Pretty Monsters

by Kimberly Carrillo

  Cougar bait. I fight a smirk while I continue playing the part of a self-absorbed teenager.

  "If you're sure–"

  With a jerky nod he shoves the cart forward.

  "I told you," I begin once we are out of earshot of his admirer. "Lots of bored housewives."

  He grunts and starts ringing up our items at the self checkout. After he feeds the cash into the machine and collects the change he hurries me back out to the truck with our bags.

  Inside the truck I pull the hat off my head and take off his sweatshirt. "Maybe you should have worn this instead of me."

  "Not now, Raven."

  Tension radiates off of him, and I instinctively know to leave him alone.

  He pounds the steering wheel several times. "God-fucking-damnit! We were supposed to be invisible."

  Letting my eyes travel up his body, I'm not surprised he drew her attention. His t-shirt might be plain, but the way it clings to his biceps is far from ordinary. It stretches across his broad chest and highlights his tapered waist. His relaxed fit jeans cling to strong thighs. He's nothing short of exquisite.

  "You could never be invisible," I speak, turning to look out the window.

  "That's all I've ever been, Raven."

  I see you, I think to myself. I don't think he'd appreciate hearing it.

  Locked Up

  Sin

  As soon as we return to the apartment I busy myself with replacing the doorknob and adding new locks. Only after I'm done am I able to relax. I'm not used to being around bored housewives, as Raven called them, and the attention set me on edge.

  Playa Pacifica should be large enough for us to hide out for a while and figure out our next move. It won't be though if too many people remember us. I don't think Damien will go the media route to find us, but that entirely depends on how desperate he is to align himself with the family he plans to marry Raven off to.

  It's enough of a risk for Lucien to be going to work. I hate strip clubs, unusual for a twenty-one year old man, but it's just another way powerful men sell flesh. It might be legal, but few of the women who they employ would be there if they had any other means of making that kind of money. The powerful always prey off the weak.

  Still, I understand why he chose that type of job. Legal or not, a lot of seedy shit goes on in strip joints. More often than not the illegal is dealt under the surface. Sex, drugs, you name it, and it can likely be found in a strip club. Not exactly the type of people who would rat us out. Unless of course they are working for Damien.

  His network extends far beyond the borders of Devil's Crossing. Hence his desire to become governor. What better way is there to protect his business than to head the government. Not to mention the fact that Governor Whitmore has been a thorn in his side for years.

  The governor started his career as an assistant district attorney and has climbed steadily in the last twenty years. His anti-organized crime task force threatens to bring Damien's house of cards crashing down, and that is not something he'll allow without a fight.

  He can't conduct business as usual with the governor though. The man is built like a soldier more than a career politician, so no one would believe he died of illness. Creating an accidental death could lead to increased scrutiny, because there is always someone out there smarter to figure out what happened. If someone like the governor died prematurely, especially one that appears to operate on the right side of the law, it would undoubtedly draw out the best investigators around.

  Damien isn't always smart about who he targets, but Lucien and I are the only ones who stand a chance at making a clean hit. Without him meeting our requirements though, we wouldn't take the job. Not that I can make those demands, but the prince of the Blackthorne kingdom has sway.

  Lucien wasn't wrong when he told Raven I am a killer. Technically, since he has always been involved in the planning of our hits, he's equally as guilty, but the blood is on my hands. Not that I mourn a single one of the bastards I've helped put in the ground. Child molesters, murderers, and drug dealers don't deserve a moment of guilt from me.

  Sweaty, and covered in wood shavings, I test the locks and head for the shower, thankful Raven thought to get towels. The water pressure isn't as strong as I'd like it to be. The pipes groan when I turn the faucet, and it spits out tepid water. I don't complain though.

  For starters, I don't want to see the sick fuck of a manager up here around Raven ever again. The way his beady eyes feasted on her right in front of us made me want to show him exactly what I'm capable of. If I were to look into him, I have no doubt I'd learn how depraved he is.

  I don't waste time in the shower, as the water goes from tepid to glacial in less than five minutes, making my balls retreat into my body. Toweling off, I realize I've forgotten to bring clothes in the bathroom with me.

  Wrapping the towel around my waist, I go in search of my bag. Raven is busy cleaning every surface, as she has been since I started working on the locks.

  It looks like she's almost done, not surprising since the apartment is barely larger than a shoe box. We're going to have to figure out the sleeping arrangements. I should have thought to get a blow up mattress while we were at the store. Not that it matters too much. I can sleep as well as I ever do on the floor. My life hasn't been filled with luxury.

  "Have you seen my bag?" I ask her as she's bending over to put cleaning supplies under the sink. Her round ass, surprisingly plump for a woman so small, wiggles in the air and suddenly I'm ready to return to the cold shower.

  "I set it on the bed," she replies, not bothering to straighten up.

  I grunt, because the blood flow to my brain is being diverted, and I'm finding it hard to come up with the right response.

  My reaction to her pisses me off. She's practically a child, even if she doesn't look like one. Worse, she's my best friend's little sister. Off limits. Not that I do relationships. Hard to create something with another person when you technically don't exist.

  I have one thing to offer a woman, and they've never asked me for more. I've hooked up with some of the ladies who work for Damien, had anonymous sex in bars when I've been allowed off the property, but it was never more than scratching an itch. Raven can't be that for me, and I have nothing else to offer.

  My phone sits next to my bag, and I see several text messages waiting for me. Worrying that something happened to Lucien I quickly open my phone, only to be confused when they are all from myself.

  I shake my head. She must have been texting me the entire time we were shopping. I did tell her to make it look like she was occupied with the phone. Curiosity has me opening the messages.

  If I look like a little girl, why can't you keep your eyes off of me?

  Why did you cling to me the other night in bed?

  Why, indeed. I can't explain my actions. Lying to myself isn't going to change what's happening, and it won't erase the fact she's noticed. Part of me is proud she's calling me on my shit. That part doesn't override my need to shut this shit down immediately.

  I know she's been checking me out. There's a hopeful glint in her eye when she looks at me, but right now she sees me as her protector. I guess I am, though, and I will make sure she stays safe, even from me.

  Someone as pure and innocent as Raven doesn't need to be tarnished by someone like me. Someday, when we've eliminated the threats against her, she will be able to set her own path. Go to college, choose a career, and find a man who deserves her. That will not be me, and I won't take her firsts when she's only going to wish she saved them for someone more worthy.

  What I need is space. Some room to fucking breathe, and get these fantasies of bending her over the counter and fucking her bare out of my head. I've never even thought of not using protection, but she's pulling a possessiveness out of me I didn't know I had.

  I tell myself it isn't really about her. I might be fucked in the head, but physically I'm a normal guy. She's the first woman I've been around in the last couple of weeks. Besides,
she's also a Blackthorne, and while she isn't guilty of anything, there's a sick part of me that would relish screwing Damien's daughter.

  My life has never been mine. He thought purchasing children and training them to kill from a young age would create the perfect army for his empire. What he actually made were a group of sociopaths who would turn against him the instant their leash is released.

  The door knob jiggles, and when it doesn't budge, there's a light tapping on the door. Not taking the chance that the manager has returned to see if Raven is alone, I grab my gun and exit the room.

  Raven squeaks when she sees it in my hand. I put my finger to my lips urging her to be quiet. There's a peephole in the door, though it is a bit low for my size. I duck down and see Lucien waiting to be let in.

  I open the door, and his eyes fall to the gun hanging at my side. He nods. "Glad to see you haven't let your guard down."

  "Why didn't you call for a ride back?" It is at least three miles to Fallen Angels from the apartment.

  His eyes are clouded. "I needed some time to think. I know we need money, and I made sure the club wasn't even remotely connected to my father, but that doesn't mean it's a good place to be."

  Lucien might not be a ghost like I am, someone who doesn't exist legally, but he shares my feelings about selling people for money.

  "I didn't see prostitution or drug sales, but those girls were so young. Most of them didn't look much older than Raven. And the perverts in there were getting off on watching jailbait degrade themselves for dollar bills."

  We both know there are women who enjoy the art form of stripping. Burlesque dancers celebrate the female form, and I say more power to them. A seedy joint in a run down part of town, however, does not bring in empowered women celebrating their bodies. These women come from the neighborhood, and are fighting tooth and nail to stay off the streets to help their families, only to find their street corner behind curtained rooms.

  "I'm going to take a shower and pass out. It's been a long day, and I start working tomorrow night. Have we figured out how the sleeping arrangements are going to work?

  Raven's text pops into my mind, and her eyes find mine. It's like she can read my thoughts and isn't opposed to having me wrapped around her again. The fact that I would also enjoy feeling her pressed against me, and that I realize I'll sleep better knowing she's safe is a problem.

  "There's a pull out and one bed," she replies to Lucien. "You are both more than welcome to take either of them, but they're the same size."

  "I'll sleep on the floor," I volunteer. It wouldn't be the first time. When I was younger those that I trained with were given a sleeping bag and nothing else. I used my few clothes rolled up as a pillow, but otherwise I slept on a concrete floor in the basement we were kept in.

  "Are you sure?" Lucien scratches the back of his head. While I shared a bed with his sister our first night on the road, he's clearly not wanting to make a regular thing out of it.

  "Yeah, man. You're the one going to work. Besides, I'm used to it."

  "Well, that's a fucked up reason you should have to be the one to sleep on the floor," Raven butts in.

  "What other choice do we have?" Lucien asks her.

  She shrugs. "We have the same choices we had at the motel. You two share, or I share with one of you."

  "Yeah, no," Lucien argues.

  I realize he hasn't been paying much attention to her. If he had, he'd see her digging in for a fight by the straightening of her spine and the way her shoulders roll back.

  "Are you saying you won't be able to do a good job if you sleep on the floor, big brother?"

  His face relaxes, believing she's coming to understand his position, when in reality she's got him by the balls.

  "Exactly. How am I supposed to be able to respond to a threat if my back goes out from sleeping on the floor?"

  She cocks her head to the side, and I see she's about to deliver her blow. "So, you're saying we aren't in any danger here?"

  His brow furrows in confusion. "Of course you are. Father isn't going to stop looking for you. That's why Sin is going to stay with you while I work."

  She smiles and reminds me of a predator ready to strike. "How will Sin protect me if his back goes out?"

  "Shit," he mutters.

  I slap him on the back. "Yeah, I saw that one coming. It's a good thing I'm here with her, because she ran circles around you just then."

  "Fuck you," he says and shoves me. It's our form of a hug. He knows he's lost and can't come up with a workable solution.

  "I guess we have to share," he continues.

  "Follow me," Raven chirps, and like trained puppies we do as she says.

  Inside the bedroom we stand in front of a tiny ass bed. "Is this really a full?" I ask.

  "Mhmm," she hums. "Go on, both of you lay down."

  Humoring her, we both climb onto the bed. It's awkward as hell, but it proves how much he doesn't want me sleeping with her that he's willing to get this up close and personal.

  Flopping around we try and get into a position where we fit, but the only way to do that is to spoon. The moment he slides up behind me, sweat breaks out on my forehead. My breathing turns shallow, and the sense of danger brings me near panic.

  "Lucien, move right now," she says in an overly calm tone.

  I feel the bed jostle, then I'm alone.

  "Fuck," he mutters.

  "Well, that won't work," she says to herself. "Well, big bro, I can sleep with you or with him."

  "I guess you'll sleep with me," he gives in.

  The urge to flee is overwhelming, and I practically launch off the bed. "Great, that's settled. Since you're here, I'm going to go out for a bit."

  "Where are you going?" I hear Raven ask, but I'm beyond answering.

  "Let him go Raven," Lucien advises.

  Yes, please. Let me go.

  10

  Distraction

  Sin

  As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the neighborhood changes. During the day it is filled with working class people moving from one job to the next. An entire different workforce comes out when the sun goes down. Their hustles are more illegal, and often achieved or maintained through violence. In short, these are my people.

  I set out on foot from the apartment, because I have no intention of being able to drive when I'm done. On our way to the store earlier, I saw an old dive bar a few blocks from our new place. A few more blocks past the bar is a community college, creating a convergence of the rough elements of the neighborhood and students looking for a place to unwind.

  A thick haze of smoke hangs in the air inside the bar. There are laws against smoking indoors, but laws don't always reach deep in the bowels of society. Old rock spills out of the jukebox at the back and complements the crack of Billiard balls striking against each other. Conversations fill the gaps between songs and games of pool.

  I step up to the bar and wrap my knuckles against the scarred wood surface.

  "What'll it be?" asks the bartender. He's deceptively small, but I've been trained to assess opponents and I recognize the fluidity of his movements as someone who can more than handle himself in a fight.

  "Beer, whatever you've got on tap," I reply. He nods and I slide money toward him.

  After I down the first beer he sets a new one in front of me along with a shot. "You look like you could use that."

  I nod. "Perceptive."

  "Part of the job." He whips the bar towel off his shoulder and wipes up a spill further down the bar.

  The guy who sits there stumbles off the stool. "Hey, Mikey, time to get your boy home," he calls out to one of the guys racking up a new game.

  The guy, Mikey I assume, picks up the man from the floor. "Jesus, fuck! He pissed himself!"

  "So get him the fuck outta my bar, yeah?" the bartender snaps.

  "On it, Carlo," Mikey replies and practically drags the other man out of the bar.

  "That's part of the job too, unfortunately,"
he says, putting another shot in front of me.

  "Careful, too many of these and I'll likely piss myself too."

  He smirks. "Something tells me you can hold your liquor. Some people come in here to get trashed like good ole Rick there. Some come in here because a beer is cheaper than therapy, especially when a bartender listens just as well. I'm guessing you aren't here for that, but looking for a distraction. How close am I?"

  Really fucking close. Like nail on the head close. I scrutinize him further and notice the bottom half of an Army Ranger tattoo. He's as lethal as I guessed, but he isn't presenting himself as a threat.

  "With Mikey gone, that group over there is going to need a fourth."

  Looking into my beer, I shake my head. "I'm fine here."

  Flipping the towel back over his shoulder, he levels me with a glare. "So you didn't come here prowling for pussy?"

  My head snaps up. There were always a few women hanging around bars like this. They come to hook up with a bad boy, which they think will add some spice to their lives. Usually, they're down for a one and done sesh, which suits me fine. I have nothing else to offer anyway.

  I re-examine the guys playing pool and see a group of girls hanging around them. Judging by the flirting going on, they aren't with any of the guys, but they want to be.

  Carlo watches me and chuckles when I rise from the stool. "That's what I thought."

  He fills a pitcher and hands it to me. "Bring this over there and they'll invite you to join them."

  Grabbing a few more bills out of my pocket I slap them on the bar and take the pitcher.

  I don't even have to walk away from the bar before one of the guys approaches me. "You up for playing some pool? We lost our fourth."

  "Why not," I pretend I hadn't already been planning to join them.

  "Here's a cue," one of the guys offers. He holds out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Ted."

  Taking his hand, I squeeze just enough to size him up. He doesn't pull away, which means he doesn't recognize me as a threat. Everything about him reminds me of a puppy. Brown hair flops into his face, which wears an easy going grin. He's eager to socialize and play.