I tuck the card into the panty string on my hip and leave the room. Maybe I’ll give it back. Maybe I won’t. We’ll see how I feel later.
Aven shows up at my room an hour later. He’s abandoned his jeans and leather jacket for khakis and a white button up. A black tie circles his thick neck, and he’s rolled the sleeves, exposing his tattooed forearms. I’ve never seen him so dressed up, and it’s a shock to the system. A good shock, though.
“You clean up well, Mister Slade,” I say as I step closer and give him a twirl of my lavender cocktail dress. The hem flares wide, making me feel like a slutty princess.
He fusses with his tie, not even sparing me a glance. “Don’t leave my side at this dinner.”
I stop spinning. “Aren’t you going to compliment my dress?”
“Why would I do that? You already know it looks nice. Isn’t that why you were doing the dreidel impression just now?”
I set my jaw and snatch my purple clutch from the bed. “A girl still likes to hear a compliment.”
“If you weren’t so full of yourself, it might leave a little room for someone else to offer a compliment.” He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “But seriously, don’t leave my side at dinner.”
As he turns and leaves the room, I follow him into the hallway, but I don’t miss a chance to make a face at him behind his back. He thinks he’s so high and mighty, like he can shit on my confidence and then tell me what to do.
“What’s wrong with having a little confidence?” I ask as we step onto the elevator. “Besides, confidence sells in my business. Oh shit, I forgot my camera!”
I go to step off the elevator, but Aven bars my path with his arm and presses the button for the doors to close.
“No photography in the parks, wee lass. Jim’s rule, not mine.”
My eyes light up. “We’re finally going to the park? How exciting! But why can’t I take any pictures?”
Aven checks his watch, then blinks at the ceiling. “Because right at this moment, a group of serial killers is currently preparing to join us, and they don’t want their faces plastered all over your porn site.”
I practically choke on my spit, becausewhat? “Serial...killers? You aren’t one to joke around, so what exactly do you mean?”
The elevator stops on the ground floor, and we move toward the lobby. I spot my German neighbor at the desk. His silent lady friend stands beside him, fiddling with something in her purse as he checks them into a room. Aven stops walking and points to them.
“That’s Grim, but he’s known asDer Sensenmannin Germany.” His finger moves slightly, pointing to the woman. “That’s Maudlin Rose, a killer from the Midwest. Her husband slashed her throat and rendered her incapable of typical speech. Now she goes around killing men who piss her off.”
I roll my eyes because he can’t be serious. My neighbor is odd, but he’s not a serial killer. There is just no way. His little old lady doesn’t look the type either.
“So you’re telling me that you’ve brought me to a hotel that is now filled with serial killers when you’re supposed to be protecting me from a serial killer?”
“Aye, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. But we aren’t a danger to you.”
“We? You’re saying you’re one of them?” Okay, I can almost believe that, what with his cold affect and disinterested demeanor. But still...he’s fucking with me. He has to be.
He starts walking again, and I hurry to keep up with him. If he’s telling the truth, I don’t want to find out the hard way. I don’t believe him—this is just too ludicrous to be true—but there’s a fire ant of doubt that won’t stop biting my brain.
He pauses at the doors leading into the outdoor pool area. “I’ve killed, lass. I’ve killed plenty. And I’ve plenty more killing to do before I’m caught.” He grips the handle, then releases it with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Jim asked me to keep some of itfrom you, but I don’t feel right about it. You need to be given a choice, so I’m keen to offer that to you.”
Oh, he’s really playing into this, but I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to frighten me. Well, I won’t be roped into his silly prank.
“I’m not afraid of you, Aven, and I don’t believe that you or any of these people are killers. So just tell me what’s really going on. Do you know where Desmond is or not?”
And then . . . he tells me everything.
Chapter Eight
Quinn
Even as I take a seat at a table surrounded by serial killers, I don’t believe a word of what he said. And yet, his explanation makes the most sense. I guess I won’t fully believe it until I see someone slain with my own eyes, which he assures me will happen at this dinner.
I don’t know how I’ll react if he’s telling the truth. The rational reaction would be to run screaming for the nearest boat, but I wouldn’t call myself a rational woman. Part of me hopes he’s being honest and that I really have been sucked into the seedy underground. Maybe I can make my dark romance dreams a reality after all.
