Page 46 of Beautiful, Violent

“I know what you’ve done. That’s what scares me. You’re getting too comfortable with all this.”

I’ve never heard Rigger say he’s scared. “I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable. I still squirm a little when the stakes are high. And, you know as well as I do, I’m always a little messed up for a few days after a—” I pause. Okay, maybe I am a little comfortable if I’m about to mention how I’m always a little messed up after a kill in public. “After a,you know.”

“That’s reassuring. I feel much better now,” he mumbles.

“You can help me with something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“When you’re hanging out tonight, do something fun. Maybe find someone to kick it with. Like they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

A smirk creases his mouth. “I’m familiar with the concept. And I don’t need to get over Holly.”

“So why aren’t you dating again?”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“Well, I don’t. But you haven’t talked about anyone.”

He twirls his coffee mug, like he’s thinking of whether he wants to reply to that. “I only talk about things or people worth talking about.”

“Ouch. I hope the last girl you slept with didn’t feel that.”

“It is what it is.”

Rigger and I chill in our respective hotel rooms the rest of the afternoon. I can’t stop thinking about something Ben told me yesterday, about how his sister’s kid was kidnapped and he’s not okay now. Is he dead or just irreversibly damaged? And what are the odds that Ben is involved in some way? Or hell, he could be making that whole thing up. Not sure what he’d have to gain by lying to me. But I hope to have some answers by tonight.

It’s cool outside so I pick a dark brown turtleneck sweater to wear with skinny jeans and boots. Ben picks me up at 5 o’clock and I’m more nervous than before my kill one week ago.

The whole way to his sister’s, he whips around traffic like a typical L.A. driver. My fingernails are threatening to slice through the sides of his leather seat. I mean, damn. If anything kills me tonight, it will be from blunt force trauma that takes place inside this car on the 10.

“How should I introduce you?” he asks before parking in a driveway.

“What do you mean?” My heart has just returned to normal and I wipe some sweat from my upper lip.

“Nancy? Tove?”

“Up to you,” I tell him, figuring if he introduces me as ‘Nancy’ that will mean he doesn’t expect this relationship to go any further than this weekend. And I realize I don’t know his sister’s name either. Not that I really care because this relationship hopefully won’t go any further than this weekend.

He walks us to the back of the house. My hands break out in a sweat and I remind myself that crowds aren’t so bad when you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. I wonder how many others here are pretenders.

After pushing a gate door open, we step into the back yard. The sun is close to setting but I can still see that only seven or eight other people are there, mingling somewhat separately on the patio, and they don’t really pay any attention to the fact that we’ve arrived. Ben turns his attention that way, then to the grill where smoke billows upward in tufts of fluffy, white death. A woman is leaning against a guy turning food on the burners. When she sees us, she smiles and runs over.

“Bennnnn! Hey!”

Ben opens his arms and the woman crashes into him. “Hey, sis.”

“What’s up,” she says, breathing like she’s just run a marathon.

“Not much but the sky. I see you left Natalie out of this one.” He ticks his head toward the others.

“Didn’t have much choice on that one after the other night.” She rolls her eyes, then looks at me.

“This is my friend, Tove.”

“Nice to meet you, Tove. I’m Frances, but everyone calls me Frenchie. Don’t ask why.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I laugh softly. “Thanks for inviting me.”

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