Page 20 of Killer Knows Best

The men, however, their so-called johns—for them, there’s just a moment of pleasure that fades before the sheets even cool. They risk far too much to be there, too. They should know better, but they’re far too animalistic. I know all too well about those animal instincts.

I roll down the window a notch and let the icy wind knife its way inside. The city smells like gasoline and sour trash as I pass through downtown, the same foul stench these women carry on them. No amount of perfume can cover it. Their desperation clings to them like a fog. I can still smell it on my hands, once I’m through with them. No matter how much I wash, the stench never goes away.

I glance at the passenger seat, where today’s newspaper lies folded neatly.

Another headline.

Another story that won’t tell the truth, not really.

They make it seem like these girls were just lost souls, victims of circumstance. But they weren’t. They had choices. They chose this. They opened the door to destruction, and I had no choice but to close it for them. One by one.

My pulse quickens at the memory of it—their wide eyes, the confusion turning to fear, the brief flicker of understanding right before I sent them away—away to a place where they can’t do any more harm. A better place. Clean and purified. I’m doingwhat needs to be done. I’m saving them from themselves, and I’m saving the men from their own weaknesses.

Those weak, pathetic creatures. They think with their bodies, not their minds. They throw away everything for a taste of something forbidden. They’re just as guilty as the women in this scenario. If it weren’t for them, for their sick desires, maybe the women wouldn’t be in such peril, there would be no commodity found in their bodies. Maybe they wouldn’t fall so far.

But they have fallen. All of them. And once they’ve fallen, there’s no going back. That’s why I have to do what I do. That’s why I can’t stop.

The weight of it presses down on me, but it’s a burden I’m willing to carry. I’ve seen what they become. I’ve seen what they leave in their wake. The lies, the broken vows, the shattered lives.

This world needs me.

It needs someone who’s not afraid to do what’s necessary, someone who understands that mercy isn’t always about letting people live. Sometimes, mercy is about stopping them before they can ruin anyone else.

I take a deep breath, feeling the cool night air seep in through the crack of my window.

The city is quiet now.

They don’t know, not yet. But soon. Soon, they’ll understand.

There’s no turning back. Not for me. Not for them.

And I’m just getting started.

15

SHERRY KENT

The city lights glitter as my heels click against the pavement and the air bites just enough to remind me that it’s fall. Denver can really be a show-off at night.

My stomach quivers, then followed by the rest of me, but it’s not the icy weather that has me shaking. I’ll admit, it’s a bad case of anxiety. Although a few shots of whiskey back at the house have done wonders. It was just enough to dull the nerves but keep me sharp.

I’m not making the same mistake as last time—shaky hands, dry throat, and that horrible headache afterward. No thanks. This time I’m ready.

Of course, my husband would lose his mind if he knew what I was up to. But who the heck cares? It’s his own fault because he stopped caring a long time ago.

I pause outside the hotel entrance, admiring my reflection in the amber glass doors. The gown I’ve donned is designer, naturally—emerald green, hugging my hips just right, showing off my best assets. The fishnets are cheap, but they’re well hidden under the fabric, a little surprise for my European businessmanwhen the moment comes. It’s all part of the game. They love the illusion, the idea that I’m high-class, untouchable.

But underneath? Oh, I’m more than willing to play. I just play smarter. At least tonight I do.

I’ll admit, the first two times things were a little rocky on my end. Although judging by the generous tips, you’d never know. Maybe I wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was beginner’s luck. Nevertheless, I’m ready to impress tonight. It turns out a better performance and sure as heck yields a bigger tip.

The doorman offers to open the entrance for me and I shake my head his way. I’m not ready yet, but I can practically feel the warmth of the lobby. I know for a fact there’s a gala taking place in the ballroom tonight. It’s the perfect cover.

The scent of expensive cologne seeps out, filling the night air, and my ears are filled with the soft notes of piano music that drift from inside. I take in the creamy marble floors, the chandeliers that seem to float below the ceiling—this place screams luxury. It’s exactly the kind of environment where men with too much money and too little sense come to play.

My businessman is already waiting upstairs. All I have to do is wine, dine, stroke the ego a bit, and then cash in. Easy enough. I think it’s something I can get used to. Although, honestly, I have no plans to draw this out into a decades-long career. But it works for now, and that’s what’s important. Taking care of me, of my needs—myfinancialneeds, that is. And I’ve had financial needs for the entire last year.

Thankfully, I’ve been funneled into the right circles as of late. A chance encounter at a party led to a gentleman friend—though the termfriendis generous—who boasted about his experience with high-end escorts. One well-placed question later, and boom. I had the number.

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