot of work.” I drop my gaze to his chest, just now noticing the necklace he’s wearing. It’s a silver chain, herring bone, and from the end dangles a silver bullet with an inscription on it. I can’t read what it says.

“It is a lot of work. But it’s for a good cause.”

“What’s the cause?” My stomach churns in anticipation of what bullshit he might feed me.

“Giving kids a safe place to hang out, be themselves. Trying to keep them off the other platforms where predators hide.”

“You don’t think they’re hiding on your app?” I ask, feeling an urgent bite of anger.

“No.” He answers swiftly. “I’m vigilant about that. Got special coding on there that monitors every single chat for key words and phrases. If anyone so much as laughs the wrong way, they’re gone.”

I bite down on my scar tissue, feeling a tightness form on my face. Ben doesn’t notice because our food is brought out just then, plates set out in front of us. Blood runs from his rare steak, draining and pooling along the edge of the plate. I choke back the nausea.

Daddy confessed to me a few years ago that it took six weeks to clean the master suite where my mom was murdered. Brains and blood were everywhere from the gunshot wounds to her head and abdomen. Renovation experts tore up the floors, gutted the walls, removed every trace of what was left after the forensic team combed the place while Daddy and I spent several months in Taiwan, a highly vegetarian friendly country. And that was a good thing because after witnessing my mother’s brains being sprayed all over their bedroom walls, I was suddenly no longer interested in eating meat. My time in Taiwan following the murder is also probably why I hate Asian food.

“I’m happy to share,” he says, pointing at the steak.

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