Perfect Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I felt my anger deflate somewhat.

  I didn’t know why I was letting him rile me so much. Maybe it was that condescending attitude—like I couldn’t understand what was going on and all I needed to do was shut up and obey him.

  Or maybe it was this confusing, roiling, intense desire I felt lingering in my extremities, lodging in my stomach, threatening to overwhelm every breath I took.

  I didn’t like feeling out of control. I didn’t like feeling as though I were in someone else’s debt.

  And I certainly didn’t want to stay here any longer.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said finally, after another agonizing silence.

  “Good. If you want to return to your life, all you have to do is walk out that door. I’ll make sure our paths never cross again.”

  “That’s it? I watch some girl die and go pretend like nothing happened?”

  “That’s it.”

  I tapped my finger against my hipbone. “Where’s my jacket?”

  “Hanging by the front door.”

  I walked past him and down the main hall. I spotted my jacket on a peg and grabbed it. I pulled it on and let the size swallow me down. I felt safe in that jacket, hidden in the deep layers, with the weight of a can of Mace in my pocket.

  I’d almost forgotten all about it.

  Roman came after me, lingered in the portal between the hall and the kitchen. He watched me with that disconcerting stare of his, and I wanted to scream at him to cut it out because he was driving me crazy. I didn’t know if it was lust boiling up inside or if it was anger or if it was fear.

  Probably a little bit of all three.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Cassie Ward.”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know your last name.”

  “Lenkov. Roman Lenkov.”

  “I wish it was nice meeting you, but I’m not sure how I feel about all this.”

  Another ghostly smile. “I think I can live with that.”

  “What Roza said. Was all that true?”

  “I only heard some of it, but yes, I suspect she didn’t lie.”

  I sucked in a breath and slowly released it.

  Just like he’d shown me.

  “Goodbye, Roman Lenkov.” Without looking back, I pulled open the door and left.

  I found my bike leaning against the front porch. Two men lounged against a black SUV nearby, smoking dark cigars. One of them was the handsome driver from the night before. He smiled at me and nodded as I wheeled my bike down the driveway.

  “I’ll open the gate for you,” he called after. “I hope you enjoyed your stay at Chez Lenkov.”

  I suppressed a smile and waved. The massive gate at the end of the sloped drive pulled back. I mounted my light pink, rusty cruiser and rode out into the street, the wheels creaking the whole way.

  The gate ground shut behind me, and I was gone.

  The longer I rode, the better I felt. All of that had been some kind of bad dream. Roman, Roza, that driver.

  Dia’s blood and brains on the decking. Manzi staring at me with those wild eyes.

  None of that was real.

  My life was quiet. I kept to myself, stayed bundled up and hidden away.

  I’d worked hard to rid myself of men like Roman and Manzi.

  I didn’t want him. Didn’t want any of it.

  So why did my chest still feel tight? And why did I keep feeling Roman’s hand on my leg, keep hearing his breath synchronized with my own?

  And why did I want to turn back around and ride as hard as I could to his house and beg them to let me back inside?

  I lowered my head against the bitter, cold wind and pedaled faster.

  6

  Cassie

  One Month Later

  I parked my bike out front of the Shiny Lobster and locked it to a meter. Sea Isle was starting to pick up again—not many tourists yet, but the bar was half filled. Winter waved as I made my way to the back to punch in. The place was dim and decorated with ocean-themed kitsch: old wooden buoys, lobster cages, oars, boat photographs, and mermaid paintings. The tables were chipped, the vinyl floors peeling, but the drinks were cheap and the music was loud, so people seemed to like it.

  “Crowded for a Tuesday in March.” Mikey grinned at me and flipped his shaggy hair back.

  I punched in at the computer. “Can’t complain. I could use the tips.”

  “You always get good tips. Easy for a pretty girl.”

  I rolled my eyes. Mikey was nice enough but he suffered from brainless-douchey-guy syndrome. “Also helps that I work the bar, whereas you’re still bussing.”

  He laughed and held up his hands. “Yeah, okay, you got me. Damn Cass, no need to stab me in the chest.”

  “It’s been a stressful few weeks.” I didn’t mention that I was regularly having nightmares about a girl getting murdered.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” He waved and got back to work. I watched him go, frowning, and felt guilty for snapping. Mikey really was a decent guy, the sort of person I should want to be with. He was handsome and funny when he wanted to be, dumb sexist jokes and comments aside, but he just seemed so—bland. Nothing about him interested me, nothing made me want to sit up and take notice. Nothing inspired me to get out of my comfort zone, which was admittedly pretty small these days.

  I tried dating a little, but it was hard. In the summer, the guys were only around for a few months at most, and none of the locals were my type. Winter kept saying my standards were way too high, but it wasn’t just that.

  None of them made me feel alive. And none of them made me feel safe.

  I couldn’t make her understand that though. Winter loved dating, loved men of all shapes and sizes, and she was infinitely more outgoing than I was.

  I didn’t know why she put up with me.

  Right now especially, I couldn’t imagine getting close to anyone. Ever since that night, I’d been on edge. It was worse the first few nights right afterward. I didn’t sleep and kept a can of Mace on hand at all times, even when I left my apartment in the middle of the day for groceries—that stuff saved my life once and it might again one day. I didn’t return Winter’s calls, which made her flip out and she literally broke into my place one day, which scared the crap out of me and nearly got her Maced.

  We talked for a while and she made me dinner and forced me it sit down and watch a movie with her and that helped. I didn’t tell her about Roman or about the dead girl and she didn’t ask about any of that. She was just there for me, and after about a week, I started sleeping again.

  I still jumped at every shadow, and my dreams were full of violence and sex and a confusing mix of the two, and Roman was always there, sometimes shirtless, wearing nothing but those running shorts, sometimes wearing his slick black suit, but always staring at me, his lips slightly parted—or his hand on my hips, or his fingers digging into my thigh—but that part never lasted. Manzi always appeared, and he always killed Dia, and I always woke screaming and drenched in sweat.

  Night terrors. I thought I’d gotten over them.

  Apparently not.

  “You look hot tonight. What’s the occasion?” Winter wiped down a glass as I joined her behind the bar.

  “Nothing special.” I frowned down at myself. I wore my usual baggy black shirt and black slacks. Jennie-Mae the owner always complained that I looked like an old lady and that I should dress more like Winter—which was a nice way of saying, I should show more cleavage. But I was a good bartender and dependable, so she didn’t push too hard.

  “Oh sorry, I meant you look like a little boy going to his first funeral.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that bad. Also, weird, I didn’t know that was a look.”

  “It’s the same thing as Hot Topic pre-teen.”

  “Now I’m just hurt. I’m not wearing enough eyeliner for that.”

  “You could at least let your hair down. You know you’re hot, right?”

  “I’m not rea
lly interested in getting leered at by a bunch of locals, but thanks anyway.”

  “Leering leads to tipping.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Learned it at bartender school. It’s the very first lesson.”

  “What was the second lesson? Wait, let me guess. More tits means more tips?”

  “Oh my god, you went to Cheers University too?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Honestly, I wish I went to bartender school. Sounds like a really good use of time and money.”

  Winter sighed dramatically. “I miss it. We were like a little slutty family, you know? Always getting drunk. Those were the days.”

  “Right because now you’re all grown up and responsible.”

  “Hey, I only drink most nights. And only wine!”

  “You’re practically grown up.”

  “I do yoga too. And surf. Come on, I’m fully actualized.”

  “Okay, I’m not sure adults are supposed to drink wine all the time and spend most of their days doing yoga and surfing.”

  “I bartend at night.”

  “You’re not helping yourself here.”

  “Whatever, I don’t know how you managed this turn this around on me.” He put her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Tug that shirt down. Show off the girls.”

  “You’re gross. And no.”

  “So disappointing. The world’s missing out, you know. It’s like keeping the Sistine Chapel locked up behind a Hanes oversized t-shirt.”

  “The world will survive.”

  I bumped her with my hip and she laughed. I stretched my fingers, logged into the computer, and moved to the end of the bar to serve my first customer of the night.

  I fell into the flow of things, cleaning glasses, making small talk, pouring drinks. I laughed at bad jokes and bantered with Winter. It was a pretty normal shift, all things considered.

  I didn’t even notice the creepy guy until about an hour into my shift.

  At first, he was nothing special. Dark hair, black polo shirt, black jeans. He had a nice face, if a little skinny, and smiled a while lot even though he was alone. The Shiny Lobster wasn’t the sort of place people went to drink by themselves but I was too busy to judge him, and besides, I’d done plenty of stupid and weird things in the name of getting out of the house for a few hours.

  But as the night progressed, I caught him watching me.

  I thought I was crazy at first. It was little things, like I’d turn in his direction and he’d be staring at me. I’d look away, and when I looked back, he’d be looking at his phone like nothing happened. That happened a few times, and by the fourth I found myself drifting over toward Winter.

  “Did you notice the guy sitting at the end of the bar over there?”

  She glanced over my shoulder. “The cute one with the dark eyes? He’s not too bad. You thinking about asking him out?”

  “He keeps staring at me.”

  “Even better. Fluff up the girls and go see what he wants. Actually, I’ll tell you what he wants. He’d like you spread—“

  “Okay, no thanks, definitely don’t need the details.”

  Winter rolled her eyes. “Don’t be gross. I was just going to say, he wants to spread eagle on his bedroom floor riding his—“

  “You’re a monster,” I said, walking away before she could go into very explicit details, which she was prone to doing.

  But she followed and wouldn’t let it drop. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop with the sex talk, but seriously Cass. When was the last time you got laid? Or even did some cute hand stuff?”

  “I didn’t realize hand stuff is cute. Not exactly what I’d call it.”

  “Oh, right, you’re still in sixth grade.”

  “Gross, Winter. Sixth graders are like twelve.”

  She frowned and started counting quietly to herself. “Whoops, okay, let’s say eighth grade.”

  “What the hell were you doing in middle school?”

  “Hand stuff. Why were you doing?”

  “I don’t know, wholesome things. I was in the band.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “I’m not asking him out, okay? I’m not looking for that.”

  She put a hand on my arm and gave me that gentle knowing smile she always gave when she wanted to explain to me the birds and the bees. I was typed to dump a beer over her head, although she might actually like that, I was never sure with her.

  “You can’t lock yourself up inside that apartment forever you know. I get you’ve gone through some stuff, and I haven’t asked what because I love you and respect your privacy, but you’ve got to come out sometime.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. A lecture on the proper hand job wrist technique maybe, or pointers for how to get off when a guy goes down on you, sure, definitely within her wheelhouse, but that was actually sort of sweet.

  “I’m trying,” I said softly. “I promise.”

  “Yeah, I know you are.” She turned away and went to serve a customer, leaving me over near the bottles.

  I glanced down at the creepy guy. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. He was a little good looking at least—nice jaw, decent teeth, arms were in good shape. And he was staring at me again, and not looking away. I could walk over there and say hello, make some small talk, maybe we’d have some things in common, maybe we’d even go out to dinner and hit it off and end up dating, and I could have sex for the first time in years, and maybe it’d be good, and maybe we’d get married, and—

  I took a deep breath and looked away.

  None of that was going to happen to me. I couldn’t even get in a car without freaking out. My issues ran deep, way deeper than was normal, and no amount of cute guys were going to solve any of them.

  Though Winter would definitely disagree with me there.

  The night continued. I poured drinks, smiled at bad jokes, laughed where appropriate, and collected my tips—which were admittedly fewer than Winter’s but at least I had my dignity though boy would it be nice to have some cash too—and the whole time that guy stayed where he was, watching and smiling and waiting.

  He drank exactly three beers, nice and slow, like he could barely be bothered to finish them.

  Closing time came around. Winter shouted out last call and I glanced over to where my weird admirer was sitting—and found his stool empty.

  I tugged on Winter’s sleeve. “Where’d he got?”

  She followed my gaze. “Cutie left a few minutes ago. You missed your chance, sister girl. But Old Ted’s single these days, I think his wife divorced him.”

  “Yeah because he’s got a second family over in Ohio.”

  “No shit. Old Ted’s got a second family?”

  “I know. He’s super gross but I guess he’s like amazing in bed or something.”

  Winter cackled at that. Old Ted was a regular at the Shiny Lobster, and not exactly what anyone would call ‘fuckable.’

  The place emptied out and I went through the closing routine. Mikey helped even though he got done early. Winter and him chatted away, making dirty jokes at each other in an attempt to rile me up and scoring each comment on a system based on how red my cheeks were.

  “Winter, baby, when I think about you, I get hard enough to roast you like a pig on my cock.”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Winter protested.

  “But her cheeks are like a solid six. Look at her!”

  “I hate you two.” I wiped down the bar top. “I really despise you both. There’s a special section of hell waiting to receive the two of you with open arms.”

  “I’d call that more like a five at best.” Winter frowned, got closer. “Four. Definitely a four.”

  “That’s bullshit. Solid six. Look at her!” Mikey joined Winter, getting way too close.

  “Okay! Enough!” I pushed them both away, which only made them laugh that much harder. I sighed and pulled at my hair, but I was smiling too—even though they were annoying as hell, I couldn’t help myse
lf, it was kind of funny.

  And it made me feel normal. All the teasing, the stupid comradery, it gave me a twisted sense of having a home again.

  Even though my real home was a mess and I’d never go back to that place again, this wasn’t so bad.

  I could live with this.

  We finished up and headed outside. Winter locked up and waited while I unlocked my bike and Mike wandered down the block toward his car, waving once over his shoulder. Winter waved back.

  “Sometimes I think you have a crush on him,” I said as I pulled my bike free and got onto the seat.

  “He’s not my type. Too nice, you know?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure I’d use the word nice. I mean, you’ve heard the filthy things he says, right?”

  “Just to rile you up. It’s adorable.” Winter gave me a quick hug, but didn’t ask if I wanted a ride. She knew better than that by now. “Have a good ride home sweetie. Stomp on the floor when you get in.”

  “Will do.”

  She walked off and I watched her go then rode off onto the empty, quiet streets.

  Sea Isle at two in the morning in the winter was a ghost town and I loved it. I had the street to myself and I could pretend like I was in my own little world where all the houses were mine and all the people inside were my closest friends. I had these elaborate fantasies—kind of pathetic, I know, but whatever—about living on an island populated with only the people I loved the most in the world, which was admittedly not that many, so it’d be a small island.

  But still, I’d love a place of my own where I felt safe and secure. Even Sea Isle with all its touristy charm and big police force made me uncomfortable. All the cars, all the people in the summer, the lights and the loud noises, the fireworks and the screams of excitement and joy, it made me jump and flash back to that night, the bump of a body under tires, the gush of blood between my fingers.

  Nothing made sense. Nothing ever worked. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how far I ran or how hard I worked to put what happened behind me, something always managed to creep up.

  Like Manzi and Dia. Like Roman.