Page 34 of The Monster and the Last Blood Match

“Everett, it’s me, Reyna,” she said enthusiastically. She hadn’t left the house, and the idea of seeing another human being bolstered her.

“Ah, Miss Carpenter,” he said. “Have you decided to join us?”

“Am I still welcome?”

“Of course. Where should I pick you up?”

“Oh…um, I’m still at Beck…Mr. Anderson’s,” she explained. She had never felt more awkward.

The line was silent for a moment.

“Right. Okay. I’ll get you at the valet desk at nine on Saturday.”

“Sounds good. I can’t wait,” she said.

“See you then.”

“Wait, what should I wear?” She had never thought about that before Beckham, but now she worried that she would be over or underdressed everywhere she went.

Everett laughed. “Whatever you want. We’re just going to a club.”

“Club. Right.” As if she had ever been to one.

That was how she ended up rummaging through her closet for something acceptable to wear at eight at night on a Saturday. She still hadn’t told Beckham she was going out, but it might be better to warn him on her way out than to try to convince him to let her go. He had said on her first day that she wasn’t a prisoner. If that was the case, then he should have no problem letting her go out with some friends. It would be fine.

At least she kept telling herself that.

After investigating clubbing attire online, she finally decided on a shiny black dress with a silver undertone, tiny little straps, and a square-cut bodice that hugged her figure like a glove. She paired it with some intense strappy black heels and then piled all of her dark hair on the top of her head with a few wispy strands loose around her face. It was so different than her normal ponytail. She hoped that she would blend in.

At a quarter to nine, she eased out of her room in search of Beckham. She wasn’t looking forward to this.

The living room was empty as usual, and she ended up having to text him to get him to come out of the back room, since she wasn’t allowed in it. When he appeared before her, he stopped short in the open doorway. His eyes widened as he drank her in from head to toe. The air crackled between them.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

She gestured down at her outfit. “A dress? You left it in my closet.”

“Yes. But not for nine o’clock at night when we’re staying in.”

She swallowed and worked up the courage to tell him. “Well, I’m going out with some friends.”

Of all the responses she expected from Beckham, laughter was the last one.

“Your friends? The ones in the Warehouse District?” he asked incredulously.

“No,” she cried. She couldn’t hold back the anger in her voice. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it. “The ones I’ve made since I’ve been here. I’m going out to a club nearby, and that’s that.”

Beckham straightened immediately. He clearly didn’t like her tone or her meeting people he didn’t know. “Who are these friends of yours?”

“I’m going out with Everett from downstairs.”

“The valet?” Beckham asked. He pursed his lips.

“Yeah.” She straightened her dress and ignored his pointed stares. She was not backing down. “I’m meeting some of his friends.”

“No,” he said. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

“What do you mean it’s not safe?” she demanded. “You don’t even know them.”

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