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Since Julian's father's murder, she obviously had bigger problems, because people here were afraid and the Blairville Daily followed Harlow's every move.

Just yesterday, when I had been at the mall, I had watched Harlow leave the department store in the parking lot when five men, armed with cameras and microphones, had rushed after her.

Sitting on my motorcycle and lost in thought, I let my gaze wander over the Ruis, grateful that so far only one girl named Dahlia had approached me. Black hair, a few purple strands, and almond-shaped eyes that suggested she was of Southeast Asian descent.

She had been friendly, complimented me on my motorcycle, and explained in a strangely flirty tone that she had always wanted to learn to ride, but had given up on the idea because her two hot companions, whose names I unfortunately didn't know, liked to drive her around in sports cars and she enjoyed being their Passenger Princess.

The three of them had something going on that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. All I knew from Miles was that blood was involved, and that fact alone brought back images I just wanted to forget.

On top of that, without warning, this girl had been making out with both men in the huge garage on one of the sports cars when I had returned from downtown on my motorcycle.

I blinked and looked away from the Asian girl and the two guys who – like everyone else – were wearing the black Vanderwood uniform before Dahlia could feel my gaze on her.

The other Transformed were strange, staring at me as if I were someone who could rip their heads off at any moment or someone who was wanted for a high bounty.

Normally, I didn't care if guys looked at me, but these guys were annoying as fuck. Their stares were demanding and distant at the same time.

“None of them will touch you, sis,” Miles had assured me with a grin in my apartment that morning, and I’d had to explain to him right away that he was a little too late to play the protective brother.

Miles had given me a challenging look, and I knew I would probably have to make that clear to him more often.

I had grown up without a brother. Without any male role models. And that had undoubtedly left its mark. But it had also taught me that I had to be strong on my own and that men were nothing more than fun or trouble.

“Street girl...”

I turned my head forward, where a red-haired beauty with perfect makeup stood. Unfortunately, it wasn't Harlow, no. It was the damn spawn of hell.

Olivia McConnell.

Post Mortem

Cavendish Music

And, just like back in California, she looked me up and down as if I were something shabby, to the point where I actually felt like dirt.

I tried not to let my mixed feelings show as Olivia strutted around me and my motorcycle, running her fingers over the metal as she eyed every inch of my machine.

“It's a miracle you made it out of that shit hole,” she remarked pointedly. “And only the two of us know that you'll never really manage to leave the dirt behind you completely.” She stopped in front of me and let go of my motorcycle. “Did you know that dirt attracts flies, Larissa?”

I snorted morosely and finally regained my self-confidence. Something that normally never disappeared, but Olivia had known me for too long and knew how to push the right buttons.

So did I.

“Is that why you strayed here?”

I swung myself off my motorcycle to put some distance between her and me.

Her perfume brought back unpleasant memories that had nothing to do with her.

Olivia stared at me. One second. Two...

“Just because you ride an expensive motorcycle now and your clothes don't look so worn out anymore doesn't mean you're any better,” she hissed, her voice reminding me of the day I had heard her moaning with Bayla's dick of an ex in the locker room.

Disgust spread through me.

I wanted to kiss her with my fist, destroy her pretty doll face. But I wasn't violent. My thoughts, on the other hand, were.

“Stay away from me and I'll do the same,” I replied with all the reason I could muster, looking into her cold, bright eyes.