Page 1 of Cruel Pleasures
1. Imani
Lonely World - Moses Sumney
“Sorry for your loss.”
Four little words that have become as much of a daily staple as hello, goodbye, and excuse me. Filler words that are said in polite conversation. Easy, generic words that are said to tick off a box on the checklist of Offering Condolences.
When I look up from the sympathy card my boss, DJ, has gifted me, I find him staring at me with rounded, pitying eyes.
“Sorry,” he repeats, like I’m hard of hearing. As if I haven’t seen it written a dozen times on the inside of the card autographed by each one of my Strictly Pleasures coworkers. He stretches out a hand to pat me on the shoulder.
There, there, the gesture says.
I expect him to hand me a Kleenex next.
“Are you going to be okay? Lara was your best friend for years.”
“Lyra. Her name was Lyra.”
“Right, Lyra. She came by the store two or three times a week. Such a sweet girl.”
I stare at him, arching a brow. I’ve known Lyra since we were freshmen at Easton U—not once has anyone ever called her sweet.
Lyra wouldn’t have called Lyra sweet.
He has zero fucking clue what he’s talking about.
“There’s no right way to grieve, Imani. If you need a few minutes to… let it all out… go right ahead,” he preaches. With a final pat to my shoulder, he moves to turn away before he stops himself. “Oh, and I cut your hours. I figured you needed the off time to work through the healing process.”
“I’m full time, DJ. I still have bills to pay?—”
“Take care of you,” he says, speaking from over his shoulder as he walks away.
I could call him back and tell him off. Drag his ass for pretending to care. All while he hasn’t heard a word. He wasn’t really listening.
…he couldn’t give less of a fuck about Lyra.
Lyra Nicole Hendrix. Not Lara. Not some sweet girl.
Lyra, my best fucking friend in the world!
Anger inflames my bones, rising up through my body. I have to rush out a deep breath to calm myself. Remind myself it’s not worth it.
DJ’s like everybody else in this world—he pretends to care when he doesn’t really care. It’s all empty, useless platitudes.
I work the rest of my shift in stanch silence. Angry, pissed off silence that has DJ assigning me stockroom work. He doesn’t think I’m channeling the right energy to help customers find their pleasure, as he puts it.
More than fine with me.
I haven’t felt like being around people much these days.
Probably because one of my favorite people clearly doesn’t want to be around me.
Ask anybody around the city and they’ll tell you Lyra Hendrix is dead. She’s been murdered.
The entirety of Easton is on high alert. Panicked about a serial killer on the loose. The handsome, wealthy, charming vascular surgeon Kaden Raskova turned out to be a sadistic serial killer the Easton Times dubbed the Cleaver for his signature weapon of choice, the meat cleaver.
Lyra’s believed to be one of his victims. The Easton PD has ruled her disappearance a homicide.
