Group Outing

by Katie May

  Group Outing

  Supernauralette

  Katie May

  Expresso Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2020 by Katie May

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Expresso Publishing, LLC

  Cover by Ink Imagination

  To my parents who like telling all of my friends and family members about the “smutty romance books” I write. Hahahahapleasestophahaha

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Supernaturalette - Round Three

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Katie May

  Introduction

  Welcome back!

  This is the third installment of Supernaturalette, an interactive series.

  How this works: After every installment, I will place polls in my group. You guys will vote for your favorite - and least favorite - men. Your favorites will get special rewards, such as private dates, group dates, and alone time with Ridley. There will also be options to eliminate men. If the contestant has enough votes, he will be eliminated from the competition.

  Basically, this is Build-a-Harem! Ridley will end up with as many men as you, the reader, decide!

  Make sure to join Katie’s Gang to vote. Group members will receive notifications when each installment is released. The voting will take place exclusively there for the first week after each installment releases. Your votes will determine what I write next.

  So, buckle up! This is about to be one hell of an adventure…

  Chapter 1

  “Because I believe they were coming after me.”

  Ren’s words replay in my head as I stare intently at the gruff, red-headed male beside me. He scratches at his unruly beard as his other hand thrums against the steering wheel. I’m keenly aware of the floating camera zeroing in on my face—privy to a moment that should be private. But what did I expect when I signed up for this dating show? My entire life is on display for the world to see.

  “What...what do you mean?” I stutter out. Is he somehow behind Ali’s murder? No, I refuse to believe that. Though everything about Ren screams “scary” and “intense,” he’s been nothing but a giant teddy bear with me. I feel protected when I’m with him, as if not even the fiercest of storms could slay me. I can’t afford to have that illusion shatter.

  Ren releases a ragged sigh, dropping his forehead to the steering wheel. His breathing is erratic as he struggles to articulate his response.

  "I told you about my...my ex," he whispers, and I recall the brief conversation we had about his ex-fiancée. I don't know much about her, only that she is cruel and demeaning and that their relationship ended horribly.

  "You think she's behind this?" I can't help but sag in relief at his confession. Fuck, for a moment I thought he was confessing to murder. Or, at the very least, a role he played in it. Instantly, I feel guilty for my traitorous thoughts. Out of all the guys sans Grant, I know Ren the best. I gave him the First Impression Wand, after all, and we had a wonderful date at a demented carnival. The last thing I should accuse him of is something as atrocious as murder.

  "Kelsey...she's not a good person," he admits finally. "She's jealous and cruel, and despite the fact that she doesn't want me romantically, she refuses to allow anyone else to have me either."

  His words cause icy dread to skate down my spine as I nibble anxiously on my lower lip.

  "Is she...I mean, am I...am I in danger?" I ask, point-blank. Ren lifts his head and levels me with an indecipherable expression. After a moment, he blinks rapidly and puts the car into drive, merging onto the road once more. The street is kissed by moonlight, and the surrounding forest somehow seems even more eerie in the darkness. Spindly silhouettes extend as far as the eye can see.

  "I won't let anyone hurt you," Ren vows gruffly, hands tightening almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel. It's both a promise and a threat. Danger emanates from the pores of his body, but I'm not scared. At least, I don't think I am. I have the distinct impression that Ren will protect me from anyone or anything that seeks to cause me harm.

  No matter the consequences.

  Seven Months Earlier

  I nurse my throbbing head as I pour myself another shot of whiskey. My hand trembles around the tumbler as I release a hiccup/laugh/deranged snort.

  "Maybe you should slow down," my best friend, Greta, says with a grimace. I've been staying with her in her cozy, two-bedroom apartment since the...since the Grant thing. The thing that shall-not-be-named. The thing that ripped my heart straight from my chest and stomped on it with the delicacy of a bull traipsing through a Chinaware shop.

  "Fuck Grant," I slur as I dismiss the glass cup and drink straight from the bottle. "Fuck him so hard that his asshole bleeds."

  "That's...rather graphic," she muses lightly, and I release another humorless laugh.

  "Did you know that he and Ashley are working on a..." Hiccup. "...new case? The Red Eyes."

  Greta nods like she understands, but her eyes betray her confusion. As a general rule, I never talk to her about work or my cases. But also as a general rule, alcohol throws all the previous regulations out the window.

  The Red Eyes are a terrifying gang that are known for their—you guessed it—glowing red eyes. Not all of them are demons, despite popular belief. The majority of them wear ruby-colored contacts. Their one goal? To raise their king from his prison.

  Because, yes, the devil is real. He's actually the original supernatural, the epitome of all evil.

  Throughout the years, they have tried everything from sacrificial slaughter to macabre spells to mass murder. They're a constant pain in SUP's ass, and to be handed their case is the highest honor.

  And now, Ashely—the girl who stole my job and is trying to steal my boyfr...ex boyfriend—and Grant are assigned it.

  "Girl, I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, but if you want my advice, I would say to beat them at their own game," Greta says as she grabs the bottle from my hand and moves it out of reach. I pout, futilely reaching for the bottle, but my dumbass forgets that I'm capable of walking.

  "You're saying I should take the Red Eyes down in my spare time as a giant 'fuck you' towards Grant?" I query seriously, and Greta's eyes widen.

  "That's most definitely not what I meant."

  "And then when he comes crawling back for me, I'll step on his hands until every bone breaks? I'll lick at his tears like he's my own, personal lollipop?” I continue.

  "I actually meant—"

  "Red Eyes..." I smile malevolently at nothing. "I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you so hard—" Before I can finish that thought, I vomit across the couch and promptly pass out.

  We're silent as we pull to a stop in front of the mansion. Ren thrums his fingers against the steering wheel, face set into a deep scowl. His mind appears to be a million miles away, but that's okay. If he truly believes that his ex is behind the attack, then we have more enemies than I initially suspected.

  But was that a deranged, scorned lover...or someone even more malicious?

  "I'll take care of this, Ridley," Ren says gruffly as he shuts off the car. For a moment, I don't move, allowing the darkness to press in on all sides of me. There's something comforting about the darkness, something I can't articulate into words.

  For a
moment, I debate telling Ren about the murder. The last thing I want is to put him in danger by not handing him all the information. But I dismiss that thought immediately. Until I'm certain—one hundred and twenty percent certain—that he's not the killer, I need to keep my mouth shut. I'll talk to Grant about what Ren told me, and we'll look into his claims together. If we discover that his psycho ex had attacked us, we could take her in for questioning about Ali's murder. Hell, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Ali's murder has nothing to do with me and the book. Maybe it has everything to do with the men competing.

  Though I wouldn't wish that stain of guilt on even my enemy's soul, let alone Ren's.

  "I hope..." He clears his throat, unbuckling his seatbelt and shifting uncomfortably. "I hope that this didn't ruin our date."

  I turn to face him, a small smile curving up my lips.

  "No. Not at all, actually. I had a lot of fun." And I did. I can't remember the last time I smiled so much. Ren had held my hand on every ride, and we had cuddled on the Ferris wheel, watching the bright lights below us. Of course, at the very top of the ride, a man bedecked in clown attire had jumped out and scared the shit out of us. I probably would've fallen to my death if Ren hadn't been there to save me.

  Before I can lose my courage, I breach the distance between us and press my lips to his. I mean for the kiss to be soft and chaste, but quickly, an insatiable hunger consumes me as his beard scratches my smooth skin. His tongue enters my mouth immediately, tangling with my own.

  Fuck, I can't remember the last time I kissed someone that made fireworks shoot through my veins.

  When I pull away, we're both breathing heavily, and he rests his forehead against my own.

  "I'm happy you joined the show," I whisper, our breaths intermingling.

  "I'm happy I joined it too." He cups my face, thumb stroking my swollen lips. "No one will hurt you. And if they try..." Those deliciously lush lips curl into a wicked smile. "I'll eat them."

  Chapter 2

  I sleep like the dead.

  Wait. Bad pun. Scratch that.

  When ribbons of golden sunlight sneak through my open blinds, I’m feeling refreshed and energized, the attack from last night nothing but a distant memory.

  Stretching my taut muscles, I amble to my feet and make a beeline towards the closet. I sift through the collection of over-priced, and in some cases completely tacky, clothes before deciding on a white dress with slits up both sides. It molds to my body like a second skin, and I can’t help but marvel at how wonderful it feels whenever I move.

  And bonus: it has pockets.

  Any dress with pockets is a win in my book.

  There are no eliminations today, thank fuck, so instead, I have the morning to myself until the large group date in the afternoon. I hope I can meet up with Grant and discuss the case. I’ll tell him about Ren’s deranged ex, and he can tell me what he discovered about Ali’s murder...and if it’s connected to the book I stole seven months ago.

  My lips pucker in the closet mirror, and a furrow appears between my brows. The mere thought that I could be responsible for someone’s death…

  Nope. Not today, Satan. Not today. Fuck this.

  I storm out of my room like a woman on a mission. And no, that mission doesn’t involve orgies and dicks—and dicks in my vagina. Get your head out of the gutter, Karen.

  I spot no less than a dozen cameras trained on me as I saunter down the hall, pausing at the room I know to be Grant’s. At least, I’m ninety percent certain. Okay, maybe a solid eighty and a half. Seventy point four two?

  I rap my knuckles against the door, tapping my foot impatiently as I hear the sound of someone stumbling through the room. A moment later, the door is wrenched open and Lincoln the scowling cupid is glaring down at me.

  “What do you want?” he asks harshly as he folds his arms over his chest. He’s shirtless, and my eyes can’t help but flit across the myriad of tattoos on his chest and upper arms. He really is a piece of artwork, one I could admire for days at a time.

  But, like, not in a creepy way. In a completely normal and non-stalkerish way.

  Says every stalker ever.

  Which I’m not.

  A stalker, I mean.

  “Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there gaping at me like an idiot?” he huffs, turning away from the door and entering his spacious room. It’s slightly smaller than mine, and his bedspread is a dark gray instead of white. I can’t help but note the charcoal paintings that are hung on the walls of his room. Some appear to be the view from his window, while others display a beach and forest combination. Each one is more intricately detailed than the last; it feels as if I’m staring at black-and-white photographs.

  “Did you do these?” I question breathlessly as I peer up at a drawing of an eagle soaring through the sky. Its left wing is slightly smudged, almost as if he had gotten frustrated with his drawing halfway through and brushed his thumb through the artwork.

  “No,” he scoffs sarcastically. “I just hang up random pictures for the hell of it. Now, I’m assuming you came here for a reason.”

  “Errr..” I turn towards him just as he reclines back on the bed, the movement causing his muscles to ripple. I force my eyes away from the colorful artwork on his chest, choosing instead to maintain eye contact. His smirk is dark, almost cruel, but there’s something in his eyes that gives me a pause. A yearning, almost, and a crippling loneliness.

  “You want the dirt on the contestants, right?” He pushes himself up on his elbows as one eyebrow quirks.

  “Sure,” I say immediately, but not for the reasons he thinks. If one of these men is a murderer, then maybe he has details that could help me with the case. Unless, of course, he is the murderer.

  Which might explain why he demanded to stay until the end of the show…

  I instinctively narrow my eyes at the handsome cupid as his smirk fades, transforming into a frown.

  “What?” he asks irritatedly as he scrubs at his cheek. “Do I have something on my face? Dammit, Ridley!”

  “Why do you want to stay until the end of the show?” I question immediately, stalking forward. His eyes widen at my almost accusatory tone as his Adam’s apple bobs.

  “Excuse me?” He tries to rearrange his face once more into his mask of indifference, but it’s not fast enough. Lincoln is hiding something.

  “You heard me.” I take a step closer until I’m standing over him, my arms crossed over my chest. “You don’t want to date me, you don’t want to even be here, yet you demand that I allow you to stay. Why?”

  Anger darkens his eyes. “Who said I don’t want to date you?”

  “Um...you did,” I point out immediately, sure I hadn’t misunderstood the conversation from our first meeting.

  “Maybe I know that I’m bad for you. Maybe I know that you deserve better than someone like me,” he snaps, the self-loathing evident in his voice.

  And…

  I don’t like it.

  Not one fucking bit.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, and he immediately jumps to his feet, towering over me. He’s significantly taller than me, but I don’t have the feeling of being overwhelmed or even intimidated. There’s something almost dejected about the coal-rimmed eye man.

  “My problem…” he seethes, hurling daggers with his eyes. “My problem is that I see love and emotions every damn day of my life. I watch people fall in love, and I watch people destroy said love. Day after day after fucking day. But me? I’ll never be able to find it. Broken men like me are fated to be alone forever.”

  I suck in a breath as I realize something, something that is painfully clear.

  Lincoln is...depressed. Extremely depressed, if the shadows in his eyes are any indication. It calls to something inside of me, something fragile and hurting. Something that recognizes his pain because I experienced it myself.

  Seven Months Earlier

  As I file the last of the paperwork, delicate laughter reaches me. My
hand tightens instinctively around the manilla folder as Ashley and Grant step into the office, matching smiles on their faces. My eyes trail over Grant’s lean frame, as they always do whenever I see him. Currently, his shirt is folded back to his forearm, revealing veiny muscle and a splatter of arm hair. He looks...happy.

  But how can he look happy when it feels as if I’m falling apart from the inside out.

  I remain crouched beside the filing cabinet as Grant’s eyes flicker to my empty desk. Pain flickers in his eyes, momentarily shattering the illusion, until Ashley places her manicured hand on his bare forearm. He offers her a tight grin, allowing her to pull him towards their shared desk in the far corner of the room, opposite of me.

  Fucking Grant. And his perfect, panty-melting smile. And his stupid hair and shoulders. And his stupid ballsack that likes to be fondled. And his stupid penis. Stupid, stupid penis.

  I wrench my eyes away from Grant and Ashley, focusing instead on the file in my hand.

  Red Eyes.

  Is this…?

  Is this the file for the Red Eyes, the gang Ashley and Grant has been assigned to take down? I know I shouldn’t, I know I could potentially lose my job, but I can’t help but flick the file open.

  The first page is a newspaper article detailing a mass suicide that happened months ago. A picture of the leader, Geo Bake, glares back at me. He’s a large man, his muscle mass nearly three times the amount of mine. He has a beard so long, the photograph isn’t able to capture it all. The article says that he died alongside his followers, but…

  I recognize him.