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I don’t normally go out of my way to help someone, because I don’t believe in giving anything for free. Me killing everyone would be a great service to the world.
More men join in on the laughing and I memorize their faces—ingrain them—so I never forget. That’s the beauty of an eidetic memory. I’m able to recall everything like a photograph, including the mental picture I’m taking right now.
Sienna stands, flinging her hands to get the mud off, before walking out of the goo.
“You’re a bunch of assholes,” she shouts, stomping by me like I don’t exist. We’re not even a hand length away, and she’s unaware of my stare. I close my eyes, inhaling her perfume.
There’s something about this girl I can’t let go of.
“Now, darling,” the vice prez coos. “That’s no way to speak to family. These are my men, and my woman won’t be disrespectful to them.”
Her eyes blaze, and I would love to know if she imagines killing him like I am.
“Fuck you,” she seethes, stomping toward the front where all the vehicles are parked.
I stay on the outskirts, watching her get into her car, while quickly texting her license plate number to my guy. Within a second, I have her address and I’m heading toward her home.
She lives on the ground floor of a building. I watch as a light flicks on and she pours herself a glass of water, heading toward her bathroom. I’m tempted to explore while she’s locked herself away, but force myself to refrain.
Oblivious that anyone can see into her apartment, she walks out of the shower thirty minutes later with a towel wrapped around her torso. She heads into her kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine. I watch as she takes a large sip, closing her eyes, savoring the taste before she picks up her phone. Music instantly escapes the sliding patio door as I study each of her moves. She sways her hips, allowing the soft melodies to move her as she moves around the room drinking her wine. The way her curvy hips sway has me biting my knuckle. Damn, she’s sexy.
It’s almost two in the morning by the time she falls asleep. I let myself into her apartment, through her unlocked patio doors. My feet lead me to her room and I stand over her. My hands twitch to touch her, but I refrain. I don’t know how light of a sleeper she is yet.
I watch her for an hour before I force myself to leave. My absence refuses to last long, and each night for the next month, I make this my routine. I come watch over my girl before I pluck each man who laughed at her off. One by one, they fall the same way. But I’m leaving her fiancé for last.
Chapter 2: Sienna
Amonthlater
The only thing traditional about this wedding is that I’m wearing white. My dress is short, tight, going all the way to my neck, with a large circle missing in the back. My heels are bright red and three inches high, making my normal height of five feet one inches not stand out.
My fiancé stands in the so-called green space of the club. The club is a converted motel in the shape of a circle. The middle courtyard consists of dirt where they play with their bikes and drink, and it’s here I get theprivilegeof being married.
My mother must be rolling over in her grave at the sight. I swallow the unease creeping up my throat as I watch my father trying to organize this pony show with a beer in his hand. The plastic blue cooler hinge creaks as it’s opened, and I notice I’m the only person without a drink in their hand.
“Where the hell is Josh?” He’s the prospect that took an online course, giving him the power to marry us.Just great. He’s late, the reason we’re all standing around looking like idiots.
I inspect my black nails, not caring when this starts.The longer it takes, the better. I watch the worried glances the others are giving each other. They’re all thinking the same thing: He’s not here, because he’s dead. It wouldn’t be the worst news I’ve heard.
The paper calls this shadow phantom a serial killer. All his victims are seen then disappear into thin air, always while they’re around loved ones. It’s rumored that it’s The Butcher, a serial killer that threatened the area a decade ago. Somehow the paper hasn’t said it’s a hit against my father’s motorcycle club, but we all know it to be true. Only our chapter is being targeted. It seems personal. Intimate. Vengeful.
“Did you just want to text me when he gets here, and I’ll come back?” I toss out casually.
“I’m not giving you an opportunity to run,” my father hisses into my ear. My fiancé must have something on him. It’s the only explanation. I wish I was brave enough to run, but all I can think about are the stories of my mother. She tried to run, and now she’s six feet under.
“Chad, go online and complete the course.” My soon-to-be husband barks the order.Dear Lord, who did I spite to deserve this?
I cringe at the sound the plastic makes as I grab myself a beer and twist off the lid. I tilt my head back, allowing the bitter bubbles down my throat with one large gulp before I slip off my heels, curling my toes in the soft, warm dirt.
By the time Chad returns, I’m on my fourth beer and I’m the soberest one here. I don’t bother placing my heels back on when my father calls everyone back to attention. I down my drink, tossing it into the pile gathering on the ground. It clunks and tings against the other bottles but doesn’t break.
“Come on, woman,” Jack calls, his voice grating on my nerves as I decide to pick up my bottle and place it on the table.
My steps are slow as I turn around, blowing out a breath that vibrates my lips. This is my future.
I roll my shoulders back as I walk toward this Chad guy—oh yeah, and my soon-to-be husband, too. My stomach rolls as the realization hits that I can’t get out of this. My legs tremble with each step as I force myself closer.
“Let’s get this over with,” my fiancé growls. I don’t know why he’s grumpy.I’mthe one marrying down, forfeiting true love and my future.
